Saint Louis
November 2011
“Fifteen A. Fifteen A,” I muttered, scanning the seat numbers as I muddled my way down the crowded aisle of the commuter plane, my carry-on slipping through my clammy hands with every step. Spotting my row, I sighed in relief that the overhead compartment was still empty, then cursed as I realized A was a window seat.
My stomach twisted into a knot. Had I really booked myself by the window? Where I could see every potential disaster coming our way?
Hold up. There was already a guy sitting in the window seat, his head down, only the Saint Louis Blues emblem visible on his hat. Maybe I’d read my ticket wrong.
I made it to my row, stood on my tiptoes, and shoved my carry-on up as far as my arms would extend, aiming for the overhead bin. It made contact with the edge, but the only prayer I had of getting it all the way in was to climb on the seat . . . or grow another six inches.
My hands slipped, and the bright-purple suitcase plummeted toward my face. Before I had time to gasp, a massive hand caught my unruly luggage, stopping it a few inches from my nose.
Holy crap.
“That was close,” a deep voice noted from behind my carry-on. “How about I help you with that?”
“Yes, please,” I answered, scrambling to adjust my hold.
I saw the Blues hat first as the guy somehow managed to twist his body, rise fully to his feet, step into the aisle, and balance my suitcase all in
one smooth motion. Impressive.
“Here we go.” He slid the carry-on into the overhead with ease. “Thanks. I was pretty sure it was going to take me out there for a
second.” I smiled, turning my head slightly to look up—and up—at him.
Whuh. He was . . . hot. Like, pull-the-fire-alarm, jaw-dropping levels of hotness. A fine layer of dark scruff covered a square jawline. Even the cut and the purplish bruise that split the right half of his lower lip didn’t detract from his face, because his eyes . . . wow. Just . . . wow. Those crystalline baby blues stole every word out of my head.
And now I was staring, and not the cute, flirty glances Serena would have given him while shamelessly asking for his number and inevitably getting it. No, this was open-mouthed awkward staring that I couldn’t seem to stop.
Close your mouth.
Nope, still staring. Staring. Staring.
“Me too,” he said, a corner of his mouth lifting slightly. I blinked. “Me too,” what? “I’m sorry?”
His brow knit in confusion. “Me too,” he repeated. “I thought that thing was going to smash you in the face.”
“Right.” I tucked my hair behind my ears, only to remember that I’d pulled it up into a messy bun and therefore had no hair to tuck, which just continued my awkward streak. Awesome. And now my face was on fire, which meant I’d probably turned ten shades of red.
He slid back into his seat, and I realized our exchange had blocked the rest of the flight from boarding.
“Sorry,” I muttered to the next passenger, and ducked into fifteen B. “Funny thing, I could have sworn my ticket said I was in the window.” I lifted the strap of my purse over my head, then unzipped my jacket and wiggled the least amount possible to get out of the thing. At this rate, I’d probably jab Blue Eyes with my elbow and make an even bigger ass of myself.
“Oh shit.” His head swung toward mine, and he winced. “I traded seats with a woman up in seven A so she could sit next to her kid. I bet I took yours by accident.” He reached down for an army-green backpack under the seat in front of him, his shoulders so wide that they brushed my left knee as he leaned forward. “Let’s switch.”
“No!” I blurted.
He stilled, then turned his head slowly to look up at me. “No?”
“I mean, I hate the window. I’m actually really freaked out by flying, so it works better this way.” Crap, I was babbling. “Unless you want the aisle?” I held my breath with hope that he wouldn’t.
He sat back up and shook his head. “No, I’m good here. Freaked out by flying, huh?” There was no mockery in his tone.
“Yep.” Relief sagged my shoulders, and I folded up my jacket, then squished it under the seat in front of me with my purse.
“Why?” he asked. “If you don’t mind me asking?”
My cheeks turned up the heat a notch. “I’ve always been afraid of flying. There’s something about it that just . . .” I shook my head. “I mean statistically, we’re fine. The incident rate last year was one in 1.3 million, which was up from the year before, when it was one in 1.5 million. But, when you think about how many flights there are, I guess that’s not as bad as driving, since your odds of crashing are one in 103, but still, 828 people died last year, and I don’t want to be one of the 828.” You’re babbling again. I pressed my lips between my teeth and prayed my brain would cut it out.
“Huh.” Two lines appeared between his eyebrows. “Never thought of it that way.”
“I bet flying doesn’t scare you, does it?” This guy looked like nothing in the world scared him.
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never flown before, but now that you went over the stats, I’m questioning my choices.”
“Oh God. I’m so sorry.” My hands flew to cover my mouth. “I babble when I get nervous. And I have ADHD. And I didn’t take my medication this morning because I put it out on the counter next to my orange juice, but then Serena drank the juice, and I got sidetracked pouring more, and that pill is probably still sitting there—” I cringed, slamming my eyes shut. A deep breath later, I opened them and found him watching me with raised eyebrows. “Sorry. Add in the fact that I overthink just about everything, and here we are. Babbling.”
A small smile crept across his face. “Don’t worry about it. So why get on a plane at all?” He adjusted the airflow above his head, then shoved the black sleeves of his henley up his tan forearms. The guy was built. If his forearms looked like that, I couldn’t help but wonder if the rest of his body followed suit.
“Thanksgiving.” I shrugged. “My parents went on one of those around-the-world cruises after dropping me off for freshman year, and my older sister, Serena, is a junior here at Wash U—she’s studying journalism. Since I’m all the way up at Syracuse, flying made the most sense since we wanted to spend the holiday together. You?”
“I’m headed to basic training at Fort Benning. I’m Nathaniel Phelan, by the way. My friends call me Nate.” The stream of passengers down the aisle had trickled to just the hurried latecomers.
“Hi, Nate. I’m Izzy.” I reached out my hand and he took it. “Izzy Astor.” Not sure how I managed to say my full name when every ounce of my concentration was on the feel of his calloused hand engulfing mine, and the flutter that erupted in my stomach at the warmth of his touch.
I wasn’t one of those people who believed in jolts of electricity at first touch like all the romance novels, but here I was, jolted to my core. His eyes flared slightly, like he’d felt it too. It wasn’t a shock as much as an almost indescribable, sizzling feeling of awareness . . . connection, like the satisfying click of the final puzzle piece.
Serena would have called it fate, but she was a hopeless romantic. I called it attraction.
“Nice to meet you, Izzy.” He shook my hand slowly, then let go even slower, his fingers waking up every nerve ending in my palm as they fell away. “I’m guessing that’s short for Isabelle?”
“Actually, it’s Isabeau.” I busied myself fastening my buckle and tightening my belt across my hips.
“Isabeau,” he repeated, buckling his own.
“Yep. My mom had a thing for Ladyhawke.” The aisle was finally empty. Guess we had everyone aboard.
“What’s Ladyhawke?” Nate questioned, his brow furrowing slightly. “It’s this eighties movie where a couple pisses off an evil medieval
bishop because they love each other so much. The bishop wants the girl, but she’s in love with Navarre, so the bishop curses them. Navarre becomes a wolf during the night, and she turns into a hawk during the day, so they only catch a glimpse of the other when the sun rises and sets. Isabeau is the girl
—the hawk.” Stop babbling! God, why was I like this? “That sounds . . . tragic.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Transcontinental Airlines Flight 826,” the flight attendant said over the PA system.
“Not completely tragic. They break the curse, so it has a happy ending.” I leaned forward and managed to get my cell phone out of my purse without taking the entire bag out.
Two missed text messages from Serena lit up my screen.
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The messages were fifteen minutes apart.
“If you haven’t already done so, please stow your carry-on luggage in an overhead bin or the seat in front of you. Please take your seat and fasten your seat belt,” the flight attendant continued, her voice chipper but professional.
I tapped out a text to my sister.
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Smiling, I shook my head. I was the only thing Serena worried about.
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I wasn’t that bad.
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The announcement continued. “If you’re seated next to an emergency exit, please read the special instructions card located in the seat back in
front of you. If you do not wish to perform the functions described in the event of an emergency, please ask a flight attendant to reseat you.”
I glanced up. “That’s us,” I said to Nate. “We’re in an exit row.”
He looked at the markings on the door, then reached forward for the safety card while the attendant informed the cabin that it was a nonsmoking flight. Had to admit, that only made him cuter.
Nate read while the attendant finished out her announcements and closed the door. My heart rate spiked, the anxiety hitting me right on time. I fumbled with my phone and checked my Instagram and Twitter, then put my device on airplane mode, slipped it into the front pocket of my vest, and zipped the pocket. When my throat went tight, I adjusted the air above me, putting it on max.
Nate put the safety card back into the seat in front of him and settled in, watching what activity there was to see on the ground. The fog was dense this morning, already delaying us twenty minutes.
“Don’t forget your phone,” I said just before the attendant said the same over the intercom. “It has to be on airplane mode.”
“Don’t have a phone, so I’m good there.” He flashed me a smile, then winced, running his tongue over the split in his lip.
“What happened there?” I motioned to my own lip. “If you don’t mind
me asking this time.”
His smile fell. “I had a slight disagreement with someone. It’s a long story.” He reached for the seat in front of him and took out a paperback from the pocket—Into Thin Air, by Jon Krakauer.
He was a reader? This guy just kept getting hotter.
I took the hint and retrieved my own book out of my purse, flipping to the bookmark in the middle of chapter eleven of Jennifer L. Armentrout’s Half-Blood.
“Flight attendants, please prepare for gate departure,” a deeper voice said over the PA.
“Is that any good?” Nate asked as the plane backed out of the gate.
“I love it. Though it looks like you might be more of a nonfiction kind of guy.” I nodded toward his reading choice. “How’s that one?” He looked to be about halfway through.
The plane turned to the right and rolled forward, and I took a breath in through my nose and pushed it out through my mouth.
“It’s good. Really good. I found it on this list of a hundred books you’re supposed to read by the time you’re thirty or something. I’m just working my way down the list.” He glanced over at me, and his brow puckered. “You doing okay?”
“Yep,” I answered as my stomach cartwheeled. “Did you know that the most dangerous times in flying are the first three minutes after takeoff and the last eight minutes before landing?”
“I didn’t.”
I swallowed. Hard. “I used to take sedatives. Prescribed by my doctor, of course. I’m not into the illegal stuff. Not that it’s bad if you are.” I cringed at my own words. Why the hell was my brain my own worst enemy?
“Not my thing. Why don’t you take the sedatives anymore?” He shut his book.
“They knock me out, and I almost missed my connection in Philly once. The flight attendant had to shake me awake, and then it was a full-out run to my gate. The door was already shut and everything, but they let me on. So, no more sedatives.”
The plane turned into a line of other planes, readying to taxi. Stop looking out the window. You know that makes it worse.
“Makes sense.” He cleared his throat. “So what are you studying up at Syracuse?” His obvious attempt to distract me made the corners of my mouth curve upward.
“Public relations.” I fought back a laugh. “I’m usually pretty good with people, until you stick me on a plane.”
“I think you’re doing just fine.” He grinned, and God help me, a dimple popped in his right cheek.
“What about you? Why go into the army? Why not go to college?” I shut my own book, leaving it in my lap.
“Wasn’t exactly an option. My grades were good, but not good enough to get a scholarship, and there isn’t enough money for cable, let alone college. Honestly, my parents needed my help. They own a small farm just south of Shipman, Illinois.” He looked away. “It’s my mom’s farm, really. My grandfather left it to her. Anyway, the army will pay for college, so off I go.”
I nodded, but I wasn’t foolish enough to think I understood. It was the complete opposite of the way I’d grown up, where the question had been
where I was going for undergrad and not if. Mom and Dad jokingly called my tuition a parentship, since they were paying for my education. I’d never had to struggle with the kind of choice Nate was making. “And what do you want to do once you graduate?”
His brow knit. “I haven’t gotten that far yet. Maybe teach. I like English. Something with literature. But maybe I’ll like the army. Special Forces seems pretty awesome too.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. First off, I’d like to welcome you all aboard flight 826 with nonstop service to Atlanta. You may have noticed, but there’s a rather thick layer of fog that’s slowing everyone down this morning, and it looks like we’re twenty-second in line for takeoff, which means it’s going to be about forty minutes or longer before we’re in the air.”
A collective groan sounded from the passengers around us, me included. Forty minutes wouldn’t keep me from my connection to Syracuse, but it would make it tight.
“The good news is that the weather looks good once we break free of this fog, so we’ll try and make up the time in the air. Bear with us, folks, and thanks for flying with us.”
There was a series of pings around us as people pressed their call buttons, no doubt stressed about their own connections.
“Are you connecting in Atlanta?” I asked Nate.
“Yeah, to Columbus, but I have a few hours before that one.” He thumbed the split in his lip and shifted in his seat.
“I have some antibiotic ointment in my purse,” I offered. “Tylenol, too, if it hurts.”
His eyebrows rose. “You keep a first aid kit in your purse?”
My cheeks heated again. “Just the essentials. You never know when you’re going to get stuck on the tarmac with a stranger who has a long story about a split lip.” I smiled slowly.
His laughter was soft, barely discernible. “I’ll be okay. I’ve had worse.”
“That’s not reassuring.” Huh. There was a slight bump in his nose, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d broken it at one point.
He laughed louder this time. “Trust me. It will be okay.” “That must have been some disagreement.”
“Usually is.” He fell quiet, and my chest tightened at the realization that I’d poked where I had no business poking. Again.
“So, what else have you read off your one hundred must-read books?” I asked.
“Hmm.” He glanced upward, like he was thinking. “The Outsiders, by
—”
“S. E. Hinton,” I finished. Shit, I interrupted him. “Go figure. I’m
pretty sure they hand that out to every prospective bad boy their freshman year of high school.” I couldn’t stop my smile.
“Hey now—” He drew back like he was wounded. “What about this”—he motioned down his frame—“says that I’m a bad boy? I grew up on a farm.”
I laughed, forgetting that we were moving steadily forward through the takeoff line. “That body? That face? That cut on your lip? Those scraped-up knuckles?” I glanced at where his sleeve met his arm, noting the swirls of black ink. “Oh, and tattoos? Quintessential bad boy material right there. I bet you left a plethora of broken hearts in your wake.”
“Who says plethora in a normal conversation?” His smile only made mine bigger. Bad boy or not, I knew Nate’s smile must have dropped its share of panties, because if we weren’t on this plane, I might have considered my first one-night stand. “I’ll tell you who. Good little college girls.”
“Guilty as charged.” I lifted my brows at him. “You even have the hot, broody reading vibe down. Very Jess Mariano of you.”
“Jess who?” He blinked in confusion.
“Jess Mariano,” I managed. Those eyes were going to be the death of me. The shade reminded me of the Ice Lakes up by Silverton, not quite glacial. More like aqua. “You know, from Gilmore Girls.”
“Never seen it.” He shook his head.
“Well, if you ever do, just remember that you’re pretty much Jess, just
. . . taller and hotter.” I slammed my lips shut.
“Hotter, huh?” he teased with a knowing look that sent my body temperature up another degree or two.
“Just forget I said that.” I ripped my mortified gaze from his and unzipped my vest. How hot was it in here? “What else is on your reading list?”
His eyes narrowed just slightly, but he went along with the subject change. “I’ve already read Fahrenheit 451, Lord of the Flies, Last of the Mohicans—”
“Now that is a good movie.” I sighed. “The way he tells her that he’ll find her right before he jumps through the waterfall? Amazing. Total romance material.”
“Watching the movie doesn’t count!” He shook his head, chuckling. “And it’s not a romance. It’s an adventure with a little love story mixed in, but not a romance.”
“How can you say it’s not a romance?”
“Because the book is a little different from the movie.” He shrugged. “Different like how?”
“You really want to know?”
“Yes!” I loved that movie. It was my go-to for a broken-heart ice cream session.
“Cora dies.”
My jaw dropped.
Nate winced. “I mean, you asked.”
“Well, now I’m sure as hell never reading it. I’ll just stick to the movie,” I muttered as we moved forward in line. Glancing out the window wasn’t helping me either. The visibility was utter crap.
Minutes sped by as we compared a few of the other books on his list. Some of them, like The Great Gatsby, I’d read in high school, but others, like Band of Brothers, I hadn’t.
“Okay, so what would be on your one hundred books list?” he asked. “Good question.” I tilted my head in thought as we continued rolling
along. “Pride and Prejudice, for sure. Then East of Eden—” “Oh man, I had enough Steinbeck after Grapes of Wrath.”
“East of Eden is way better.” I nodded as if my opinion made it fact. “What else? The Handmaid’s Tale, and The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks was really good too—oh, have you read The Hunger Games yet? The third book just came out last year, and it’s amazing.”
“I haven’t. I just finished The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn before I picked this one up.” He glanced down at his book. “Maybe I should look at a more modern list.”
“Hey, Huck Finn is great. Nothing like sailing down the Mississippi.”
“It was good,” he agreed. “I won’t have any reading time while I’m in basic, but I packed a couple of books just in case,” he mused quietly. “A friend of mine who went through last year told me they take pretty much everything when you sign in, but I put my iPod in a labeled ziplock bag just in case.”
“How old—” I pressed my lips together before the rest of that question could come out. It was none of my business how old he was, though he looked about my age.
“How old am I?” he finished. I nodded.
“Just turned nineteen last month. You?”
“Eighteen until March. I’m only a freshman.” I ran my thumb over the edge of my book to keep my hands busy. “Aren’t you . . . nervous?”
“About flying?” His brow furrowed slightly.
“No, about going into the army. There are a couple of wars going on.” Margo—my roommate—lost her oldest brother in Iraq a couple of years ago, but I wasn’t about to say that.
Spray hit the wings as we went through the deicing process.
“Yeah, I heard something about those.” Again with the dimple. He took a deep breath and looked forward as if considering his answer. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t consider the whole death-and-dying thing. But the way I see it, there are all kinds of wars. Some are just more visible than others. It won’t exactly be the first time someone has swung for me, and at least this time I’ll be armed. Besides, the risk is worth the reward from where I’m sitting. Think about it—if you hadn’t gotten on this plane, we never would have met. Risk and reward, right?” He glanced my way, and our eyes locked and held.
Suddenly, my wish to be off this plane had nothing to do with my fear of flying and everything to do with Nathaniel. If we’d met on campus, or even back home in Denver, this conversation wouldn’t have to end in a couple of hours when we reached Atlanta.
Then again, if we’d been on campus or in Denver, who knew if we would have had it in the first place. I didn’t exactly make a habit of chatting up hot guys. I left that up to Margo. The quiet, accessible ones were usually more my type.
“I could send you books,” I offered quietly. “If you’re allowed to read and don’t have enough while you’re there.”
“You would do that?” His eyes widened with surprise.
I nodded, and the smile he answered with sent my pulse skyrocketing. “Flight attendants, prepare for takeoff,” the pilot said over the PA
system.
Guess it was our turn.
The attendant closest to us told someone a few rows ahead to put their tray table up, then strode for his seat, buckling in to face us.
I gripped both armrests as the engines revved and we hurtled forward, the momentum pushing me back into my seat. The fog had lightened just enough to see the edge of the runway as we raced past. I squeezed my eyes shut and took a steadying breath before opening them.
Nate looked my way, then stuck his hand out, offering it palm up.
“I’m okay,” I said through gritted teeth, trying to remember to breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth.
“Take it. I won’t bite.”
Screw it.
I grasped his hand, and he laced our fingers together, warmth infusing my clammy, ice-cold skin.
“Go ahead and squeeze. You can’t break me.”
“You might regret it.” I white-knuckled his hand, my breaths coming faster and faster as we sped toward takeoff.
“I somehow doubt that.” His thumb stroked over mine. “Three minutes. Right? The first three minutes after takeoff?”
“Yep.”
He crossed his left wrist to our joined hands and pushed a few buttons, starting his stopwatch. “There. When it reaches three minutes, you can relax until we land.”
“You’re really too sweet.” The tires rumbled and the plane shimmied beneath us as we accelerated. I squeezed his hand so hard I probably cut off his blood supply, but I was too busy trying to breathe to feel an adequate amount of embarrassment.
“I’ve been called a lot of things, but sweet hasn’t ever been one of them,” he answered with a squeeze as we lifted off.
“Ask me something,” I blurted as every worst-case scenario flashed through my mind. “Anything.” My pulse skyrocketed.
“Okay.” His brow furrowed in thought. “Did you ever notice that pine trees sway?”
“What?”
“Pine trees.” He checked his watch. “People always talk about palm trees swaying, but pine trees do too. It’s the most peaceful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Pine trees,” I mused. “I’ve never noticed.” “Yep. What’s your favorite movie?”
“Titanic,” I answered automatically.
The plane pitched upward, dropping my stomach as we angled into a steep climb.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.” I nodded quickly. “I mean, there was totally room on the door, but I loved the rest of it.”
He laughed softly and shook his head. “Two minutes to go.”
“Two minutes,” I repeated, willing my breaths to slow and the knot to untangle itself from my throat. The odds of being in a plane crash were so minuscule, and yet here I was, clutched on to a gorgeous stranger who probably thought I was a few crayons short of a box.
“What’s your favorite time of day?” he asked. “Hey, I’m just distracting you.”
“Sunset,” I said. “You?”
“Sunrise. I like the possibilities of the day.”
He glanced into the sea of gray that filled the window, and I leaned forward to chance a peek. I could see the edge of the wing through the thick fog, but everything else was still murky. Maybe it wasn’t so bad if I couldn’t see the ground.
The engines whined at a higher pitch. “What the—” Nate started.
The sound of metal on metal stilled my heart. The wing exploded in a ball of fire.
