Page 2 of At First Flight
“No, just close my tab.”
“Yes, sir.”
A minute later, he spins back around as he sets the check in front of me. Blindly, I sign the receipt he holds out on a bill folder. The redhead tosses her clear drink in a well-practiced swallow. My silent invitation from earlier is still clearly in her eager mind.
“Thanks, Tommy,” I say, reading the man’s name tag. Turning my attention to the woman, I tilt my head toward the busy walkway and head toward the closest bathrooms, knowing full well that the woman will be hot on my heels.
Unlike most passengers scurrying through the airport, I travel with only my phone and wallet. In most cases, I can buy anything I need at my next stop. This time, though, I’m traveling to a five-star resort in the Scottish countryside. I’ll have two weeks’ worth of clothes waiting for me when I arrive, courtesy of my family’s assistant. Franc is one of the hardest working men I know, especially after years of witnessing the jobs my parents put the harried man through. Yet he’s never taken a vacation, even when he suffered a mild heart attack. The nurses fussed at him for being on his phone within an hour of his surgery. The man is relentless and good at his job. He's been more of a father to me than the one I share a last name with.
Thinking of my father, I rub anxiously at my chest. My family has always been significant to me, even if I haven’t felt mildly important to them, but the recent news I received a couple of years ago shook me more than the volcano that took out Pompeii. Inside, my own explosion bubbles to the surface.
Walking faster than my usual saunter in an effort to clear my head, I twist my hat backward and slip open the door to an oversized companion bathroom to wait for my guest.
The moment she stumbles into the room, her luggage falls to the side, and she reaches up to cup my cheeks, sealing her lips against mine.
While I appreciate the no-nonsense greed of her kiss, I’m struck by the oddest sensation. These were not the lips I wanted to be kissing, the hips I wanted to grab, or the hair I wanted to fist. No, that all belongs to a faceless woman I saw for a split second. Someone I know nothing about and could possibly never see again but is in the forefront of my mind.
“Fuck,” I say, gently pushing the woman away. My nose crinkles, and my lips sneer. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”
The room’s temperature plummets until I feel like I’ve been transported to the southernmost tip of the planet.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s not you… it’s me.” I recite the line, hating how it tastes in my mouth but knowing it is the most truthful explanation. I can’t very well tell her that a mirage of a woman from minutes ago is the reason. Or that the moment the redhead’s lips touched mine, it immediately felt wrong.
“Are you serious right now?” she asks as her cheeks redden, her sultry demeanor from earlier quickly replaced by one of anger and something akin to humiliation.
Gulping the lump in my throat, I reply, “I’m sorry. I… I need to go.”
A minute later, I adjust my cap on my head as I shuffle out of the bathroom, nodding at two parents waiting for their turn in the large bathroom. Whoops. Hopefully, they don’t have to deal with the angry woman still inside the room as I lose myself in the crowd.
I already know from the buzzing in my pocket and the airport intercoms that my flight is boarding. Whenever I fly commercial, I always wait until the final moment to claim my seat. The tight space makes me anxious, and even attempting to remedy my unease by purchasing the first-class seat next to mine does nothing to squash the rising agitation. What makes the situation funny is that I never had issues flying until recently.
My therapist is having a field day with the knowledge.
I go through the paces at my gate, scanning my ticket as directed, thankful that no one seems to pay me any mind. Everyone is in their own little world and doesn’t notice that the sexiest billionaire heir currently boards their flight.
Fucking article.
I know Talon is having a good laugh about my new title since he had been in the number-one spot a few years ago. He met the love of his life, Aurora, and they’re the perfect little family in Ashfield, Tennessee, waiting for their bundle of joy to arrive. Now I’d risen on everyone’s radar.
But luckily, no one’s in this airport.
“Thank you, Mr. Harrington. Enjoy your flight,” the flight attendant says with an outstretched hand, guiding me toward the front of the plane to first class.
Settling in my seat, I tilt my head back as other passengers fill the cabin, using my cap to cover my face. The mindless chatter sounds like a shushing white noise, lulling me into a welcome fog.
“Here, miss, you can settle in this row here.”
“Thank you so much,” a wobbly voice replies. It cracks and hitches on each word.
“I’ll bring you a warm towel once we get airborne. Don’t you worry about a thing.”
The surrounding voices slow and fall away. Or maybe I’m just too focused on hearing the rest of the conversation. I push the brim of my cap upward, and across from my seat, I see her. The woman in white—my ghost girl.
Her colossal tulle monstrosity takes over the two large seats, even as she leans toward the window. The skirt poofs out, filling every available space.
“Mr. Harrington, we’ll be taking off soon. Can I get you anything before we taxi?”
