I’d found it charming—a sign of his passion.
Then again, I’d thought he’d been passionate about me, and I’d been wrong about that.
People toward the front of the plane were moving forward, and I realized my hot seatmate had retrieved my bag and was handing it to me.
“Thanks,” I said, more quietly this time. I shifted awkwardly in my seat, forcing my stiff legs into action.
He nodded, then stepped aside to let me into the aisle, and I caught one last whiff of his aftershave or soap, clean and sharp, not pretentious at all.
As I stood up, I was hit with a wave of self-consciousness, suddenly regretting my decision to travel au naturel.
My skirt, normally flowy and elegant, was crumpled in every direction. I’d showered, but instead of using any product to tame my hair, I’d tied it on top of my head with a scrunchy. A few strands had escaped and were curling around my face—frizzy, of course. I tucked them behind my ear, knowing they’d spring right back.
Sure, he was a stranger, but I still didn’t like that I was leaving him with this impression of me—a hot mess—on the outside but also the inside. And standing in the slow-moving line of passengers on the way toward the exit, I couldn’t help but sneak one last glance back at him.
He hadn’t rushed like everyone else. Instead, he’d let the people around him file into the aisle first. All patient-like, he had his bag slung over one shoulder, looking completely unbothered, like he had all the time in the world.
Our eyes met—just for a second. And something in his expression caught me off guard. Steady. Encouraging.
For the briefest moment, I thought he might say something.
But then someone stepped into the aisle between us, and the moment—whatever it was—was gone.
I looked away, blinking hard.
The airport was massive, and by the time I followed the herd to baggage claim, Mr. Aisle Seat was long gone.
My suitcase was one of the last to drop onto the carousel. I hauled it outside, slid into the back of a cab, and gave the driver the name of the hotel from my itinerary.
As we merged into a snaking line of traffic, the scenery blurred past—rolling hills, new suburbs, shopping centers that all looked copy-pasted from the same strip mall template. I was starting to wonder if we’d landed in Kansas by mistake when the Rockies finally came into view. A massive line of jagged peaks on the horizon. Blue. White-capped.
A wave of thick flutters sucked at my chest. We had mountains back home, sure, but this was something else entirely. They looked…impossible.
I pressed my forehead to the window and took a slow breath, trying to steady the rush of nerves as the driver seemed to change lanes randomly.
Why had I let Ashley talk me into it?
My thoughts scattered in every direction—Leo, my meltdown on the show, Aisle Seat Guy, and the next twelve days, all scheduled out but also…unknown. The edges of everything felt fuzzy and too loud, the way it sometimes did when I was about to unravel.
Not now. Not here. I focused on the sound of the tires on the road, the faint buzz of the cab’s engine, and counted the number of raindrop smudges on the window until the tightness in my chest finally eased.
By the time we pulled up to the hotel—a sleek, modern thing with sharp edges and square planters—I was almost breathing normally.
The air was warm and dry against my skin, and…I was okay.
I could do this.
Inside, the lobby buzzed with life: an older couple in matching Hawaiian shirts, a family chasing a sugar-rushed toddler, a concierge nodding calmly at a frazzled businessman. I checked in, grabbed my key, and headed upstairs.
After a brief battle with the key card and the heavy door, I let myself in, tossed my bags onto a chair, and surveyed the tidy little room. The A/C kicked on with a rattle, voices murmured faintly through the wall—and somehow, I felt even more alone than I had at home.
I’d never really traveled solo. I couldn’t afford to. And once I could, I never had to—Leo was always there, leading the way.
This weird silence felt thick. Off.
I looked down at my phone. I could call Ashley, but it was later there, and she’d be making dinner or tending to Mom.
And really, since when did I need my older sister to hold my hand through everything?
