Page 8 of Accidental Mile High Vows

“You opened my water bottle. You watchedThe Proposalfor business purposes. You’re checking a lot of boxes here, Ledger.”

“You’re something else.” He’s studying me now, and I feel exposed under that gaze. “How old are you, Savannah?”

“Twenty-five. You?”

“Forty-seven.”

“Damn.” It bursts out before I can stop it. “Sorry, that was rude. You just look really good for forty-seven. Like, really good. I look like a tired potato at twenty-five.”

“You’re not a potato.” His voice drops lower, and I feel it in my chest. “You’re beautiful. You’re natural. Your eyes have this warmth in them even when you’re sad.”

“That’s…” I swallow hard. “That’s a really nice thing to say to someone who just had the worst day of her life. I got a job offer, you know?” I say, changing the subject before I do something stupid like climb into his lap. “In New York. It’s a great company. Seventy-five thousand a year. But it’s so far from Chicago, and I don’t know if I should take it. It feels like running away from my mom’s memory.”

“Or it’s honoring what she would have wanted for you.” His eyes hold mine. “Parents don’t sacrifice so their kids can stay stuck in the same place. They do it so their kids can fly.”

“You’re really good at this,” I whisper. “The pep talk thing.”

“I’m not a shrink, Savannah. Don’t mistake me for one.” Something dark flickers across his face. “But I know something about wanting the best for the people you care about.”

The flight attendant returns with drinks, and Ledger orders a whiskey. I probably shouldn’t have more alcohol, but when he offers me a sip, I take it.

The burn is different than tequila. Smoother. Richer.

We talk for hours. About his son, who’s twenty-two and is going to take over his business one day. About my mom and how she immigrated from Spain with nothing. About Vegas and hotel chains and dreams I didn’t know I had until he asked about them.

He’s easy to talk to. Too easy. Like we’ve known each other for years instead of hours.

At some point, my eyelids get heavy. The exhaustion, alcohol, and emotional weight of the day catching up with me.

“You should sleep,” Ledger says quietly.

“I’m fine.”

But I’m not fine. I’m so tired I could cry.

“Sleep, princess,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

3

SAVANNAH

I wakeup to the sound of the seat belt sign dinging.

My neck is stiff, and there’s drool on my chin. Fantastic. I wipe it away and blink at the empty seat next to me.

Ledger is gone.

His laptop, his jacket, even the faint scent of his cologne has disappeared like he was never here at all. I sit up and look around the cabin. No sign of him.

The flight attendant’s voice comes over the speaker. “Welcome to Las Vegas. Local time is one thirty-two AM.”

I gather my things, disappointment sitting heavy in my chest. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.

The Flamingo Motel wasn’t my first choice, but it was cheap and available at 2:00 AM. The room is small, but it has a bed and a shower, and that’s all I need.

I stand under the hot water for twenty minutes, letting it wash away the plane smell and the tequila haze. When I get out, I catch my reflection in the mirror. My eyes are puffy from crying and sleeping weird. My hair is a disaster.

But I’m in Vegas. And I have a dress that deserves better than Mason.