Of course, Work Me wouldn’t know this because we’ve never truly had a personal conversation, but Jenelle from the app knows all about his hometown.
I try to play it off with an absolute lie, hoping he buys it. “Christina said you’re on the account because of your background. When I asked her what that meant, she said you were from there.”
I let out a sigh of relief when he nods.
“Yeah, I’ve made the mistake of not bringing food on the plane before, and it’s not fun. When we land, we can grab dinner before we head to the hotel. It’s about an hour drive, and there will be more options in Bozeman than in the small town we’re going to.”
“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” I say even though I want to scream,No, no, no!
I didn’t think I’d have to actually eat with him on this trip!
“The time change really screws with people, so even though it’ll only be two there, it’ll feel like four to us and you’re going to be hungry for dinner.”
“Yeah, I’ve never really had to deal with that, but it makes sense.”
“You’ve never flown to a different time zone?” he asks in surprise.
“I mean, why would I? I’ve been to places on the East Coast. I’ve never had a reason to go to the West Coast or Midwest.”
“Where did you grow up then?”
“Here, in New York City.”
“Really?” he asks.
I have to hold back my laugh, knowing this is exactly how he reacted the first time I told him.
“Like, in Manhattan or?—”
“In Queens,” I say, then instantly regret it by the way he pauses, like that triggered him in some way.
He stares off into space for a brief moment, then shakes the thought away and reaches for his laptop, making it clear he doesn’t want to talk anymore. “That’s cool,” he says nonchalantly as he opens the computer.
Seeing his reaction breaks my heart. Knowing I’ve hurt him makes me wonder even more what would happen if I told him who I really am.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Zoe
We board the plane with no problem—him in the aisle and me in the middle seat.
“I hope you don’t mind that I took the aisle seat,” he says as he sits next to me.
I instantly chuckle, pointing out the difference between my knees, where I have a ton of room, and his, where he’s touching the seat in front of him. I’m not sure if he can even put the tray down fully.
“I’m not even five feet tall. I think you were justified, wanting to be able to stretch your legs.”
He smiles, and for the first time with me, I feel like it’s genuine.
I don’t question it or wonder what this feeling inside me is when I see him smile like that. Instead, I go back to getting myself situated and put my bag under the seat in front of me.
“Do you fly much?” he asks, and I shake my head, making him turn to me. “Are you afraid to fly?”
I nod, then whisper, “A little.”
He looks forward again. “Don’t be. My mom always says flying is safer than driving.”
“Yeah, but your odds of surviving a car crash are higher than a plane crash.” I state the fact, but it only makes my stomach turn more.
