Someone taps my shoulder after we’ve taken off and the seat belt sign has turned off. I look up to see a stranger towering over me. I remove my headphones, panicking about whether I should recognize them or if I’ve done something wrong without realizing.
“Yes?”
“I’m sitting next to your friend back there, and he thought you might want to sit together,” she tells me with a warm smile. “I would actually prefer the aisle seat, so it doesn’t bother me at all to swap.”
She nods down to Jamie and as I swivel in my seat to glare at him, he gives me a big wave and mouths, “Come on!”
I admit that Jamie is growing on me—and his insistence that I try that olive oil at the Swill Awards really helped get me out of a creative rut at work. But I also carefully selected and paid for this seat. Not to mention, I’ve got my stuff all settled here now, and my case is right above my head so it’ll be easy to access when we land.
But I don’t want to appear rude to this kind stranger who has gone to the hassle of giving up her seat for mine—or rude to Jamie, who has arranged with said stranger for us to sit together—so I unbuckle my seat belt, gather my things, and slide out of my row, thanking her.
“Well, hey there,” Jamie says, greeting me as I slump down into the seat next to him. “How have you been? I couldn’t find you after the Swill Awards.”
“I had to leave after the ceremony, but was the rest of the night good?” I ask, clipping in my seat belt and stuffing my headphones in my bag between my feet.
“Yeah, it was. Although I was disappointed not to carry on our conversation. We had a lot to talk about and we didn’t get the chance in that brief meeting before.”
“You wanted to talk more about the olive oil?”
“Sure, but also we haven’t gone over that night when we stole stuff. That makes us officially friends, you know.”
“Would you keep your voice down?” I hiss, as the person in the window seat shifts uncomfortably while pretending to read a magazine. “We did not steal anything. We borrowed a traffic cone drunkenly and I returned it almost straightaway.”
Looking amused at my reaction, Jamie lowers his tray in preparation as he sees the drinks and snacks cart making its way down the plane. He then tends to mine. “You also haven’t told me what happened with Matthew at the wedding.”
I gasp, staring at him. “How do you know I saw Matthew at a wedding?”
“You told me at the sten that you would see him soon at the wedding in France.”
“I… I did?”
Why do I keep telling people things and then forgetting?! I have never been open about anything, but now apparently I’m a blathering idiot, telling Dad about Jamie, telling Jamie about Matthew…
This breakup has made me careless.
“You said how nervous you were about seeing him at the wedding coming up, and I was like all ‘You’ve got this’ and then you were like ‘What if I’m not strong enough to handle it,’ and I was like ‘I can tell you are.’ Don’t you remember this conversation? It was so meaningful and candid,” he chuckles.
“Uh-oh.” I shake my head. “I must have been a lot drunker than you were.”
“Don’t worry, you didn’t say anything weird. It was a nice conversation. A real step in our friendship,” he teases. He beams up at the air steward offering drinks. “I will have a Coke with ice, please, and I think my friend here favors single malts or a pornstar martini in a can if you have those?”
“Very funny,” I say, before turning to the very confused air steward. “I’ll just have a Coke too, please.”
“Two Cokes,” Jamie confirms, getting his card out from his wallet and stopping me as I reach for my bag. “I’ll get these.”
When he puts his warm hand on my bare arm, I flinch, but not in a bad way. It’s like a jolt of electricity runs right up my arm at his touch. I know that sounds so ridiculous, but that warm hand of his really made me shudder.
It’s different from the drunken excitement I felt when Gabriel showed interest in me. More nerve-racking somehow.
Oh no. I can’t fancy Jamie. It’s too confusing.
Firstly, he knows people who know Matthew, which means Matthew might find out and then hate me.
Secondly, I won’t allow myself to fancy someone with such horrendous timekeeping skills.
And thirdly, I don’t remember much of our drunken conversations in Leeds, but I’m almost certain I recall him insulting Taylor Swift’s lyrics.
That sort of thing just won’t fly with me.
