Chapter One
Sienna
My left kneewon’t stop bouncing. It vibrates like it’s auditioning for a drum solo, rattling the tray table so hard the flight attendant has already side-eyed me twice.
I feel like I’m one rogue twitch away from an official reprimand.
We’re thirty thousand feet above the Pacific Ocean, hurtling toward my twin sister’s destination wedding. And my brain, never one to miss an opportunity for catastrophic thinking, is hosting a TED Talk titled: “All the creative ways this plane could kill me before I even reach the open bar.”
Engine failure. Sudden decompression. Projectile vomiting on the stranger in front of me or vice versa. The pilots passing out and nose-diving us straight into the ocean. The visuals keep coming, vivid and unhelpful.
With a shaky breath, I clamp both hands on the armrests until my knuckles turn white. I try to channel calm as I visualize a serene beach, gentle waves, and cocktails that don’t taste like regret…
It lasts exactly three seconds because seat 14A exists.
The man beside me is stupidly, offensively attractive in that unfair, shouldn’t-be-legal way. Dark hair that looks artfullytousled, even though I’m sure he’s never used the word “artfully” in his life. A sharp jawline shadowed with stubble that twitches whenever he grinds his teeth.
His shoulders stretch the navy button-down he’s wearing in a way that suggests he has a gym membership he actually uses—unlike certain people who treat their Peloton like an expensive clothing rack.Totally not talking about me.
He’s typing on his laptop with the grim determination of someone who believes deadlines can be outrun if you just glare hard enough.
I’m dying to lean over and tell him we’re flying toward turquoise water and bottomless cocktails, and to put the damn laptop down and stop worrying about real life.
But I don’t.
Mostly because every time my traitorous thigh clips the shared armrest, he lets out a martyred sigh that makes me want to apologize profuselyandelbow him in the ribs.
The silence stretches as my knee keeps tap-dancing, and his sighs grow louder.
I can’t take it anymore.
Leaning into his personal space, I lower my voice. “You do realize this is a flight to paradise, right? Not a hostage negotiation with your laptop.”
He doesn’t lift his eyes from the screen, but his fingers pause on the keys. “Some of us have responsibilities that don’t evaporate the second we hit cruising altitude.”
“Responsibilities,” I echo, lips twitching. “Adorable. Let me guess—you alphabetize your spice rackandbring color-coded spreadsheets to bed?”
That finally earns me a look. Cool gray eyes flick over me like I’m a mildly diverting insect that wandered onto his keyboard. “And you… what? Just wing it and hope for the best?”
“Winging it is myentirepersonality,” I say with a charming smile. “I’m Sienna. And you are…?”
He closes the laptop halfway, reluctantly, like he’s granting me the bare minimum of attention. “Milo. And no, I’m not switching seats.”
“Didn’t ask,” I scoff lightly. “I’m perfectly happy right here, enjoying the front-row seat to your quiet suffering. It’s weirdly… meditative, like watching a volcano pretend to be a mountain.”
He snorts. It’s the tiniest sound, barely audible over the engine’s hum, but it’s there. “Well, aren’t you a delight?”
“I try so hard.” I press a mocking hand to my chest, lashes fluttering.
Which is, naturally, the exact moment the plane decides to yeet itself fifty feet downward in half a second.
The water bottle I’ve been clutching for the past hour launches itself and lands with devastating accuracy… right in the center of his lap. Clear liquid blooms across the front of his pants in a perfect, damning circle.
I stare in abject horror.
Hestares in abject horror.
Do not look at the wet spot, Sienna.
