prologue
GRAMMA ELLE USED TOsay that when I fell in love, I wouldn’t know it was happening. That one day I’d just wake up and realize thatthisis the person I’d never want to not know—the person I’d want to call at the end of the day to tell them everything. And if I ever lost him, I’d look back and realize the days I spent falling in love were the best days of my life.
She insisted I wouldn’t know when I was in it—swept away and falling.
But I knew. Every moment with him, I knew.
first chance
MAY
THE BEGINNING
one
“YOU AREN’T DOING ANYTHING.”
I glance away from the small oval window of the airplane and narrow my eyes at the man occupying the seat next to me.
“I’m sorry?” I ask, raising a brow. He looks about my age, with broad shoulders, emerald eyes, and an overall aura that screamsI want to get to know you.
I brace myself for his charms. Otherwise, I am utterly screwed.
There’s a theory that if you meet someone your age at an airport, you’re immediately destined to fall in love, but that’s preposterous. He just saw the sixty-three-year-old Seahawks fan and the stuffy businesswoman across the aisle in seats 2A and 2B, and found them either way out of his league or not his type, and set his sights on me.
And I’m very uninterested.
The right side of his mouth quirks up in an unapologetically endearing smile, and my stomach flips.
“This whole plane ride. You haven’t done anything.” He interrupts my brief assessment of him.
My forehead crumples. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying.”
“Most people read or watch a show. Sleep, if they can.” He shrugs. “Though I’m never sure how well that goes because I would need to see the chiropractor upon landing without my proper pillow and setting on my mattress.”
I let out a small laugh through my nose. I’m sure he’s wondering if I think he’s being funny or ridiculous.
“It’s impossible to do nothing,” I argue.
“Is it now?”
“I was looking out the window,” I answer. I don’t mention my attempt to ease my anxiety about seeing my mother this weekend. We’re like toothpaste and orange juice. We don’t complement each other, to put it kindly. I’ve put up walls and boundaries, but when it comes to my sister, I bend them. And that is what this weekend is about: my sister, her baby, and the family she’s about to create.
“At the lovely scenery.” He gestures his left hand out in front of me. I notice he isn’t wearing a ring and quickly pick up on the fact that he’s mocking the brown, flat terrain of... North Dakota, perhaps? Maybe Montana. I haven’t checked the flight map. We’re halfway from Chicago to Seattle, I’d guess.
“Lovely isn’t the word I’d use.”
He grins, drawing a slow smile out of me. My heart flips again as my gaze assesses him. He’s wearing black joggers and a white t-shirt so clean, I’m certain it must be brand-new. His hair is a chocolatey brown with the slightest amount of curl swooping over his forehead. We’ve been on the flight for a few hours already, and I realize I never truly looked at him—I just appreciated the fact that my seatmate didn’t smell bad. Quite the opposite, actually; this man smells like Burberry cologne mixed with the ever-consuming male pheromones that I, unfortunately, remain drawn to.
“But I wouldn’t call it ugly either,” I respond, not letting my assessment of him and how good he smells cloud my vision.
“Really?” He leans back.
“I think anything can be beautiful in its own way,” I say, crossing my legs and drumming my fingers over my knee.
“Anything?”
“Anything.” Normally, I wouldn’t take the bait. Normally, I’d give a curt answer and turn back to what I was, in fact, doing: daydreaming out the window. But I’m normally not on a flight to Seattle for my sister’s gender reveal party. And normally, the man sitting next to me isn’t this attractive or even friendly. Sure, I’ve had my fair share of yuppy businessmen pushing sixty asking where a pretty little thing like me is headed, offering to buy me a drink like the $8 flight cocktail should impress me. It doesn’t. Nor does the fact that these “fine” specimens tend to forget drinks are free in first class. And that’s not exactly friendly. It’s just gross.
