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“Rough day?”
Opening one eye, I turned slightly to see a very handsome man sitting in the window seat. He looked a few years older than me, with sandy-brown hair and ocean-blue eyes that instantly took my breath away.
With a sigh, I smiled. “It’s been a long flying day.” Glancing down, I saw the drink in his hand. “Looks like it’s been for you as well?”
He lifted the drink. “I’ve already had three beers while waiting for my flight.”
I nodded.
“Where are you coming from?” he asked, a southern drawl to his voice.
“Paris.”
He raised his brows. “I would think your layover would have been in New York City, not Dallas.”
“Oh, it should have been, but the airlines had to change around my flights because of the storms. So here I am, in Dallas, trying to make my way to Montana.”
“Wow. That is a long travel day for you.”
I laughed. “Tell me about it. Paris to New York. Then Atlanta and then Dallas. Montana is my last stop.” I rolled my eyes. “And if that isn’t enough, it’s family dinner night.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
With a shake of my head, I answered, “No, not at all. On a typical Sunday, family dinner night would be wonderful. It’s just after the long flights and jet lag, I’ll be exhausted and want to crawl into a bed and sleep for twelve hours. Instead, I’ll be chatting it up with my parents, brother, and his girlfriend, Mackenzie.”
“Do you not like Mackenzie?”
“I adore her,” I said with a smile. “She’s made my brother so happy, and that makes me happy.”
He saluted with his drink. “That’s a good thing, then.”
I laughed and nodded. “Where are you coming from?”
He pointed to the floor of the plane. “Born and raised right here in Dallas, Texas.”
Before I could ask him anything else, the flight attendant asked if either of us wanted something to drink. The stranger held up his empty glass, while I politely declined. I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text to the family group chat.
Me: Hey! I’m on my final flight and will be there soon.
Mom: Bradly and Mackenzie will be there to get you!
Bradly: Is that today? I thought that was tomorrow.
I rolled my eyes and chuckled.
Me: As if Mackenzie would let you forget to pick up your sister. She’s good for you.
Bradly: She is, indeed. We’ll be there. Love you, sis. Have a safe flight.
Dad: Safe flight, baby girl. We’re so glad you’re finally home to stay!
Mom: So thrilled! I love you. Safe flight.
Me: Love you all back. Gotta go, pulling back from the gate. See you in a few!
Glancing to my right, I saw the handsome stranger looking out the window. The captain came on and announced we were clear for takeoff…and my seatmate gripped the armrest. Was he afraid of flying?
“Sometimes if you talk during the takeoff, it doesn’t seem so bad,” I said as I leaned closer to him.
He snapped his head around and stared at me. “I hate flying. I mean, I think I hate it, I’ve actually never flown anywhere.”
Giving him a sympathetic smile, I said, “Just take some deep breaths.”
He dropped his head back and closed his eyes as we raced down the runway.
He looked as if he was about to get sick. I reached for his hand on instinct, then thought he would break my fingers with how hard he was squeezing.
“There was this one time I walked down a runway in a Stella McCartney dress. The Princess of Spain was in the audience, and so was Lady Gaga.”
He turned his head and stared at me like I had turned purple.
“I was so nervous that I was going to slip and fall, or the back of my dress would get caught in my panties, or something equally mortifying. When I spotted Lady Gaga sitting in the front row, I thought for sure I was going to throw up right there on her.”
His head tilted in the most adorable way. “You’re a model?”
“Was. I was a model. Anyway, she looked right at me and smiled! The most genuine of smiles that anyone has ever given me. I was instantly put at ease, and I walked that runway like I owned the son-of-a-bitch. I’m shorter than most models, and when I got picked by Stella to wear that particular design, a lot of them were pissed. I was convinced they were going to sabotage me in some way.”
He looked shocked. “Would they do that?”
Shrugging, I replied, “I wouldn’t put anything past a bunch of competing women. And models can be vicious. Fashion used to be my dream. I moved to France when I was fifteen, and the first year was like a fantasy, until I realized I wasn’t cut out for that world.”
“Why not?” he asked, letting my poor hand go.
