Page 5 of In Flight

Two

ON SUNDAY EVENING,I’m waiting at the gate for my flight home.

I left in plenty of time to stay organized, and I have my sketchbook in my lap so I can doodle as I wait.

I keep sketching the infuriating man from Friday evening. Crossing him out and then sketching him again.

Don’t ask me why. I really couldn’t tell you.

My weekend was as fine as it’s going to be with my mother and sister in a tizzy over Raven’s upcoming wedding. They made me solemnly swear to fly back every weekend for the next two months so I can help with the wedding preparations.

Every weekend might sound ridiculous, but it’s the bare minimum for a wedding as extravagant as my sister’s is going to be. Since I’m the creative and artistic one in the family, it’s one of the few times my services are required.

I agreed. Of course I did. I love Raven, and I want her to be happy. And no matter how high-maintenance my family happens to be, I’ve missed them. It’ll be nice to spend more time with them for a while.

My mom wants me to draw a design for the foil-stamped guest book, so I should be working on that. Instead, I draw another version of the infuriating man leaning back in an airplane seat with one eye open and glaring to the side.

It makes me giggle for the remaining five minutes before I board.

This weekend my dad bought me plane tickets for every weekend until the wedding. (I make okay money at my job but not nearly enough to fund so many trips home.) And I managed to reserve my favorite seat on every flight, which I take for a good sign.

I’m in a good mood as I find my seat, making a face at the empty one beside me as if the man was still in it. When most of the passengers have boarded, the seat is still empty, so I start getting hopeful I’ll have some extra room this time. I forgot to get my phone out of my bag when I got settled, so I lean over to dig it out.

When I feel a presence standing in the aisle, it triggers alarm bells. I bump my head on the seatback in front of me as I straighten abruptly.

My senses were right on target.

The same infuriating man. Standing right there. Staring down at me with an expression as startled and dumbfounded as I feel.

“You have got to be kidding,” he mutters at last.

“What are you doing here?” I ask at exactly the same time.

He glances around the plane as if searching for an escape route. There are a couple of empty seats scattered around, but they evidently don’t tempt him enough to ask the flight attendant if he can swap. With a soft groan, he slides in and flops down beside me.

He’s not wearing a suit today. He’s got on jeans and a worn brown sweater in a thin, soft knit. It doesn’t look like he shaved today. His hair is even more rumpled than it was on Friday.

He’s definitely nice to look at. Not movie-star handsome but undeniably attractive in a relaxed, natural way. Visually interesting. Like I could peer at him for hours and not discover all there is to see in his face.

He’s also got good shoulders and very appealing forearms. I get a good view at them because he’s pushed up his sleeves toward his elbows even though it’s chilly outside.

He’s been giving me a once-over while I’m doing the same to him. His expression doesn’t convey any degree of appreciation for what he sees. “How is this even possible?”

“I don’t know. I was in Boston for the weekend, and I need to be back to go to work at eight tomorrow morning. I assume your job in Savannah continues through next week.”

“It continues for three more months.”

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