Not probably.Definitely.
Thankfully, the flight attendants arrive with bedding so we can settle into our makeshift beds. Once we’re reclined side-by-side, the romantic confessions are put to the side and we seamlessly shift into a more neutral, yet lively discussion about our love of food and wine.
When I admit I can’t stand over-oaked Chardonnay, he clutches his chest like I’ve wounded him mortally. We cover our favorite cities, food, travel. He needles me about Tacoma, I jab at his sommelier pretension. He’s witty, goofy and self-depreciating. When he describes teaching wine seminars in Lyon, he exaggerates his students’ awe until I’m laughing so hard I have to cover my mouth to avoid annoying the rest of the first-class cabin.
It’s a moment before I realize the sound of my own laugher has startled me. I can’t remember the last time utter joy bubbled up unplanned before I could smother it.
I shake my head, grinning despite myself. “I’ve never spoken this much to a stranger.”
“You don’t seem like a stranger.” His smile is genuine, almost like it’s meant for me.
His words slip under my skin, leaving me breathless.
I should rebuild the wall, put space back between us. Instead, I lean closer, reckless. “Me either.”
As we lie side by side facing each other, I have no idea how much time has passed. Except for our quiet conversation and the faint thrum of engines, the cabin is quiet. Around us, people sleep, oblivious to the factmy world has folded to fit inside two lie-flat leather seats in the first-class cabin.
Dangerous.
Subtly, I study him. Santiago has broad shoulders and elegant hands. His dark hair falls perfectly out of place and his eyes remain steady on me like I’m worth the attention. He’s present. Attentive. Interested in me.
“You know,” I whisper. “Based on first impressions, I thought you’d be different.”
He rests his head on his hand. “Different how?”
“When you sat down, I pegged you for a player. You come across so polished. I figured you’d be the kind of guy who seduces with vintages and perfect pours.”
“And now?”
I bite my lip. “Your life is actually fascinating. Enviable. Best of all, when it comes to food and wine, you’re nerdy like me. In a delightful way.”
His laugh is gleeful, genuine. “Nerdy?”
“When we first started talking, I thought you were going to sell me a tour or something.”
He groans, rubbing his forehead, but he’s smiling. “Failure.”
“Oh, you redeemed yourself.” I can’t help stop the words from slipping out. It’s my Achilles heel. I’m honest as a cut.
His smile fades into something deeper, slower. He doesn’t move, doesn’t crowd me. He just looks at me. Waits.
I should stop here. Instead, curiosity overwhelms me. “For someone so worldly, how did you end up with a condo in Seattle?”
A flicker of something crosses his face. “When I left New York after my divorce, I needed a drastic change. Seattle is close enough to Europe, far enough from the noise. And the rain… I actually love. It slows you down whether you want it to or not.”
I hear the truth underneath. He’s a man who needed saving from his own momentum.
We have this in common.
For the first time in my life, I have instant connection.
Damn it, I don’t want this night to ever end.
I tip my head, steady and strong. “Tell me how…”
Chapter four
WhenIsatnextto Rosa Delgado, the chef whose food had lingered on my tongue longer than most memories, I’d imagined polite talk about flavor profiles and sourcing.
