Page 4 of At First Flight (Coral Bell Cove #1)

I don’t fly often, if ever. This is only the second time I’ve stepped foot on a plane.

I much prefer driving, even across the country.

Not just because I’m scared of heights and known to suffer a panic attack when I feel overwhelmed but also because flying costs money…

a lot more than a measly trip in my car.

That was all until I met Prescott Hoolihan, who also didn’t enjoy flying but drove us around in his family’s courtesy Town Car. His family didn’t believe in driving themselves anywhere, either. Of course, his detestation of flying was because he was a snooty bastard who refused to fly commercially.

Just thinking of Prescott causes a shiver of fear to ripple across my spine like I’ve stepped into a cave of ice.

“Cold?” the man in the now occupied seat beside me asks.

“No,” I assure him, but instead of taking me at my word, he slips his jacket off his shoulders and holds it out for me to take.

I’m helpless to ignore the way his shirt fits snugly around his bicep.

I bet the dark maroon color brings out his eyes, which I would be able to see better if he ever removed his hat.

The shadow from the cap does little to diminish his strong jawline with the hint of scruff that makes my stomach flip.

His dark hair curls just slightly under the hat’s confines, giving him a rugged, unruly appearance.

At first glance, I take him as a cowboy or the storm chasers I binge on documentaries about when I can’t sleep.

Something about him gives off a wild confidence in not just his looks but also himself, and it’s damn attractive.

So damn enticing that I grab the jacket from his hand.

“Thanks,” I mumble, slipping the warm material across my shoulders.

“You’re welcome. So what are we watching?” His chin jerks toward the screen I’d brought to life a bit ago once the plane reached altitude.

“I… I don’t know. To be honest, I need something to take my mind off the day.”

“Well…” He smiles, and I immediately feel my pulse pick up.

It’s a crime for someone to be so good-looking without even trying.

The man could have anyone, female or male, on this plane at his beck and call.

He’s that incredibly gorgeous. And I don’t even notice the telltale signs of a ring wearer.

No tan line. No indentation. So, either he’s a playboy or not looking for a relationship.

“I have just the movie.”

He starts pressing the buttons on the screen, and I even find his fingers appealing. Long and lean, with a bit of roughness around the knuckles like he isn’t afraid of a fight if a situation calls for it.

“How do you feel about The Fast and the Furious franchise?”

I don’t want to tell him it’s one of my favorites, and after the morning I’ve had, I don’t want to taint the series.

“Maybe something else?”

Dean grumbles under his breath as he searches through the movie section again.

“If you want to watch it, you can move back to your seat,” I advise him, only for him to smirk in my direction.

“You’re not getting rid of me so quickly, ghost girl.”

He continues pressing the buttons while I ask, “Ghost girl? You’ve called me that a few times now.”

“Yeah, well, I’d think it’s pretty obvious.”

Snickering, I nearly slap my hand over my mouth before saying, “Uh, clearly not.”

He chuckles, and I hate the way his laugh feels like a soothing caress.

“Really? I mean, with the way you were running through the airport with all that… stuff… fluffed around you, you looked like an apparition. The name came easily.” Dean pins me with his stare after his explanation, and I’m almost scared to pull away, but at the same time, I’m scared to maintain it.

Something is… unsettling about the way he looks at me as if he can see me in a way no one else can.

Which is ridiculous, considering we just met minutes ago.

“Make sense?” he tacks on, and I nod before forcing my eyes from his and looking at my screen where he’s requested a group watch of the movie Runaway Bride .

“Really? This is what you want to watch?”

“Well, I thought it was apt for the moment, and it’s one of my sister’s favorites.”

“You have a sister?” I ask as I switch on the subtitles to read along with the movie. Sitting in first class, I know I can ask for a free set of earbuds, but I hate how those things never fit in my ear correctly.

Dean settles into his seat, his arm brushing against mine on the middle armrest. “Want to know things about me now, fiancée?”

Fiancée. Did he just say fiancée ?

For a heartbeat, I think I misheard him or maybe the altitude is messing with my brain. Or maybe the exhaustion. Or the heartbreak. I glance over at him, fully expecting a smirk, a wink, something to tell me he’s just trying to make me laugh. God knows I need it.

But he’s looking at me like he means it.

Like the idea of marrying a total stranger isn't the most insane thing either of us could be thinking right now.

And somehow, that look, steady, amused but not mocking, unhooks something in me.

I feel it in the center of my chest, like the first warm day after a brutal winter.

He’s clearly a little unhinged. Or self-assured in a way only men with broad shoulders and sinfully good looks can get away with. But he’s also funny, unexpectedly so. And it’s the first time I’ve smiled all day. A real, startled, God-I-forgot-I-could-still-feel kind of smile.

I should brush it off and tell him I’m not in the mood for jokes, not after the day I’ve had. But my brain short-circuits when his eyes meet mine again. There’s something behind them. Something calm and sure and just reckless enough to match the chaos inside me.

And for one crazy second, I think… maybe he isn’t kidding. And that terrifies me almost as much as it thrills me. Because today was supposed to be the worst day of my life.

And somehow, with his rough voice and ridiculous suggestion, this stranger is making it feel like it could be the start of something else entirely.

I cross my arms, mostly to stop my hands from trembling. “We are not engaged. And I was simply making conversation,” I bite out, praying my voice holds more certainty than I feel.

“ Yet. Not engaged yet ,” he says with a smirk that should be illegal. It’s too confident, too knowing, like he sees something in me I haven’t dared admit out loud. And dammit, it’s starting to work. My defenses fray a little more with every second I spend under that gaze.

I toss him a look, the only weapon I have left. “Do you just wake up with such a large ego, or does it progress as the day goes on?”

His smile turns wicked, eyes sparkling like he’s been waiting for this exact moment. “Oh, sweetheart. This isn’t ego. It’s called knowing what I want. And that, ghost girl, is you.”

My breath catches, and not just from the heat behind those words.

Ghost girl. It’s a tease, but it cuts too close to the truth.

Because I have been a ghost lately—drifting, empty, transparent in a life I thought was mine.

A woman who lost herself in someone else's story. And now here’s this stranger, talking about wanting me like I’m real. Like I’m worth wanting.

I should laugh it off, roll my eyes, and change the subject. Instead, my heart does this ridiculous lurch, and my pulse thrums low and steady in places it has no business waking up.

Because maybe… for the first time in too long, I want to be wanted back.

The movie begins playing, and before I know it, Maggie Carpenter is riding on the back of a horse through a field, leaving the altar yet again. Thank goodness I hadn’t let the sham of a relationship get to that point.

Peeking at my newly acquired companion seated next to me, I notice that his lips move subtly, and then it occurs to me that he’s mouthing the words.

“How many times have you seen this movie?”

Dean smiles as he replies, “One time too many. It was my sister’s favorite form of torture.”

Nodding, I twist in my seat to face him more directly. “I know all about that. I have four brothers and sisters.”

“Four?”

“Yep. Never a dull moment in our household.”

“That sounds… amazing, actually.” A wave of sadness fills our confined space.

Even without saying much more, I know that his sister is a sore subject.

So it surprises me when he continues. “My sister and I only got to spend a little bit of time together growing up. Holidays. The occasional family vacation. Most of our days were spent at boarding school. But when we were together, it was awesome.” Dean pauses, his eyes searching mine. “But people change.”

“Yeah.” That is a sentiment I know all too well. Everything I knew over the last two years had changed. Not just me but also my so-called fiancé.

“You know what this is a great moment for?” he asks as he grabs a bag of chips from the attendant, who I hadn’t even noticed was standing in our row again. I kindly accept the package of cookies she offers and select my lunch.

“No, I don’t know what this is a great moment for,” I reply, startling Dean as he shoves a few chips into his mouth.

“Huh? Oh! This is a great time for sharing. I gave you a peek at me. You give me a peek at you. And I’m sure you can guess what I’m curious about.”

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what Dean was referencing. The dress. The airport. The chaos.

“I’m not sure—" I say, my voice thinner than I’d like. It trembles under the weight of the words I’m not ready to say.

Dean doesn’t press. Doesn’t prod. He simply reaches over, his hand finding mine with quiet steadiness. His palm is warm, grounding. His thumb sweeps gently across my knuckles in the kind of motion that shouldn’t feel so comforting from a stranger.

“Just tell me what you want,” he says softly. “I’m not here to judge.”