“Well, just so you know, I usually wait until a second date to collapse into someone’s lap.”
“It was the most dramatic thing I’ve seen on a flight.”
“Are you sure about that?” My eyes dart to his movie screen, whereA Walk to Rememberplays. “My little episode is nothing compared to a dying teenager who sings in church.”
“Did you just ruin the ending for me?”
“Oh, shoot.” A guilty laugh spills out. “I assumed you’d already seen it.”
“Of course I’ve seen it.” He grins, unashamed by his taste in movies. “It’s a classic.”
I smile too. “Want me to braid your hair while you cry?”
“Maybe next time.”
Next time.
The cuteness behind his grin makes me want anext time. Dinner? Drinks? Some kind of real-life continuation of this fun in-flight moment we’re having. I could orchestrate it if I wanted to. The cat-and-mouse game of dating is among my strengths. I know exactly how to lure a man in, give him just enough to make him pursue me, pull away to keep him chasing, then—when I’m bored with the game—drop him completely.
I never said I was proud of it, just that I’m a pro.
But this guy is too good for all of that. Or maybe he’s too good to be true. I’d find out after the third date that he’s actually a serial killer or, worse, a guy who can’t be trusted and would ultimately break my heart.
No, I’d rather go through the rest of my life believing he’s a decent man who saves helpless women on airplanes by day and ropes cattle, shirtless, by night.
“I’m Camila, by the way.” I reach out my hand, hoping to get his name just to round out my daydreams.
“Hess.” His warm fingers envelop mine, creating butterflies in my stomach.
Butterflies.
It’s been so long since I’ve felt those organically that I’d almost given up on ever feeling them again.
“Hess,” I repeat, thinking that’s a great cowboy name. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too.”
Something I can’t explain passes between us as we shake hands and stare into each other’s eyes. Chemistry maybe? His smile says he knows what it is, like a secret I don’t know the punchline to.
The seatbelt sign dings on, and the flight attendant comes over the speakers. We both pull away to close our tray tables and get ready for landing.
Suddenly, I’m very aware that this is ending, and I'm kind of bummed about it.
Outside the window, the city starts to appear through the clouds. In about ten minutes, we’ll be two strangers with a weirdly intimate shared experience, walking off into the world with nothing but maybe a funny story for our friends.
“Are you here in Phoenix for work?” I ask.
“No, I live here. What about you?”
“Same.”
“Well, welcome home.” He smiles in that boyish, happy way, and I think about saying something. Asking something.Doing something.
“Let me take you out to dinner. You know, as a thank you for your Good Samaritan services today.”
The look on his face is positively handsome. It’s a done deal.
“I would love that, but I’m going to have to decline. I’m in a serious relationship.”
