“Wow.” Her eyelashes flutter rapidly. “It didn’t clue you in after the second time that you couldn’t get a proposal in for a reason?”
I snort, then shake my head. “Her parents decided to go on a last-minute trip to Austria, for the first one, and she wanted to go. The second time around, she canceled on our plans because her friends got tickets for this one artist she always wanted to see.” I pause. “With the last one, I realized I didn’t want to propose to her?—”
“Ouch.”
“—because we had been fighting for months,” I continue, “over my job, my friends, everything. It felt like I wasn’t good enough for her—as if I couldn’t do anything without messing up somehow.”
“Oh.” Her hand gently touches my wrist, sympathy filling her wide brown eyes. “In that case, I’m glad it didn’t work out.” I don’t miss the fact that her fingertips are tracing the inside of my forearm when another sunny smile graces her plump lips. “Trust me. I’ve been there—the wholecouldn’t do anything right. My younger sister even popped a bottle of champagne when we called it quits.”
“Wow.” A rough laugh escapes me. “My sister came by that night to pack up her things for her.” I pause. “It’s more impressive when you factor in that she borrowed her ex’s car and drove fifty miles just to help me out.”
“Oh, that’s sweet,” she says. “I’m glad you and your sister are close. My ex never got along with his brother—which should have been a red flag. He was always bad-mouthing him, and,like, if he could trash his family tothatlevel, who’s to say he wasn’t talking shit about me behind my back?”
I wince. “Tell me you guys weren’t together for that long.”
The lines of her face shift into something bashful, and she lets out a creaky laugh that’s bordering on a cough. “Um, is seven years not that long?”
“My God. By that point, it’s on you,” I tease, and she rolls her eyes good-naturedly.
“We started dating in college, and he’s, like, the only guy I’ve ever been serious with.For that long,” she explains. “It’s up there as one of the dumbest things I’ve ever done, like the time I fucked up my knee.” She removes her hand from my wrist and pats her right thigh. “Lesson learned. Donotshow off while diving.”
Her eyes glitter with mischief, and already, I can imagine her grabbing hold of my hand and daring me to jump off of the plane with her. No parachutes, no caution, nothing but promises of a good time with just a vibrant smile.
If I were ten years younger, I’d have been the type to follow her around like a lovesick puppy; no objection in mind. I hate to admit it, but back then, I was more reckless and impulsive than I am now.
“Christ. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. That happened in high school,” she says, beaming something brighter than the sun. “I mean, I was bummed I couldn’t play softball anymore, but it’s for the best. Everything would have been different if I’d never gotten injured. I would have continued it in college and never had the time to do my salt pond research.” She pauses. “Do you ever think of how life could have been so different if something had worked out for you?”
“Dream job aside?” I say, and she snickers. “I’m thankful the band I was in never made it.”
Her mouth falls ajar. “You were in a band?”
“And orchestra.” I spare her a shrug, then chuckle when she pokes me in the elbow. “I was in agarageband in high school—played the bass.” Hitching my shoulder, I tack on, “It was an emo-grunge cover band.”
“You were in a band?” she repeats.
“It wasn’t good. I only did it as a favor for my friend, because they couldn’t find a bassist. I was terrible with the bass guitar.”
“It’s such a shame I’m not seated next to a rockstar on this flight,” she teases. “If only things had worked out for you.”
“Well, I think they worked out just fine. I wouldn’t be flirting with you if things had worked out with my ex.”
“This?” She cocks her head. “This is what you call flirting?”
“No, this is me genuinely trying to get to know you,” I explain. “You’d know if I was actually flirting with you.”
“You’d be a lot more flustered?” She grins. “Stammering? Tongue-tied?”
“Surely you could put my tongue to better use than having it all tied up,” I say, and she expels a soft snort while she playfully swats at my bicep.
“That was the corniest thing I’ve ever heard,” she says. “And I’ve heard many corny things from you today.”
I flash her an innocent grin, something that causes her to dissolve into giggles a few moments later. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She gently smacks my arm again, her fingers lingering on the material of my sleeve. “Lucky for you, I like dorky guys,” she says. “I’ll take them over bad pick-up artists, any day.”
“First, you think I’m corny. Now, you think I’m dorky?”
