Page 9 of That First Flight

And it’s more than what’s on the outside that has me drawn to her, because yeah, she’s breathtaking. Her black hair is pulled into a messy bun and perched on the top of her head. She looks like she rolled out of bed without a stitch of makeup on and rushed to catch this flight.

Which is the same thing I did, so I get it.

But it’s not the jade green eyes staring back at me behind long, thick lashes that have me enthralled by her. And it’s definitely not how perfectly her body is wearing a pair of ripped jeans and a graphic tee that exposes the tattoos trailing down her arm. It’s what people don’t see that I pick up on.

The way the littlest thing I’ve said in such a short amount of time has made her laugh.

The way her eyes tell me she’s downright exhausted.

This woman carries some heavy weight on her shoulders.

I’ve learned to see it in people from witnessing my mom deal with depression after my dad died.

“If you must know,Macey.” I shoot her a wink and a light nudge with my elbow in hopes to see that smile light up her face again. “I’m heading home from a blogging trip.”

She nods but remains silent.

“There’s just something about the mountains,” I continue, resting my head on the headrest of the seat. “I could live and breathe them every day of my life and be a happy guy. As long as there’s no snow.”

“You sure it’s not bacon that makes you a happy guy?”

My head jerks in her direction, the corner of my lip tipping up just the slightest.

“Did you just make a joke about my favorite food on earth?”

She giggles in her seat. “Your hat kind of gave you away.”

I pull my baseball cap off my head, running my fingers through messy hair as I bring it down to assess what she’s talking about, completely forgetting thatthiswas the hat of choice for today.

“Dammit,” I joke. “I do love me some bacon. Please tell me you do too. Because I couldn’t live with myself if you don’t.”

“That’s dramatic.” She rolls her eyes, but laughs anyway.

I’ve made a lot of people in my life laugh, but hearing the sweet song of Macey’s laughter is something else.

“You caught me.”

“I did, didn't I?” She smirks. “Tell me about this blogging thing you do since we have some time to kill.”

“I’ve always wanted to travel the world. See the beauty of it all through my own eyes instead of on the internet. I also love being people’s go-to guy for recommendations on places to eat, places to visit and things to do. I figured what the hell and decided to combine two things I love into one, which was how this all started. Plus, I had zero desire to join my family’s business. Being an investor was not on my life bingo card.” I laugh.

“Wow, a family of investors.”

“Well, just my dad.” I shrug. “He was a big wig investor in the city. My brother took over that business after he passed.”

“I’m so sorry.” Her smile falls and she directs her gaze to her hands in her lap.

I watch as an uncomfortable feeling washes over her.

“Hey, none of that. No need to be sorry.” My left hand touches her exposed forearm and listen… I don’t cook, nor do I know the first thing about it. But I’m pretty certain that’s what it feels like to put your hand on a burning hot stove top.

Touching her skin burns me right to the core.

She must feel it too because her eyes land on our connected skin and they widen in shock.

“No need to be sorry,” I repeat, pulling my hand away as I try to ignore what the heck that was all about. “We’re all okay.”

“Okay,” she says, barely above a whisper.

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