Page 41

Chapter One

A urora

“I’m doing it.” The strap of my bag bites into my shoulder as I step forward. “By the time I’m back in this airport tomorrow night, it’ll be done.”

The airline check-in officer lifts a brow, pinning me to the spot with the scrutiny of someone paid to catch people doing inconspicuous things in airports.

“Oh no. It’s not like that,” I say hurriedly, gesturing to my earbuds. “I’m talking to a friend.”

Jamie’s snort pierces my eardrums. “ Lying to a friend is more like it.”

“I’m a model citizen,” I say, ignoring her. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m harmless.”

“Only criminals say that,” Jamie says.

I fight the urge to roll my eyes, not wanting the officer to think I’m getting snarky with her. The last thing I need is to get apprehended by the marshals and miss my flight. That would be a great way to start the weekend.

The agent doesn’t respond. Instead, she dismisses me with a flick of her gaze toward the jetway.

“Thank you. Have a great day.” I scurry to catch up with the other people waiting to board the flight.

Raindrops splatter against the tunnel, carried by a howling wind that began minutes ago. The jetway trembles from the onslaught, and the other passengers exchange worried glances. I chew on my bottom lip in frustration. This flight better not get delayed.

“What is that sound?” Jamie asks as my line begins to move.

“The wind. Is it storming at the salon?”

“No, although it looks like it could start at any moment. Maybe it’ll knock the power out, and I’ll have to cancel this afternoon’s appointments. Maddie Spriggs is supposed to be here in an hour. I’d be beside myself if I had to postpone her cut and color.”

I laugh and step onto the plane. “Sure, you would.”

“Welcome aboard,” a smiling flight attendant says.

I nod, grip my bag tightly, and fight the urge to ask if she’s concerned about potential delays. Slowly, the bodies in front of me find their seats, and I reach mine—seat 4A.

First class and a window seat? Score!

“At least if I die, I’ll know what first class feels like.” I sink into the roomy blue pleather. “You should see how wide these seats are. I can put my arms down and not elbow whoever sits next to me.”

“Don’t talk about dying,” Jamie says. “What am I supposed to do if you die?”

I plop my bag at my feet and appreciate the extra space. “Oh, sure. Make my theoretical death about you.”

“Who else would it be about? I’d be here to deal with the salon and your customers, who would naturally be devastated. They’d expect me to console them, but—I don’t know whether you know this about me—I’m not the consoling kind.”

I laugh again, imagining my best friend trying to handle other people’s emotions. It would not end well.

Jamie Ralston is known for many things. She’s one of the best hairstylists in Nashville and owns one of the most popular salons, The Luxe.

Her sense of humor is unmatched. She has an unbelievable shoe collection, knows every lyric to every country song written in the past thirty years, and has perfected the pouty red lip.

But she’s the last person I’d go to for emotional support unless I’m ready to hear the raw, ugly truth.

“How long is your flight?” she asks.

“It’s just over an hour. I brought my earbuds and a book. I can’t think of the last time I got to sit quietly on a plane and read.”

“After the past year and a half, that’s the least you deserve.”

I couldn’t agree more.

The past eighteen months have been nothing short of brutal.

My ex-husband, Kent, made it his mission to make my life a living hell.

Although he took a job in Japan and moved across the world, he fought me tooth and nail over everything.

The house. The car. Our frequent flier miles and bank accounts were a biggie.

But the bastard even fought me over the damn blender our friends gave us as a housewarming gift and the jewelry box I bought on our honeymoon.

“I miss you around here,” Jamie says. “The Luxe isn’t the same without you.”

“I’ll be back in town tomorrow night.”

“You know what I mean.” She huffs. “I know your new job is what you wanted, and I’m so happy for you .” The way she says it, as if a gun is pointed at her head, makes me laugh. “I haven’t even tried to fill your chair. I don’t want to think about working alongside someone else.”

“If I hate this new gig, I’ll return to the salon full-time. You know that.”

“And we both know you won’t. You’re going to be so damn good that they’ll promote you within a week, and you’ll be running the damn place.”

“I love how supportive you are about this. Did you get that whole thing out without rolling your eyes?”

“No. They’re still rolling.”

I laugh, digging around my bag for my book, and then I slide my purse under the seat in front of me.

The cabin air is thick and balmy, thanks to the rain pelting the windows. The sky is less angry than before I boarded and not quite as dark, but the buckets of precipitation haven’t waned. I slip my sweater off my shoulders before I sit back again.

“It’s so humid in here,” I say, gathering my dark hair at the nape of my neck. “If this plane gets delayed, I’m going to be pissed.”

“The weatherman just said the storm is passing quickly, so you should be clear.”

“Good.”

“So you get into Columbus this evening. Then what? Do you go straight into the event activities?”

I fashion my locks into a low-hanging knot to keep my hair off my neck.

“I don’t have anything until tomorrow. The original plan was to leave here tomorrow morning, but if I did that, I’d be scrambling as soon as I landed.

That left me with this flight or one that leaves at ten o’clock tonight, and I hate landing in a new city and getting to the hotel when it’s dark outside. ”

“That’s fair. So you’ll hang out tonight? Order some room service?” She pauses. “ Go on the prowl ?”

My laugh is quicker and louder than I intended, and I capture a few curious looks from passengers lining the aisle.

“I’m serious,” Jamie says. “You’ve been separated for almost two freaking years, and now you’re officially divorced from the asshole. You need to get back out there before you forget how.”

“Trust me. I won’t forget how. It’s practically all I think about sometimes.”

Lately? Most of the time.

I haven’t been with anyone since Kent. When our marriage fell apart, it took my sex drive with it.

The idea of being with a man was wholly uninspiring for the longest time, and fighting over lawn mowers and quilts for months on end is just short of getting doused with a bucket of iced water on repeat.

But a month ago, I picked up my first romance novel in years. My sex drive is suddenly back and very, very needy.

“Then what’s stopping you?” she asks. “You keep telling me you’re too busy—blah, blah, blah. One of these days, you’ll have to take the leap and dive back in.”

“I’ve been divorced for three weeks, Jamie. It’s not like I’m avoiding it.”

“It looks like you’re avoiding it to me. It doesn’t take that much time to have a one-night stand.”

I roll my eyes, fumbling with the tray table.

How in the heck does this thing come out?

“I’m just getting to know myself for the first time.

A preacher raised me, remember? I’ve spent most of my life in a relationship or feeling guilty for lusting after men I wasn’t married to.

” The tray table frees from the armrest. Presto !

“I’m just not sure what I want, and I don’t want to make mistakes this time. ”

“I’ll tell you what didn’t look like a mistake—and that was the Daddy in the salon the other day,” she says.

“More like Granddaddy.” I laugh. “Besides, that man had red flags the size of Texas.”

“That might be true. We all know I can’t see red regarding warning signs in men.”

“ That is definitely true,” I say, reminded of the litany of men who Jamie should’ve steered away from and ran toward instead.

“What about the hot cowboy you told me about from the grocery store?” she asks. “Anything on that front?”

“No.”

“Ror—”

“He wasn’t my type!”

She groans. “Hot cowboys are everyone’s type.”

“Not true. Darlin’ is cute once or twice. He would’ve been much hotter if he had stopped talking.”

“Do you know what your problem is?” she asks. “It’s that you don’t appreciate God’s gifts. You’re a beautiful woman with a body I’d do anything but run for, and a personality that’s good enough to make you my best friend, and you don’t appreciate any of it.”

My giggle turns into a full-out laugh.

“What do you want?” she asks. “What are we looking for? A professional? A man riding a motorcycle who’s running from the law? Or do you want a sexy co-ed fresh out of a history lecture? The opportunities are endless, my friend.”

“I don’t want anyone too young. I don’t want to be their mommy.” I notice the woman sitting across the aisle side-eyeing me, so I twist away from her in my seat and lower my voice again. “I’m 100 percent sure I’m going to be on some kind of watch list after today.”

I glance up as the flight attendant pauses beside me.

“Can I get you something to drink before we take off?” she asks.

“ Oh .” That’s a thing? “Water would be nice. Thank you.”

She nods and turns to Ms. Eavesdropper.

“I can get used to first class,” I say. “You get wide seats and drinks before takeoff. Can it get any better?”

“In my next life, I’m getting a fancy job that wants to fly me to events first class and pay for hotel suites.”

“Let’s hope it continues to be amazing. I’ve only worked here for two months. There’s still time for it to go to shit.”

“You say that from your comfy seat in the front of the plane.” She sighs dramatically. “I’m going to call my mom and tell her she was wrong. Cheerleading could’ve paid off for me big time. I mean, all that math and science crap didn’t get me anywhere. I do hair for a living.”

“You’re doing just fine for yourself, Miss Salon of the Year for six straight years.”

“Yeah, but I could be flying to Columbus, drinking champagne, and wearing cute clothes while schmoozing on someone else’s dime.”

“Well, when you put it like that …”

“Face it. I’m never wrong.” She yawns. “I gotta go. Maddie will arrive soon, and I must mentally prepare for her drama.”

“Have fun.”

“ You have fun . Be safe. Drink your water. And call me when you land.”

“Yes, Mom.”

She laughs. “Love you, Ror.”

“Love you. Bye.”

“Bye.”

I end the call and pull out my earbuds.

The sky is much brighter, and the rain is more of a mist than a shower. Steam rises from the tarmac below.

A spark of excitement flickers inside me. I sit with it, holding my book on my lap, and enjoy the peace in my body. Finally, I can breathe without wincing. I can hope without it feeling pointless. I’m able to look toward my future and dream about the possibilities.

I’m free to … be me.

“Here’s your water, ma’am,” the flight attendant says.

I turn to take my drink from her, but instead of reaching for it, my attention focuses on a man standing at the front of the plane.

Ocean-colored eyes. Square jawline. Sinful smirk .

Whoever is on the other end of his call must be getting an earful because the veins in his temple pulse.

“Thank you,” I say, taking my drink from the flight attendant.

She glances over her shoulder, then grins at me knowingly.

The man passes aisle one and then aisle two. The lady by the window nearly breaks her neck looking at him. Aisle three is full. Chaos floods my body as he gets closer.

He stops at the seat next to me, flashing a killer smile my way.

Jamie, I’m sorry I lied to you.

I return his smile.

First class could—and did—get a whole lot better.