Page 21 of Ticket to You

“You sure know how to flatter a woman, Abrams.”

“You don’t enjoy flying?”

I close my eyes again and shake my head slowly. “I hate heights.”

“Is there something I can do to distract you?”

“You can spill red wine in my lap.”

Adam says nothing, of course. I can imagine his broody expression without needing to look over at him.

I think back to Gemma’s insistence that I at least get to know Adam throughout the trip. I groan softly, feeling like I’m about to make a deal with the devil. “I think…I think this trip will be a lot more bearable if we actually talk from time to time. Beyond sarcastic comments. When we land, let’s try this whole ‘talking’ thing. Complete sentences, niceties, feigned interest in each other’s lives.”

“Once we land, we’ll be busy getting our stories done.”

Working with someone who thinks I’m a joke will be hard enough, and even more so if we don’t learn to communicate.

“One question a night,” I mutter. “We can take turns. But I call dibs on getting to ask the first question.” The only thing less appealing than getting to know Adam is the idea of him getting to know me.

“Then you better start brainstorming.”

The plane starts up the runway. When the wheels leave the ground and the plane tilts in the air, I lean my head down, cursing at my somersaulting stomach. It feels like something has sucked all the blood from my body.

Adam leans over the armrest between us, closer than he’s ever been to me. His woody scent feels as though it fills every inch of me. I pull myself in tighter, but with our narrow seats and his leaning, there’s no avoiding touching him.

Adam lifts his hand into the air for a few moments before finally patting me on my shoulder. His movements are stiff and unnatural. “It’ll be okay.”

They’re the last words I hear before being swallowed up in sleep.

12

ADAM

Despite her sleeping pill,Ophelia is restless throughout much of the overnight flight, though I’m not surprised. She squirms constantly and even lets out a little moan every so often. I try to sleep too, but between checking on Ophelia every time she moves and clutching a sick bag for her in case her nerves turn into motion sickness, there’s no hope.

Being sleepless on the plane, I have ample time to reflect on the past few days. I handed in my two-weeks’ notice only to then turn around and agree to go on this trip with Ophelia. Despite what she thinks, my career atOutdoorsydoesn’t depend on this trip. My time with the company is nearly over, anyway. I should be working on my new endeavor—my independent magazine. Instead, I’m on a seven-hour flight praying Ophelia gets some rest.

Why?

Why, when Ophelia asked to join me on this trip, did I know the answer immediately? Sure, she looked heartbroken sitting there, rain-soaked in my living room. But my “yes” could not have been just from pity.

Halfway through our flight, Ophelia slumps over to my shoulder. Her breaths were quick and shallow before, but now they slow as she settles into a deeper sleep. Her brows, usually lowered over a glare when she’s looking at me, are softened and relaxed, and her lips are slightly parted.

I try to convince myself not to lean my head against hers. But eventually, I give in. For the first time tonight, I feel myself drifting off.

* * *

Once we land,Ophelia practically bounces up the tarmac and through the airport. She doesn’t bother checking to see if I’m following. Evidently, her poor sleep was no match for her I-just-landed-in-Paris excitement.

At baggage claim, Ophelia grabs one of her bags. It’s massive and probably weighs a third of what she does. Then, she pulls another one, only slightly smaller than the first, from the conveyor and rolls them over to me.

I shake my head, and Ophelia catches it.

“What?” she asks. Her voice is even raspier in the mornings.

“That’s a little overkill, don’t you think?”

She spots a small, plain black hard-shell with a pink ribbon on the handle that must be her gear bag, and jogs to it, shooting me a disingenuous smile. “Just wait until you see my last two bags.”

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