Something crinkles when I shuffle through the side pocket of my duffle bag for a pair of headphones. I reach for it instead. A package with a bright-red bow surfaces—surprise trail mix. Mom must have packed it for me. The small gesture thaws a frozen edge from the ice box I tend to keep my feelings for my parents in.
I tear the corner off with my teeth and dump the contents into my palm. The nut to M&M ratio is paltry, but I pick out the colorful candy anyway and dump anything remaining into my mouth.
“Are you going to eat those?”
IthinkI heard her say that, but I don’t dare assume after she was the one who initiated our vow of silence.
“Well?” she asks as her eyes flirt with the sugar in my hand.
I extend my palm. “They’re all yours,” I say, and she reaches for them, but before she can snatch them up, I trap them beneath my fingertips. “But I want it on record that you cracked first, not me.”
She rolls her eyes and pries my fingersopen. “Fine.”
I watch her plop two red M&Ms in her mouth, followed by an orange, then four yellow and two green.
“What?” she says when she catches me staring.
“Nothing. I’ve just… never seen someone actually ‘taste the rainbow’ before. It’s cute.”
Does a comment like that count as flirting? Because I shouldnotbe flirting with her. For a whole host of reasons, but the biggest being that I’m about to prove her opinion of guys to be true. At the end of this flight, we’ll part ways and never speak again. I’d rather not be another tally mark on the list of men with ill intentions toward her.
“Isn’t that the slogan for Skittles?” she asks.
“Still applies, don’t you think?”
“I guess it does, yeah.” She blushes again, this time with me looking right at her. “It’s a habit I picked up from my aunt.”
Impending goodbye or not, I’m still bound to prove her wrong. Change her mind about me. Convince her that there are some guys in the world who truly care about getting to know someone. Some men who would do anything to keep the woman they’re interested in.
“Can I ask you a personal question, or will you keep me in the same camp as those self-centered guys you speak so fondly of?”
She rolls her eyes. “I don’t know, are you going to tell me your name first?”
I should have started with that.
“Reed Morgan.”
“Hailey Hart,” she says, offering her hand in a formal greeting.
Her eyes drop to the crease next to my smile as I shake it.
“Are you close with this aunt of yours?”
“Yeah. She’s like a mom to me.”
With the way her eyes cast down, I fear it’s the mostpersonal question I could have picked. I don’t press any further, just bump into her with my knee instead. “Well, your aunt has great taste in candy.”
Her lips stretch into a smile. “My turn. Were you waiting for someone to get on this flight with you?”
Her question catches me off guard. How would she know that unless…
The apples of her cheeks darken.
“Were you watching me, Red?”
The nickname just slipped out. But… women don’t generally blush under my stare and still look at me the way she is right now. Like she isn’t afraid for me to see the way I affect her. It feels like a compliment, and it deserved to be noticed.
“Everyone was watching you,” she argues. “You were blocking the whole aisle for a good seven minutes.”
