Page 2 of At First Flight (Coral Bell Cove #1)

“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?”

I glance up at the older woman who bears the kindest of eyes. The laugh lines around the corners of her mouth put me at ease in a way that no medication ever could. The kind that reminds me of my best friend’s grandmother. A woman who was closer to me than any of my immediate family.

“I’m fine, thank you. Everything okay over there?” I ask, nodding in the ghost girl’s direction.

Her gray hair brushes across her shoulders as she peeks at the passenger in my row. “It will be, I’m sure.”

As she walks away, I can’t pull my stare from the woman.

Like the sun drawing me into its orbit. Her golden strands remind me of the pale yellow rays.

The kind that blinds you if you stare too long.

A fluttering feeling erupts in my gut, and I wonder if it was indeed a bad idea to drink that whiskey on an empty stomach.

But all those thoughts fall away when the woman shifts in her seat, her crystal-blue stare colliding with mine. Any ability my lungs maintain to move oxygen in and out of the organ is lost. Paralyzed.

Despite my inability to do, well, anything but stare, my mouth drops open, and words rush out in a vocal cascade of embarrassment.

“Marry me?”

Her eyes widen to the size of mango pits. My favorite fruit. “What?” she whispers. I wonder if her huskiness is natural or caused by the same despair that smudged the mascara under her eyes.

I cough quickly, trying to get the oxygen moving through my system again as I register exactly what I said. Quickly, I consider retracting my words, but as her eyes move up and down my body, I’m struck silly again by her beauty.

Fuck .

She’s striking in a way that doesn’t ask for attention but draws it anyway, quiet and unassuming like a song you don’t realize is your favorite until it’s halfway through and you’re holding your breath for the chorus.

Even from where I’m sitting a couple of feet away, I can see the blue color of her eyes.

But they’re not just any blue. Clear and piercing like a mountain lake just before dawn, the kind of blue that tells you it’s seen both stillness and storms. They shine in the light, too bright to be untouched yet too shadowed not to hold stories.

And the shadow is not the kind that warns you away, but the kind that dares you to lean closer and learn what caused it.

She’s been crying. I can tell by the slight puff beneath those long, dark lashes and the faint shimmer that still clings to them. She blinked it all away before anyone else could notice, but not me. I notice. The delicate slope of her nose is tinged pink from where she must’ve wiped at it earlier.

Her cheekbones are high, sculpted to make her look like she was built from glass and grace, but they’re flushed now. Not from embarrassment but something quieter. Maybe sorrow. Maybe hope. Maybe both tangled.

And God, she’s soft and strong all at once. There’s a bend to her spine like she’s used to carrying weight that no one sees. But her shoulders are squared, chin tilted like she’s daring the world to test her again.

She’s the kind of woman a man doesn’t just look at. She’s the kind he feels. Deep down. Under the ribs. Somewhere sacred.

And before I even know her name, I want to know what it would take to put joy where that sadness lives behind her eyes.

“I said, marry me. Seems like you’re dressed for the occasion, and I don’t need anything fancy.

Pilots aren’t like ship captains, so they can’t perform a ceremony.

And even though I was ordained for my best friend’s wedding, that was only good in Florida.

But I’m certain we can figure that out when we land. ”

She stares as she morphs into a gasping catfish-human hybrid. Unfortunately for her, I’m not deterred in the slightest. I only find her more intriguing.

“Is this some kind of sick joke, you jerk?” Her back goes rigid against the cushioned seat. “And what gives you the right to poke fun at someone not knowing what they’ve been through?”

Holding my hands up in surrender, I try to crack this newly formed icy exterior on my row-mate. “I’m not poking fun. It’s clear you’ve gone through something, and I was hoping to help lighten the mood. Make you smile.”

Her eyes narrow into slits as she assesses me.

A metallic taste trickles in my mouth as I bite my tongue, waiting for her to recognize me from the article this morning or any of the various gossip rags on the market.

But then her gaze clears, and she huffs out a puff of air, causing the corner of my lips to tilt upward.

“I’m guessing that smirk works on most women.”

“Zero fail rate,” I explain as I adjust my cap, hating how it pulls at my hair.

“Well, I hate to tell you, but I’m a lost cause.”

I pause to see if she elaborates, but I should know better. I can tell by the way she continues to sit with her arms crossed that she keeps her secrets close to her chest.

“Naw, no one is a lost cause.”

She guffaws and nearly slaps her hand across her mouth at what is clearly an unexpected reaction.

“We really should get married. I could have everything set up by the time we land.”

“Oh, my gosh.” She adjusts herself in the seat, tugging her skirt closer, using it as a fluffy shield while her eyes shift up and down my body. Usually, that kind of perusal implies an invitation, but I know better than to suggest more than my marriage proposal with her.

“So since we’re getting married, why don’t you tell me your name?”

“I’m not telling you my name,” she mumbles as I stick out my hand across the aisle.

“I’m your future husb—”

“Are you for real right now?”

A normal man would have cowered at her tone. Her frown grew with each passing second. But I’m no average man, and I’ve been known to poke a bear or two. But I have an end goal in mind for my ghost girl.

“One hundred percent. Ever wanted to do something spontaneous?”

“I… well… I.”

“Come on,” I say as I lean over the empty seat, shifting my hand back, my elbow resting on the aisle side armrest. “What have you got to lose? Marry me, ghost girl.”

“You’re crazy.” I almost believe her. Almost let her words scathe my skin with their intention, but then the corner of her mouth tilts upward, and it all fizzles away. Making myself seem like a lunatic is all worth it by getting her to smile.

“Certifiable,” I agree.

The plane chooses that moment to lurch forward and start taxiing down the runway. The attendants go through their routine regarding safety, and the flight attendant from earlier checks on our bridal guest one last time before the engines kick into full gear.