Page 55 of Three Pucking Wedding Dates

“Guys, this is ridiculous,” I say, hoisting my own bag higher on my shoulder. “I didn’t need all these clothes.”

“Oakley, sweetie, trust us.” Iris grins, her hazel eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’re going to outshine Georgia so much she’ll be begging for mercy.”

I roll my eyes at her enthusiasm, but the thought of besting Georgia does ignite something in me—a competitive flame that refuses to be snuffed out. With a sigh, I adjust my grip on the bag handle and continue toward the ticket counter.

I take a deep breath, trying to quell the nerves that flutter in my stomach like a thousand butterflies. As I step forward, the ticket agent, Marnie, greets us with a tight smile.

“Hi there,” I say, pulling out my ticket and handing it to her. “Here’s my ticket.”

“Thank you,” Marnie replies, scanning my ticket with practiced efficiency. “You’re all set to board Flight 422. Enjoy your flight, Ms. Price.”

“Thanks,” I reply, feeling a small measure of relief wash over me. At least I’ll have Avery and Iris there with me to keep me calm during the flight. They always know how to distract me from my fears.

“Let me just check your tickets too,” Marnie says, turning her attention to Avery and Iris.

“Of course.” Avery hands over her ticket, but the moment Marnie scans it, her smile falters.

“Um, I’m afraid there’s been a mistake,” she says hesitantly. “You’re actually booked on the next flight out, not this one.”

“What?” Avery exclaims, disbelief etched across her face. “That can’t be right—we were all supposed to be on the same flight.”

“Let me see yours too,” Marnie asks Iris, who hands over her ticket with a worried expression.

“Sorry, but it’s the same for you as well,” Marnie informs Iris, shaking her head apologetically. “You’re also on the next flight.”

“Are you serious?” Iris demands, her voice rising. “This is ridiculous! We planned this trip together—we’re supposed to be on the same flight!”

“Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do,” Marnie says, her voice firm but sympathetic.

A mischievous glint appears in Iris’s eyes as she leans in toward Marnie. “What if we make a deal?” she suggests, her voice lowand persuasive. “You get us all on this flight, and I’ll give you a little something extra for the trouble.”

“Are you trying to bribe me?” Marnie raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.

“Of course not,” Iris says with a saccharine smile. “Just a friendly incentive.”

“Unfortunately, there’s really no room on this flight,” Marnie insists, her voice firm. “I can’t kick someone off just because you want to travel together. You’ll have to wait for the next one.”

Irritation flickers across Iris’s face, but she quickly masks it with a resigned sigh. “Fine,” she concedes, shooting me a worried glance.

Avery chimes in, placing a hand on my shoulder. “It’s not a big deal. Oakley can go first, and we’ll catch up later. Right, Oak?”

I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. The thought of flying alone terrifies me, but I don’t want to burden them with my fears. “Yeah,” I say, attempting to sound confident. “I’ll be fine. I’ll just meet you guys there.”

“Alright,” Iris agrees hesitantly. “If you’re sure.”

Nodding, I send my luggage off with the attendant, keeping only my trusty backpack with me. As I watch my friends exchange worried glances, I fight the urge to tell them the truth—that I’m absolutely terrified to step foot on that plane without them by my side. But I know I have to face this fear, and I can’t let it hold me back any longer.

The terminal stretches out before me like a cold, sterile maze. My heart races as I make my way to the gate. I grip the straps of my backpack tightly.

“Last call for Flight 422 to Honolulu boarding at Gate 12,” a voice announces over the loudspeaker, making my stomach twist with anxiety.

“Okay, Oakley,” I mutter under my breath, forcing myself to breathe deeply. “You can do this.”

As I step onto the plane, the reality of the situation hits me like a ton of bricks. I’m doing this—I’m really going to face my fear head-on. My hands tremble as I hoist my backpack into the overhead compartment, my chest tightening with each frantic heartbeat.

“Excuse me,” I say, squeezing past a couple in the aisle to find my seat. The numbers blur together as my nerves threaten to overwhelm me. A few deep breaths help steady me just enough to locate my row, and then…

“Oakley?” a familiar voice says, and my head snaps up in surprise.

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