Page 5 of The Trouble with Wanting

“Sorry about that,” I say, unbuckling my belt and standing up, moving into the aisle to let her pass by me.

“No problem.” She gives me that smile again as we both settle down and buckle in.

“I’m Ruby,” she says, her eyes bright and cheery, that smile looking to be permanently locked onto her face but still managing to be genuine. “I saw you earlier, at the counter, right?”

I nod but don’t answer.

Part of me is kicking myself, because the gorgeous girl from the counter is sitting next to me and I should absolutely talk to her.

But the minute I say anything, I’m breaking one of my cardinal flying rules, which just opens the door to needless conversation I’m never in the mood for.

And yet, damn if I don’t feel more than tempted to break that rule just to hear that lovely voice of hers again or have an excuse to look at her.

I waffle back and forth for a moment as I stare at the black screen of my phone. Ultimately, logic wins out, and I stay silent.

Seemingly unaware of my internal dialogue, Ruby is focused on the small bag she has in her hands. It’s a backpack, I guess, made entirely out of patches. She unbuttons the top and sticks her hand inside, pulling out a green Moleskine notebook and placing it in the seatback pocket in front of her. Then she rebuttons the bag, drops it on the ground, and kicks it forward.

Rapid-fire texts from my brother begin to pop up, and a quick glance confirms he’s asking about ‘the hot girl’ and wondering if I’m bringing someone home.

Instead of responding, I swipe it over to airplane mode and tuck it into the pocket in front of me.

My eyes scan the entering passengers, hoping to distract myself from the woman sitting next to me, but for some reason I can’t seem to explain, I’m hyperaware of her. Her scent—jasmine—and the soft noises she makes as she explores her seat. Opening and closing the window. Her legs swinging slightly like a child’s in a chair that’s too big for them.

“What’s your name?”

Her voice takes me by surprise and I look in her direction, finding her beautiful blue eyes twinkling at me, a small smile on her face.

“Boyd,” I reply, my name popping out of my mouth, almost without my consent.

Since when do I give my name to the people I sit next to on planes? Since when does someone even ask?

Something moves in my peripheral vision, and when I look down, I see she’s extended her hand.

In the first ten seconds of sitting next to me, she’s broken one of my important flying rules by making unnecessary small talk even though I assumed my silence a few minutes ago would communicate that I’m not much for chatter.

And now she wants to break another rule by shaking my hand?

I look from her hand back to her eyes, finding her still wearing that same brilliant smile, before I feel compelled to place my hand in hers.

She gives it a firm squeeze, and damn if I don’t feel that squeeze rush through my whole body, especially when she leans toward me just slightly.

Her voice is perky and happy and full of the qualities I typically find irritating in anyone giving me their attention.

But not today, apparently. Today, I find myself drawn in by her sweet smile and kind eyes, and I realize I’m leaning forward as well, mimicking her body language.

She lowers her voice, almost as if she’s about to tell me a secret—a secret I desperately want to know.

“Nice to meet you, Boyd.”

chapter two

Ruby

I hate everything about this tin can the second my foot crosses the threshold and I’m enclosed within the interior of the plane taking me to California.

I hate the stagnant air.

I hate the way the buckle feels pressed against my abdomen.

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