Page 59

I arrived at the airport with barely enough time to catch my Red Eye flight back to Boston.

The last-minute stop at Goodwill to donate almost everything I owned took longer than planned.

I wanted the move back to Boston to be a fresh start, and keeping mementos from college didn’t fit the new life I had mapped out.

I had briefly entertained the thought of staying in Washington.

Still, when the Massachusetts Department of Public Health offered me an entry-level position as an Epidemiologist in Boston, I accepted.

With my mom being a nurse, I had had plenty of exposure to health systems, and she’d provided a foundation for disease prevention and infection control.

But I loved numbers and data, not so much interacting and treating sick people.

I was hooked when I discovered that I could take an active role in controlling the spread of disease without becoming a doctor or nurse.

So, dream job, closer to my family, and living within fifteen minutes of my brand new nephew, Crew? I would have done almost anything for this opportunity.

I checked my phone before boarding and confirmed that Kelsey would be available to pick me up at Logan when I landed first thing.

While I dreaded the first few days back as I adjusted to the time change, I couldn’t wait to hold Crew finally.

I hadn’t been able to make it back in March when he was born, so up until now, I had only ever seen him on FaceTime.

I boarded the flight after reluctantly getting stuck in the middle seat.

Ugh, I hated the middle seat, but after getting distracted packing up my apartment, I had forgotten to check in for the flight home.

This was the last seat left where I didn’t need to pay, and I hated paying extra to be comfortable.

When I found my row, both neighbors had already taken their seats, and I had to excuse myself twice before the woman on the aisle looked up at me and moved so I could take my seat. Her huff when I pointed out that she was sitting on my seatbelt got the attention of the man seated in the window.

Oh my. Can a man be beautiful? I wanted to drown in his eyes. And the crinkle at the corner, followed by a quick wink and nod at the woman at the end.

“Here, let me help,” he said, sliding over as far as he could towards the window and lifting the armrest so I could store my items under the seat.

Then, I realized I had already lost the armrest negotiation with the witch at the end of the row. Didn’t everyone know that the middle row got both armrests?

I had finally settled when I remembered my book was still in my backpack. Of course, the hot guy next to me also bent down to search his bag at the same time, and yep, our heads collided.

“Sorry,” he said, immediately taking responsibility for the accident.

We negotiated access to our backpacks by taking turns, and my eyes wandered to the book in his hand. Huh.

I held up my copy of Mistborn , the first book in the Branden Sanderson series, and he sheepishly showed me his copy of the same book.

“Looks like you’re further along than I am,” I said. “I’ve been holding off starting this; I heard the Cosmere can get intense, and every book gets longer and longer.”

He chuckled, the sound coming out more like a deep rumble. “I travel a lot for work and can’t sleep on planes, no matter how late we fly. My goal is to go right through the summer in order.”

“That’s ambitious. I love a good fantasy series, but I usually end up reading a palate cleanser between each book,” I said, grateful that I hadn’t been reading one of those palate cleansers today.

I felt no shame in some of my smuttier reads, but I wasn’t comfortable talking about those choices with good-looking men on planes.

I checked his left hand, and while I didn’t see a telltale gold band, I thought I saw an indentation from where one had been not too long ago.

Sigh. Did he slip his ring in his pocket when I sat down?

Was he one of those businessmen who traveled and picked up women while his wife and family waited for him at home?

I shook my head, a heavy feeling of disappointment. At what? Did I think the universe would put me next to a handsome and eligible man? No, I tended to attract unavailable men, either physically or emotionally unavailable. The tease of a man beside me was par for the course.

I attempted to immerse myself in my book, but my eyes wandered to the stranger to my left. I gasped when he rolled back the cover of his paperback after cracking the spine.

His eyes shot to mine.

“Everything okay?” He asked.

“It was until you ruined your book. Why’d you have to go and crack the spine like that? Please don’t tell me you maintain your place by folding the corner?”

“How else would I mark my place,” his brows arched, and the corner of his mouth ticked up in amusement.

“Um, there are so many better ways that don’t involve absolutely destroying the integrity of the book.

Have you ever heard of a bookmark?” I asked, holding up the bookmark I had that proclaimed I like my books dirty and my MMC’s well hung.

My face growing red as I dug through the seat back pocket for a distraction.

“Or even this is better.” I held up the barf bag, shaking it, hopefully before he had a chance to read and absorb the words on my favorite bookmark, the one Kendra had sent me after buying it from a small Etsy seller.

He laughed again, the rich rumble of his voice practically vibrating through me.

“I’ve always been a bit of a destroyer of books. When I finish reading, it’s as if I’ve gone to battle right along with the characters.”

I shook my head, unable to wipe the smile off my face. Again, just my luck that I’d meet a man so incredibly easy to talk to, and he’d be married. Of course, if he was married and an experienced cheater, I probably couldn’t trust my reaction to him.

“Where are you headed, …?” He finished with a question, looking for me to provide my name.

“Kylie, I’m moving back to Boston. I just graduated from my Master’s program and I’m headed home. And you?” I asked.

“I was out west finalizing my divorce,” he shrugged.

My eyes darted to the indentation on his finger once more and then connected with his. What was the emotion I saw in his eyes? Hurt? Regret? Or maybe even a hint of relief.

“That sounds like a hell of a story,” I said.

“It certainly is, but I have a very good friend who warned me that you don’t tell a woman you’re interested in your divorce story right out the chute.”

Oh. Damn. I’ve never had a man be this open and honest with his interest. But then again, this guy probably had at least ten years on any of the guys I’d dated.

“No, probably don’t want to share that story before you’ve even given her your name,” I said with grin.

He shook his head, a wry smile showcased a dimple that somehow went perfectly with the dark stubble contrasting the rugged look with boyish charm.

“Real smooth, huh?” He asked before holding his hand out in greeting. “Luc Lecompte. I’m sorry, I’m a little out of practice.”

I took his hand, not expecting the shock and pulled it back sharply. He also looked down at his hand, and no, that wasn’t static, and yes, we both felt it.

Our neighbor, likely tired of listening to us, sighed heavily, heaving herself around in her seat. We both stifled a laugh and then promptly returned to ignoring her existence.

“What do you do that has you traveling for work so often?” I asked, curious to know more about him.

“I work for the Minutemen, and during the season, I travel with the team,” he said.

“So, you’re support staff?” I asked.

“You could say that. The schedule is partially the reason for my divorce,” he said and then looked back down at his hands. “Sorry, I somehow brought it up again, I swear I’ve moved on. The papers might have only just been finalized, but it ended more than a year ago.”

I nodded and smiled at him in an attempt to reassure him. “It’s okay, I’ll still give you my number.”

And now he positively beamed as he handed me his phone to add my contact.

“Can you please?” Miss aisle seat asked with an eyeroll, she’d had enough of our chatter.

We both picked up our books and resumed reading.

At some point during the flight, I’d fallen asleep on Luc’s shoulder.

I woke up when we landed to find that I’d curled into him while I slept, my arm draped across his lower abdomen, dangerously close to his fly and yep, I’d drooled.

Judging from the dazed look on his face, he’d also fallen asleep.

“I thought you said you don’t sleep on airplanes?” I asked.

“I don’t. Or I never have before,” he said, eyes wide with confusion.

When we stood to deplane, he bent to help with my backpack.

“My sister is picking me up, and she’s got an infant so I don’t want to keep her waiting too long. As soon as we get off, I’m gonna fly to see her. But you have my number?”

“I do,” he said, gently reaching to push a few strands of hair off my face and tuck it behind my ear. And yup, my eyes dropped to his mouth, how the hell was I thinking about kissing this man, morning breath and all, in the middle of a crowded airplane.

And just before I did something insanely stupid, the line to deplane suddenly started to move.

I looked back at him briefly before I took off, “Bye, Luc,” I mouthed