The elderly woman grabs his arm to get his attention and points at her boarding pass.
“Does it happen to be a window seat?”
He beams. “Dolores. Dolores. Dolores.” One of his bags knocks against a lucky downturned head as he wraps his arm around her shoulders. “Is it ever!”
I stifle a giggle. If he thinks they’re going to work their way toward the front of this plane with ease, he’s got another thing coming. A linebacker with some of the broadest shoulders I’ve ever seen does not stand a chance in this pencil-thin walkway. At least he’s offering an apology to every person they squeeze by.
I have to hang halfway into the aisle to continue watching their adorable sitcom after they’ve passed me. But it’s a happy distraction from the reality waiting in my lap. Even if it might guarantee me another shoulder collision.
“May I?” he asks from her new seat assignment, gesturing to the mangled-looking suitcase under his right bicep. A bicep that’s barely contained under the sleeve of his T-shirt.
She nods and he hoists it into the empty overhead bin one-handed. The hem of his crewneck rises an inch, exposing a sliver of bronzed skin along his belt line. It’s August. Skin that pigmented is not surprising. But the guy looks like he spends all of his time outside with a shirt off.
I fan my face. Good grief, is it hot in here? The only other time I’ve ever been on an airplane I got cold. Hence the cowlneck sweater in the prime of summer. But I reach for the nozzle above my head anyway, twisting it and finding relief from the draft of musty air that fansmy bangs.
I hear the latch of the overhead compartment click shut and peek at them one last time, unable to help myself. Her glasses have slipped down the bridge of her nose, hanging on for dear life at the turned-up tip. She fumbles with her seat belt. Her uneasy steward bobbles his head between her struggling hands and the open door next to the cockpit.
He snatches both sides of the belt in a hurried grasp. “Let me help you with that.”
My heart does another little nosedive in my chest watching him shackle them together for her.
Even if he’s acting like a frantic mess, he’s not leaving until she’s completely settled. That gesture alone says a lot about a person. I would know. It’s the one thing every man who has ever stepped into my life has lacked. There’s always a “good reason” why they can’t stick around.
By the time he gets her all situated, she asks him, “Who’s the lucky lady?”
“I’m sorry?”
“The girl, honey. The one you’re waiting for.” She chortles at his ignorance, and the corners of his mouth droop. He checks the boarding bridge for the millionth time.
Is that it? Is he getting stood up?
“I better get to my seat. Enjoy that window.” He pats her arm.
When he dodges into the flow of traffic, I launch at the flight manual in the seat pocket in front of me, stuffing my phone between my knees. I’d rather him not notice my gawking if I can help it.
I open the tri-fold card.Life vest operation.Emergency exit locations.Securing an oxygen mask.Bold text with black lettering jumps off the page and tattoos itself across my retinas. The concept that this plane could go down in a body of water at any point terrifies me. A knot tightens in thepit of my stomach. The second sign that my anxiety is creeping in. The first is that unread text message I’m avoiding. If I don’t get this feeling under control, I could really embarrass myself on this flight.
“Excuse me.”
The laminated card flops toward my chest as rock-hard shins brush past my knees, filing in toward the window. I don’t have to see his face to recognize that deep voice. The hot guy from the aisle is officially my new seatmate.
CHAPTER FOUR
REED
Finally.
I sink into the worn leather, sighing in relief.
I can’t believe that actually worked. My father’s navy-blue dress pants and penny loafers closed in on that boarding bridge and I threw myself into the aisle, just missing him. It’s a good thing I read Dolores’s seat number before giving back her ticket. Row seven has never felt better.
I tip my head back and close my eyes. A sudden explosion of air blasts across my face, and I revel in the current. Folding my arms across my chest, I accidentally knock into the plastic shield covering the window. It unfurls with a whoosh, and I unwind my arms and scoot back into the rigid seat as far as it will allow.
The arched plexiglass exposes some grass and an empty stretch of runway, not all that exciting of a view yet, so I notice something else. Like the fact that my kneecaps forge a war with the seat in front of me. My shins could take on the hex imprint from the pocket stitches during this flight, and I could care less. This cramped space is freedom.Quietfreedom and it dawns on me that I’ve yet to pay attention to the person seated beside me.
When I look toward the aisle, I’m met with laminated cardstock.Emergency protocols, the front cover reads.
“Do people really use those things?” I mutter to myself.
