Page 9 of At First Flight
Mumbling under his breath, I swear I hear him say, “Feels like I should.”
My head jerks forward, hard enough to snap me out of sleep with a soft gasp. I blink, confused and momentarily lost in the muted hum of the plane and the low flicker of cabin lights. My neck aches. My body feels folded in on itself, stiff from the cramped seat and the weight of a day I haven’t fully processed.
I must’ve dozed off. God knows how. But the panic is already creeping back in with racing thoughts, the prick of embarrassment in my cheeks.
Then I feel him. Dean.
His hand is gentle as it touches my arm, then shifts to cradle the back of my head. Nothing about the motion is invasive. It’s just quiet assurance, something I wasn’t expecting from a stranger. He guides me softly until my head comes to rest against his shoulder, solid and warm.
“Rest,” he murmurs, low and steady like the world hasn’t fallen apart today. “You can lean on me.”
And somehow, I believe him.
So I do. I let go of the tension, the spinning thoughts, the part of me still waiting to shatter. His shoulder is strong beneath me, steady like he was built for moments like this. His scent wraps around me, clean and woodsy with a hint of something I can’t name but already know I’ll crave later. He smells like warmth. Like safety.
My muscles melt before I can stop them. The exhaustion I’ve been pushing down all day comes back with full force, and I let it take me. Let him hold just this one piece of me, like it’s no trouble at all.
And just before the weight of sleep pulls me under again, I think, just barely, I feel the softest press of lips against the top of my head.
But maybe I’m dreaming.
God, I hope I’m not.
During the rest of the flight, we remained quiet except for some small bits of conversation and a few chuckles we shared during another movie. He tells me how he’s traveling to help his friend scope out a new location for his hotels and how he’s hoping to spend a few days relaxing. When the movie ends, Dean silently switches to the earlier nixed film, the corner of hismouth tilting upward when he notices my reluctant smile. Damn smug bastard.
Before long, the pilot announces the plane's upcoming descent into Edinburgh Airport. My body immediately tenses, fingers clenching around the rough material of my tulle skirt. The plane bumps mid-air as it hits a rough patch of turbulence, our first on the long flight. Just as my eyes are about to clench shut, I hear the sudden intake of air beside me. My attention diverts from our possible plummet to death to Dean’s face. His tanned skin is now painted in white, and the muscles in his taut chest are frozen solid as he holds his breath.
“Dean,” I whisper just as the plane rolls again, my stomach mimicking the movement. When he doesn’t budge, I repeat his name. “Dean, look at me,” I urge.
Finally, he turns his face toward mine as it rests against the back of the seat, tilted toward the ceiling. For the first time, I can make out his eyes from beneath the brim of his hat. They’re wide, with pupils no more than tiny black dots in the center of his brown irises.
A third time, the plane rolls, and I immediately reach out to grip his hand, clutching at the denim covering his legs. His nails claw at the material, turning white at their attempt.
My fingers slip through his, and I watch in amazement as Dean’s chest moves, releasing the breath he held so deeply.
He holds me the same way I had him during the takeoff—like I was his anchor.
After what feels like a lifetime, the plane jerks as the landing gear meets asphalt, and the plane’s speed begins to decrease. Despite this, Dean doesn’t release my fingers. Instead, his gaze drops to our clutched hands, and his fingers loosen slightly as he adjusts his grip.
“Thank you,” he whispers as the plane lurches to a stop and the other passengers start to rise, something I never really understood.
Eventually, it’s our turn to exit the plane, and I’m fascinated to find that Dean doesn’t linger any longer than I do.
“No bags?” I ask as we travel across the passenger boarding bridge.
“Nope. I have my bags waiting for me.”
I try to ignore the looks of curiosity from the other passengers as I enter the airport, but cinch Dean’s jacket closer around my chest. It’s only now that I realize what a state I must appear. Full-length wedding gown and a windbreaker.
“I should probably grab something from one of these stores before I go any farther.”
My companion peers over his broad shoulder at the boutique across the way. The store boasts mostly scarves and jackets, but I notice a few pairs of pants over in the corner.
Together, we rifle through the racks until I find a pair of simple black pants and a graceful cashmere cardigan. I nearly choke when I glimpse the price tag.
At the register, I hand the woman my card in the tiny wallet stored in the pocket of my dress as Dean reaches into his own pocket, retrieving his cell phone. Whatever message is on the other end causes his carefree smile to drop.
“Everything okay?” I ask as the worker types a few things on her computer.
