Chapter 1
“Excuse me while I tuck my wings,” Clare Hart said as she slid into her window seat on the red-eye flight back to Ireland.
The man sitting next to her grunted and retracted the recliner footrest of his first-class seat while staying seated.
Would it be toomuch to ask the rude fellow to step out into the aisle and let her pass?
Instead of tucking in her feather-duster-sized wings, she let them spring back and brush across his darkly delicious face—the exact type she was susceptible to.
Ker-choo.The man sneezed. “Don’t tell me you’re going to sit with those wings sticking out the entire flight to Dublin.”
At least the wingskept him from checking out her behind when he forced her to step between his knees. His accent was Irish and dripping with disapproval.
Clare plopped down on the edge of her seat and pushed her carry-on underneath the seat in front of her. “I bought a first-class ticket, so I can sit however I want.”
She tamped down a twinge that he didn’t seem amused with her antics, unlike theAmericans who loved her fairy costumes and thought she worked at an amusement park.
She’d put them on in the waiting area to entertain a cranky child and earned the applause of the cheerful tour group who’d gone back to the coach section.
Maybe she should have insisted her cousin not upgrade her to first class. After all, there was nothing first class about her other than failure.
She was a writer of romances between magical creatures like fairies, or Fae, and humans, and she’d been spending time in the United States raising money to produce a movie from her stories.
For months, everything was going well. Several American investors had eagerly signed checks to produce a movie from her first novel,Fairies Seduced My Boyfriend, and contributions rolled in toher crowdfunding accounts. But no, she’d entrusted all the fundraising to a darkly handsome, charming Irishman who’d absconded with her pot of gold. The parties and appearances dried up, and her donors threatened to sue. Her dreams, as well as her characters, were killed in a single shot, and now, she was going home with nothing but her wardrobe, wings, and wands.
She untied the leatherstraps securing her ostrich feather wings to her bosom and shrugged off one side first, and then the other, making sure to fully swipe the bedraggled feathers across Mr. Chiseled Manliness’s five o’clock shadow.
Ker-choo.
The not-so-charming Irishman frowned but avoided eye contact with her, preferring to thumb through the in-flight magazine. His presence filled their side of theairplane, and Clare couldn’t gasp enough oxygen to calm down. Why did all the most unsuitable men have to be so fecking gorgeous?
After stowing her wings in a plastic bag, she laid the pile of feathers against the side of the bulwark and put her coat over it.
It was going to be a long, red-eye flight with plenty of time to rewrite her failures into success. She was going back toIreland for a fresh start. Her fans lived there, and she could put on fundraisers, get-togethers, and book signings at the many pubs. She could also get acquainted with the local arts council and see if she could interest them in funding her project.
The flight attendants walked the aisles and asked everyone to put their electronics in airplane mode. Clare dashed off a text message to hercousin, Jenna Davison, who’d given her a place to stay in exchange for helping out with a litter of basset hound puppies.
Am going to miss you, Larry, Harley, Honey, and all the sweet puppies. Thanks for everything and wish me the luck of the Irish.
Jenna texted back.You ARE the luck of the Irish. Keep that chin up and head held high. Promise to send us tickets to your premierenight. Can’t wait.
Clare couldn’t help but smile at how optimistic Jenna had become. After all, she’d taught her self-hypnosis and positive thinking. Writing affirmations and the attitude of gratitude. Jenna went from almost-divorce to being happily married with a baby on the way.
Sometimes, it was so exhausting to keep her positive spirit up. Sometimes, all the fake cheer seemedpointless. Sometimes, Clare wanted to wallow like everyone else. She was on a long, boring flight. She might as well let it all out and be sad and depressed.
No one cared; no one knew her. And no one would remember her.
She sent one last text.I promise. Make me a new gown for premiere night, and we have a deal. Airplane mode now.
The man next to her stuffed earbuds into hisears and put the magazine away. He closed his eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath.
He was obviously going to ignore her, and that was okay. Since she was invisible to him, she took the opportunity to check him out.
He looked to be a hero type, although older than the twenty-something guys she wrote about. He still had a full head of hair, enough scruff to be sexy but not messy,a prominent nose and strong jaw, and faint smile wrinkles radiating from his eyes. Dark eyelashes curled a little too lush for a man, which was a perfect description for a character in her next book.
Once in the air, Clare took out a notebook and jotted down her observations. She hooked a glance at her seatmate, but he was as still as the dead, without even a twitch to his eyelids.
Safe enough.
