I practically growl at the man as I ask, “What is settled?”
“You and I are going to Italy together for the next month. I’ll have everything covered. I will ensure you’re immersed into the culture for your book, along with providing you the eye candy and male main character inspiration you need.” He winks at me, but I glare back, unamused as he continues, “And you will eat, pray, love the shit out of Italy every day before typing your fingers to the bone each night. This is going to be great, Austin. I can feel it.”
What he needs to feel is my knee to his groin. Maybe that will snap him out of his delusional spiral. “Listen to me very closely, okay? I’m. Not. Going.”
19
July
This country girl has never flown halfway across the world. I’d been to Mexico a few times growing up. We even took a family vacation to Canada a few years ago. But the farthest I’ve ever gone over an ocean was when I went to the Bahamas for my honeymoon with Aaron. We both got food poisoning, and it honestly was probably one of many ominous signs of how our marriage would be.
I did fine with our flight from Minneapolis to New York City, where we had a long enough layover that Griffin was able to arrange for a few of his friends and former Boston teammates to fly into the city to meet us. His friends Maksim, Nicolai, and Emmett flew down on a private jet, as if it were no big deal to fly into a city to catch up over lunch with their former roommate for four hours.
But as soon as our flight from New York City to Milan took off over the Atlantic, I became riddled with anxiety.
Carson somehow was able to get us seats next to each other, even with adding me to the trip last minute. I tried to protest the first class ticket he insisted on purchasing, but my efforts fell on deaf ears.
When he notices my hands white-knuckling the arm rests, he places a hand on top of mine and rubs his thumb slowly over each of my knuckles. Squeezing my eyes shut, I try not to look out the window to where the vast ocean threatens to swallow us whole.
The moment the seatbelt light turns off, Carson unbuckles his before doing the same to mine.
“Here, why don’t we switch,” he suggests.
Peeking my one eye open, I see his face is etched with concern. “What? No. You’ve got long legs—you’re a giant compared to me—you need the aisle seat,” I tell him.
“Austin, I don’t need the aisle seat. I actually wouldn’t mind taking the window seat so I have something to lean against. Come on, let’s switch.” He stands up and gestures for me to follow him into the aisle so he can switch seats with me.
I do, and as soon as I sit back down, Carson scoops up my legs and places my feet in his lap. The feel of his warm palm resting against my bare ankle fills my stomach with warmth, and when the rough pads of his fingers begin tracing circles on my calf, goosebumps erupt on the spot, sending a chill up my spine.
I’ve never experienced such immediate relief from another’s touch. Sure, a long hug from my mama growing up would calm me. But it’s as if Carson’s touch is my own personal elixir.
“Hey, I downloaded some of the classics onto my iPad. Do you want to watch a few movies together to take your mind off things?” he asks.
I simply nod in response.
When he queues upTwilight, my eyes shoot to him. With my brows still furrowed in confusion, I ask, “I thought you said you downloaded the classics?”
Scoffing, he clarifies, “I did. Edward and Bella’s love story is a classic.”
“You’re absurd,” I inform him.
We watch the first three movies in the saga, and after the third we decide to take a nap for the remainder of the flight. That way we can watch the last two on the flight home.
I’m woken up by the flight attendant tapping me on the shoulder asking me to return my seat upright and fasten my seatbelt as we prepare for landing. Unsure of when it happened, I find I’m currently burrowed under Carson’s arm, my head against the hard plane of his chest while he rests his head on his sweatshirt he’s using as a makeshift pillow against the plane’s window.
I begin to shift in his arms, which wakes him from what looked to be a peaceful slumber.
“Morning, Austin,” he rasps, his voice still gravelly with sleep.
“Good morning?” I question, reaching over him to open the window’s shade. Once it’s open, I gasp as the first lights of dawn shine behind Carson’s head, giving his golden hair an angelic glow.
Assuming I’m gasping at the scenery below, Carson shifts to take a look. I shoot out of his hold and begin to do as the flight attendant instructed, needing a moment to find my bearings.
I’ve heard you learn a lot about someone when you travel with them, and after two flights together, I would say that is accurate. For instance, I learned that even though we will be here for just shy of a month, Carson only brought a brown leather duffel carry-on, a backpack, and a special checked bag that holds two hockey sticks and his hockey gloves.
When I questioned him on the latter, he just shrugged and said it was part of his workout regimen he couldn’t stray from.
Griff and Kenna, on the other hand, shared a checked bag that they packed in together, and then they each packed their own carry-on bags.
