Page 4 of More than Fiction (Misty Springs #1)

Sophia

I was texting my friends, filling them in on my trip as I gleefully sipped from my drink when a tap on my shoulder tore my attention upwards.

I internally screamed as I choked on my gin and tonic.

Quite literally choked—coughing embarrassingly loud, my lungs burned as gin infiltrated the wrong pipe.

I inhaled instead of swallowing, and now I was slowly drowning in the asphyxiated drink as the man who’d caught me assaulting him with my eyes back at our gate was speaking unintelligible words at me.

“You’re in my seat.”

My coughing subsided enough to understand what he said—his words laced with a mix of irritation and amusement.

I swore Dan said I was supposed to be 1B.

“I’m quite sure this is my seat,” I protested between coughs.

“Show me your boarding pass,” he demanded.

My eyes narrowed at him.

What was the difference between 1B and 1C to this man anyway?

To me, it meant a relaxing ride in the aisle rather than a nerve-wracking, fear-inducing ride by the window.

“Show me yours,” I challenged.

He rolled his eyes and turned his phone toward me.

Sure enough, it said 1B.

I was in his seat.

“Please take your seat, sir,” a male flight attendant said with just the right amount of exasperation as he strode up the aisle .

“I was trying to, but this woman decided to steal it,” he gestured toward me like I was a criminal on trial.

What a nark .

The flight attendant looked between the two of us, assessing the situation and deciding who’d be more difficult to deal with—tailored suit or several-day-old black jacket. “Ma’am, may I see your boarding pass?”

This guy clearly hadn’t chatted with Dan, and since my boarding pass would reveal that I didn’t belong in first class, the jig was up.

Resigned, I grabbed my drink and slinked over to 1C, quickly shutting the window shade.

“Glad we cleared that up,” the flight attendant remarked with a healthy dose of sarcasm before moving on.

I tried not to watch the frustrating, stickler-for-the-rules man as he unbuttoned his suit coat and shrugged it off his shoulders.

The blonde flight attendant who snuck me extra liquor earlier was nearby with a hanger, ready to place his coat in the cabinet near the front.

He whispered something in her ear while his fingers grazed her arm.

She giggled and blushed slightly at whatever he said to her.

I rolled my eyes at their exchange.

1B fell into his seat, shaking the row slightly with his muscled frame. He unbuttoned his shirt at his wrist and rolled it toward his elbow. I tried not to be hyperaware of every move he made—tried not to stare.

But what else was there to look at?

I wasn’t about to open the window shade, and there were only so many variations of off-white cabin decor I could pretend to study before I lost my mind.

Routine announcements crackled through the speakers as I stole tiny glances in his direction.

His jawline was unfairly sharp, dusted with dark stubble that looked too perfect to be a five o’clock shadow.

His lips were full—obnoxiously so—and I caught myself holding my breath as he ran his tongue across them.

What a mouth .

Too bad he used that same mouth to rat me out to the flight attendants .

The plane lights flickered, and my nerves kicked into overdrive.

I downed the rest of my drink, tilting the plastic cup and tapping it to wring out every last drop of liquid courage, using my teeth to strain the ice.

My very “non-first-class” behavior earned me a sideways glance from my new neighbor.

“Here is your whiskey, sir,” the blonde flight attendant purred, handing him a plastic cup wrapped in a napkin.

I tried not to notice how the amber liquid mirrored the warm, rich tone of his eyes—the same eyes that had pinned me in place across the gate earlier.

She then slipped him an extra tiny alcohol bottle with a wink.

Guess Winky just doles out extra alcohol to anyone.

Needing a distraction, I turned my attention back to my phone, and since I was already in a terrible mood, I decided to read the texts I had been avoiding—my cheating ex-fiancé Landon’s texts, to be precise.

Some of them were several days old. I had let them pile up, not bold enough to block him but unwilling to respond.

It had been several months since I called off our engagement. I thought it was all behind me.

But recently, he’d reemerged out of nowhere, popping back into my life like a weed.

Landon (3 days ago): Hey, babe, I miss you and am thinking of you. I heard you were in Phoenix.

Landon (2 days ago): I was thinking that you should keep the ring, it meant something to me, and it meant something to you. You should have it.

Landon (2 am this morning): Forget it, all of it, I hope you’re happy. You’ve ruined my life. I’m pawning your ring tomorrow, along with the shit you left at my place.

Landon (5pm tonight): I’m sorry, babe. I didn’t mean any of it. I just miss you so damn much. We need to talk.

Landon (8 pm tonight): Call me when you’re home. I love you.

I suddenly felt the urge to break open my other bottle of gin before the boarding door even shut. I slid it from my jacket pocket and tried to open it quietly, but the seal cracked loudly as it broke.

1B overheard, and I caught him peering my way. His eyes darted toward my phone before lifting to my face.

I quickly closed out of my texts, switching it to airplane mode, and stuffing it in my jacket pocket—wishing it was that easy to shut Landon out in real life.

1B raised his plastic cup toward me with a grin. “Cheers,” he said, his voice low and smooth.

It was unfair how it resonated somewhere deep inside me, swirling in my gut—or maybe that was the wrap from earlier.

“What are we cheersing to?” I asked.

“To new adventures. It’s my first time visiting Misty Springs.”

I watched his sinful lips as he articulated every syllable. Each word that fell off his tongue was polished and refined.

I couldn’t help but feel inferior. The disparities between us felt glaring. I didn’t belong in first class, and I didn’t belong in a conversation with someone as disarming as him.

We clinked our drinks—my tiny gin bottle to his plastic cup—then sipped in silence as the flight attendants began the safety demonstration.

The routine instructions filled the space between us, as we both quietly sipped our drinks.

Once we started rolling toward takeoff, I glanced in his direction, searching for something— anything —to say. After all, I had technically stolen his seat—no reason to stay hostile.

“Are you traveling for business or pleasure?” After speaking with Dan, that felt like a casual air traveler thing to ask.

“Pleasure?” he asked with a huffed laugh. “What kind of person visits a crap town like Misty Springs for pleasure?”

“ Crap town ?” I repeated, incredulous.

“I did some research. Population not quite hitting 20,000. Entertainment options include a handful of bars that close at midnight and a few greasy-spoon restaurants. Seems real charming.”

His arrogant assessment made my blood boil. “That’s awfully judgmental for someone who’s never been there.”

“Just an observation,” he drawled, clearly unbothered by my tone .

“Yeah, well… some people like small-town life.”

“Sure. People who are too close-minded to go anywhere else.” His eyes stared at mine with a challenge.

“Or maybe people have been elsewhere and realized some places are full of arrogant jerks.” Not my finest comeback. The gin might’ve dulled my filter—and my ability to deliver a proper zinger.

“There are arrogant jerks everywhere,” he shot back, smirking.

“That we can agree on.” I let my gaze drag over him from head to toe, making it clear who I was referring to as the arrogant jerk in this scenario.

We snapped our heads forward, neither seeming to want to continue this unnecessarily hostile exchange. At least our squabble distracted me from takeoff—my least favorite part of flying. Landing was a close second, but at least when you land, the flight is over.

I dug around in my purse for my earbuds, internally screaming at how catastrophically wrong my attraction meter was.

It felt like I’d been catfished—but in reverse. Instead of falling for someone’s fake photo only to discover they were balding and beer-bellied, I was drawn to the muscled frame, the tailored suit, and the smoldering confidence, only to find out that, beneath it all, he was just an…

“Asshole,” I muttered quietly, or at least I thought I did. The way his head whipped toward me, I couldn’t be sure.

I popped in my tiny white earbuds, turned on my favorite angsty playlist, cranking the volume, and buried myself in my book.

Who knows? Maybe I’d get lucky, and we’d both get sucked out of this window.