3
Reagan placed the pink bakery box in the overhead bin and slid into her window seat. Three hours. She just needed to survive the next three hours on the plane. As she cinched the seatbelt tight around her middle, she craned her neck to try to catch a glimpse of Zach. He’d disappeared after paying the bill at the bar and she hadn’t seen him waiting to board. Thank God.
She dabbed a bit of the Calm Blend essential oils she’d picked up at the co-op onto her pulse points. Anything to take the edge off. Another one of those mind-numbing mojitos would probably do the trick. But she hadn’t wanted to over-indulge and make a fool out of herself in front of Zach or anyone else who might have been watching and waiting for a public misstep.
The re-circulated air inside the cabin weighed heavy with the stale body odor of too many passengers. Like cattle, they pressed against each other, shuffling down the aisle to cram themselves into the narrow rows of seats. Too many people in too small a space.
She folded her hands across her belly and dug in, trying to break up the hordes of butterflies beating their wings against the insides of her digestive tract. Closing her eyes, she focused on Zach, letting their encounter replay through her head and distract her from the fact she would soon be at the mercy of a complete stranger’s ability to keep them airborne.
Someone plopped into the seat next to her, and she opened her eyes. A man’s meaty paw lifted the armrest between them, and his thigh claimed a quarter of her seat cushion. She scooted toward the window, but he must have taken that as a sign that she was making more room and shifted closer. Her claustrophobia kicked into high gear and the combination of stale air and limited room to move around became suffocating. Her lungs fought to take in a deep breath.
Beads of sweat rolled down the man’s face and he swiped them away with a discolored white handkerchief. Oh no. Her stomach roiled.
“Hey, do you mind switching seats with me?” Zach stood in the aisle and addressed the hulk next to her. “My friend and I weren’t able to sit together.”
Hulk grunted. “I like the aisle.”
Zach shoved his boarding pass in the guy’s face. “An aisle for an aisle.” He leaned toward the guy and lowered his voice. “And it’s in first class. You don’t mind, do you?”
Reagan wouldn’t have thought someone of Hulk’s size could move so fast. He scrambled out of his seat, grabbed the boarding pass and his coat from the overhead bin, and pushed past Zach to the front of the plane. Her lungs expanded as she took in a full breath. The comforting scent that always seemed to surround Zach filled her nostrils, and she relaxed against the seat.
He’d changed since high school. His shoulders seemed wider. Tattoos trailed up his arms, disappearing into the sleeves of his shirt. Scruff across the lower half of his face was darker and thicker. She wasn’t usually a fan of longer hair on guys, but the shoulder-length Johnny Depp look worked for him. And she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the small mark slashing through his upper lip. The new scar lent a dangerous edge to his face.
“This okay?” Zach slid into the seat next to her.
“You really gave up a seat in first class for me?”
He shrugged. “They upgraded me at the last minute because I have so many miles. Besides, I had to collect on that drink.”
She couldn’t keep the edges of her lips from quirking up if she’d wanted to. Closing her eyes, she breathed in her fill of him. “I’ll be fine after we take off. Ignore me until we reach cruising altitude.”
“Fear of flying?”
Her eyes blinked open. “I haven’t always been so bad. When I was younger, and my dad was making his initial bid for a seat in the Senate, we had to visit a lot of tiny towns and airports. I remember during one campaign trip, a summer storm batted our little prop plane around like a piece of air-popped popcorn.”
“That doesn’t sound like fun.”
“It wasn’t. The pilot did all he could to maintain control, but by the time we landed, we bounced along the runway and slid to a stop, inches from a pasture of cows.”
“I take it those weren’t the kind of constituents your dad intended on impressing?”
“Uh, not even close.” Reagan shrugged. “Since then, if I have to travel, I’ll drive, take a train, and, as a last resort, fly—preferably on a giant, jumbo, commercial jet.”
“Lucky me, then.”
His leg pressed against hers as he settled in. The narrow airplane seat didn’t quite accommodate his muscular frame. Part of her wanted to jerk away. But after all these years, a bigger part of her didn’t mind the heat he generated between their thighs. He must not have minded it either since he didn’t lower the armrest.
No time to think about that now. Reagan closed her eyes again and focused on the calming breaths she’d attempted in yoga, letting her instructor’s voice play through her head. Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth. Let the breath reach each area of the body. Inhale peace and calm.
The plane backed away from the gate and taxied toward the runway. After a brief pause, the pilot accelerated. They lifted into the air, and her stomach slammed into her throat. Screw the peace and calm, she needed to feel the ground under her. Her eyes flew open. She grabbed for the armrest, but her fingers clamped onto Zach’s thigh instead.
“I’m so sorry.” Not even the sight of her palm mere inches from his crotch yanked her out of her phobic-induced craze.
His hand covered hers, pressing it down onto his firm, denim-clad quad. “Don’t you have to travel for your job?”
“Yeah, um, I’m trying to get over it. I used to be a lot worse.”
Zach peeled her hand off his leg and twined his fingers with hers instead. He squeezed tight. “Good thing we never traveled together. I’m not sure my leg would have survived.”
“I’m sorry. I know it’s silly. Just… the thought of someone else being in complete control. My life is totally in the pilot’s hands right now. Doesn’t that freak you out?”
“No. That pilot’s trained for years to do his job. Relax.”
Easier said than done. Zach had always been able to go with the flow. It was one of the reasons she’d been so attracted to him in high school. Back then, he rarely got rattled. The only time she’d ever even seen him come close to losing it was on the ice.
She thought about the Friday nights spent in the stands, watching him skate his heart out as a captain on the varsity hockey team. Everyone had been surprised when he traded in his hockey stick for a camera. He probably would have been able to play in college, maybe even made it to the minors someday.
Reagan closed her eyes again. Her ears popped. Take offs and landings—those were the worst. Once they leveled off, she’d be capable of making conversation. Until then, she’d try to channel calming thoughts: visions of the plane landing safely, hugging her family.
An image of her and Zach engaged in some horizontal snuggles took shape. She wouldn’t let herself go there.
Tired of her silent self-talk about the statistics of safe air travel, the sound of ice rattling into a cup forced her to open her eyes. Her hand still twined with Zach’s. He held a magazine with the other and dropped it into his lap to turn the page. She pulled her hand away to smooth down her blazer.