“No.”
“That’s...” I search for the right word. “Tragic. Not even one crumb? For science?” I shake my head in mock pity. “Seriously, when’s the last time you did something just because it was fun?”
This time he doesn’t even look up from his coffee. “I don’t do fun.”
“You don’t do fun?” I laugh, because honestly, what else can you do with a statement like that? “What do you do?”
“I work.”
“Even on vacation?”
His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “I don’t take vacations either. Not unless I have to.” He exhales an annoyed-sounding sigh. “I work a lot.”
I lean back in my seat and really look at him. Everything about him screams success, but there’s something almost hollow about it. Like he’s built this perfect shell around himself and forgotten there’s supposed to be a person inside.
“That sounds exhausting,” I say softly.
For just a second, his fingers pause around his coffee cup. Then he takes another sip, his movements deliberately controlled.
I decide to give him some space and pull out my phone to scroll through my vacation playlist. Maybe if I put my headphones in, he’ll relax a little. But as I’m reaching into my bag to find them, my elbow knocks against his tray table, jostling it just enough to send his coffee cup sliding toward the edge.
He reaches for it at the same time I do, and black coffee splashes across the front of his white shirt. The movement makes the vein along his forearm stand out as he grabs for the cup.
“Shit,” he mutters, staring down at the spreading dark stain across the pristine fabric.
“Oh God, I’m so sorry!” I scramble for the tiny beverage napkin on my tray, my face burning with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to. I was just reaching for my headphones and?—”
“It’s fine,” he says, but his voice is tight with barely controlled frustration. He’s dabbing at the stain with his own napkin, his movements precise and controlled even when he’s clearly aggravated.
“No, it’s not fine. I’m such a klutz.” I try to help, but he waves me off.
“Don’t worry about it. Just... try to be more careful.”
Try to be more careful. Like I spilled coffee on him on purpose.
I sink back into my seat, feeling about two inches tall. My champagne suddenly tastes flat, and the excitement that’s been bubbling in my chest since I bought my ticket deflates like a punctured balloon.
This is not how I imagined my dream vacation starting.
“I need to clean this up,” he says, standing carefully and heading the few steps toward the restroom.
The flight attendant appears at his empty seat almost immediately with more napkins and a sympathetic smile. “Don’t worry about it, honey. These things happen.”
“I feel terrible,” I mumble, dabbing at the coffee puddle on his tray table. “He already seemed miserable, and now I’ve probably ruined his shirt.”
“I’m sure it’ll be okay,” she says kindly, though her tone suggests she’s not entirely convinced either.
When Alec returns five minutes later, he’s managed to clean most of the coffee off his shirt, but there’s still a large damp patch across the front. The white fabric clings slightly to his chest now, and I have to force myself to look away before I get caught staring.
“I’m really, really sorry,” I say as he settles back into his seat with the careful movements of someone trying very hard to maintain control. “I’ll pay for dry cleaning, or a new shirt, or?—”
“It’s not necessary.” His voice is flat, carefully controlled. “Accidents happen.”
The way he says it doesn’t make me feel any better.
“Right. I’ll just be over here, trying to be more careful. No elbows, no sudden moves. No… personality,” I mutter under my breath.
I spend the next hour trying to be the perfect passenger. I don’t fidget unnecessarily, don’t attempt conversation. I barely even breathe so as not to disturb Alec’s precious personal space. We settle into tense silence, him staring down at his hands with that same brooding expression, me pretending to read a magazine while stealing glances at his perfect profile.
