Page 1 of Fairy Cakes in Winter

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“In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer.”—Albert Camus

Scott

The flight attendant directed traffic with a smile, pointing the college-aged twentysomethings hefting giant backpacks to the far side of the plane before picking up her microphone. She gave the usual rambling speech, asking passengers not to crowd the aisles or stuff winter jackets into the overhead bins…Yadda, yadda.

I listened with half an ear for important info, like when this tin can was expected to get in the air and what time we’d land in London. Not that it mattered. I’d been on the late flight from Seattle so often, I knew I was in for a nine-and-a-half-hour ride and that I’d arrive at Heathrow sometime in the late afternoon. I also knew I’d be too disoriented to care about anything other than grabbing something to eat on my way home.

I had to admit, I was one of those weirdos who kind of liked the hum of airplane noise, and there was something vaguely comforting in the routine I’d established over the past seven years. I shrugged off my coat and made sure my headphones were within reach—along with my iPad, reading glasses, and the Ziploc bag of homemade trail mix my sister had sneaked into my carry-on bag. Then I buckled up, settled in, and hoped like hell that the seat next to mine would magically remain open.

Of course, that rarely happened. And I highly doubted my wish would come true this time around ’cause A, cross-Atlantic flights were rarely empty, and B, I didn’t have that kind of luck. The best I could hope for was a quiet neighbor. I peered over at the empty window seat and sent up a quick prayer for it to stay that way before slipping my readers on to check messages on my phone.

My ten-year-old nephew informed me he’d already beat my high score on Madden, my parents asked if there was any way I might finagle a trip home in the spring, and my sister claimed she’d added more M&M’s to her trail mix this year. She also asked if I was okay.

I sent an exclamation sign to Emmett, a heart symbol to my folks, and a thumbs-up to Heather. None of those messages required a wordy response. I’d learned that it was best to stick to basic communication with my family. Emmett was happy with the occasional poop or wind emoji, and my parents liked hearts. Real words got tricky. My parents knew that coming home for Christmas had been a stretch for me. I couldn’t swing another trip too soon, and it was best to avoid circular arguments.

And questions that might spark conversations about an old ex and his new wife. Yep, a thumbs-up was much easier.

I added another for posterity and was about to switch my cell to airplane mode when a new message from Becca lit up my screen.

Call me when you land! I’ll pick you up. Btw, I made a gorgeous lemon meringue pie I’m dying for you to try. Safe travels! xo

XO?

Since when did we do XOs? Since never. Was that a Britishism I’d missed? Maybe, but I’d known Becca for years and I didn’t think she’d ever added an XO to a text.

I frowned at those two letters, wondering how to respond.I’m going to take the train. Lemon meringue is cool.No. That didn’t sound right. I deleted it and tried again.Thanks, don’t worry about picking me up. I’ll see you tomorrow.

“Excuse me, sir? I’m next to the window.”

“Oh, right,” I mumbled. “Sure thing.”

I spared my seatmate an apologetic smile and shoved my duffel out of the way before standing to give the younger man room to slide in. I didn’t intend to give him more than a passing glance, but I was hard-pressed not to notice that he was short, slight, and cute as hell. Oh, and he smelled like peppermint.

I quelled the urge to sniff him like a Labrador when I reclaimed my seat.

So much for having the row to myself. Figures I’d sit next to a holiday-scented elf after having just survived my busiest season to date and a visit home. A whiff of him served as a reminder of all the work I had waiting for me in the new year. He didn’t have to say a word to stress me out.But damn, it would be kind of amazing if he didn’t say a word, I mused grumpily as I reread my message to Becca and pushed Send.

I queued up some tunes while my neighbor made himself comfortable. He stuffed his seat pocket with a hardback book, a water bottle, three Kind bars, and a crossword puzzle before unwrapping the complimentary blanket and pillow. He draped the blanket over his knees, stuffed the pillow behind his back, and covered his eyes with a lavender-scented mask.

Hallelujah.

I pulled on my headphones and adjusted the screen attached to the seat in front of me just as the peppermint elf yanked his eye cover under his chin and twisted to face me.

“Hello, I’m terribly sorry. I seem to have forgotten my manners. I’m Theodore Belden, and although I would undoubtedly enjoy a robust conversation with you, I’m currently under the influence of Ambien. I’m hoping it knocks me out for precisely nine and a half hours. I tend to sleep heavily, so if the flight attendant comes by for food or beverage service, don’t worry about me. I’ll wait to eat when I’m in England.”

I held eye contact for a long moment, unsure what to do with that info dump. And yeah, I was also a little distracted ’cause damn, he was very…pretty. No kidding. I’d guess Theodore was somewhere in his mid-to-late twenties with blond hair, sky-blue eyes, full lips, high cheekbones, and a square jawline so smooth-shaven, I got the impression facial hair wasn’t really an issue for him.

I rubbed my beard thoughtfully and nodded. “Uh…okay. No problem.”

Theodore flashed a brilliant smile before snapping his mask into place. All set for bedtime and the plane hadn’t even finished boarding yet.

He sat up again and pulled the mask aside. “I’m so rude. I didn’t ask your name.”

Oh, boy.

“Scott.”