Page 5 of The Love Bus

SHAKE VIGOROUSLY

B ack when my life didn’t feel like a made-for-television catastrophe, I would’ve spent a flight like this looking forward to my destination, scrolling through Pinterest for dining table inspirations, or maybe dozing off with a neck pillow—which, by the way, I’d forgotten to pack.

Now? Now I was wedged into the ghastly middle seat, with an elderly lady quietly snoring on one side and a guy who seemed determined to make me feel small—literally and figuratively—on the other.

The engines vibrated steadily beneath us, and the faint roar of the air passing outside the cabin settled into a white noise that made my ears buzz. I’d never been a nervous flyer, not in the least, but then again, I hadn’t had anything to be nervous about.

I had trusted…my life.

I shifted awkwardly, trying to find a comfortable position. Sitting here for four hours staring at the seat back in front of me wasn’t an option, so I Ieaned forward, hands searching the sides of my skirt to find the pocket with my phone.

Unfortunately, the awkward position forced my elbows to jut out to the sides, and I wound up jabbing the guy next to me—twice.

“Sorry,” I mumbled again, although my voice sounded flat.

And again…he didn’t respond. I couldn’t really blame him.

I straightened, clutching my phone like a prize, but when I went to reclaim my armrest, it was…occupied.

Taken.

I looked down, and suddenly I was irritated all over again.

Seriously? Everyone knew the middle-seat person had full, unspoken rights to both armrests. It was the only consolation for being crammed between strangers for hours.

I glared at his arm, willing it to move. He didn’t seem to notice—or care.

Fine. Be like that.

I turned my attention back to my phone, bringing up a book I’d downloaded the day before, but I couldn’t seem to get past the first page, rereading the same lines over and over as I fought these unfamiliar sensations in my chest.

I just…I couldn’t get it under control. It was like the blood in my veins had suddenly turned electric, and every pump of my heart only added more fuel to the fire.

This feeling was bigger than it should have been, more than just minor irritation.

It wasn’t even about the armrest, or my bag, or even the guy next to me, not really.

It was everything else.

Leo. My job. Ashley. My mom.

About how I didn’t feel like myself anymore.

About how I’d gone from being a person who could roll with life’s punches to someone who felt sucker-punched by the slightest inconvenience.

This wasn’t me.

I let out a slow breath, trying to shake the thought, when one of the flight attendants approached, backing down the aisle and turning to our row.

I understood why she ignored the woman sleeping by the window, but when I went to request a water bottle, her cool blue gaze landed instead on the armrest thief seated beside me.

“What can I get you, sir?” she practically purred.

Oh my God, she was hitting on him.

“A water would be great,” Aisle Seat Guy said. We were so jam-packed onto this flight that I actually felt his arm rumble when he spoke.

“Are you sure? We have coffee, soda, wine? And a full selection of alcoholic beverages. You look like a whiskey man to me. I see you’re one of our priority flyers, so there’s no charge.”

Seriously?

My mouth actually dropped open as I witnessed this scenario play out.

I think he might have cracked a smile, but at this angle, I couldn’t tell unless I was willing to crane all the way around to stare at him—which I refused to do.

“Water’s fine, thank you,” he insisted.

“All righty then. One water, coming right up!” Was it possible for a person to purr and chirp at the same time? Apparently so. “And, by the way, I am so sorry we couldn’t upgrade you to first class. Busy time of year, you know.”

“It’s no problem, really,” he said, voice flat.

He sounded just as unimpressed by her as he’d been with me. But still…did he have that same bored look on his face? The one I’d inspired with my carry-on bag acrobatics?

Probably.

Not that I’d dressed to impress anyone. I’d barely managed to get my hair into a knot on the top of my head.

My throat closed around a lump of shame.

Back home, even to run errands, I’d always made at least the minimum effort—just in case someone recognized me.

After all, as Leo had always been quick to remind me: branding is everything.

While I reeled from yet another realization about this new and un improved me, the flight attendant had grabbed Aisle Seat Guy’s drink, skipping over the generic waters in favor of a glass bottle that looked much higher end.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

Well, at least now that she was done with him, I should finally be able to make my own request.

“I’ll have a—” But it didn’t’ matter what I wanted to drink because she was already moving to the row behind us, her smile firmly fixed as she ignored my attempt to catch her attention.

And the irritating guy beside me? Well, I knew he noticed, because he chuckled. But since I’d already made it clear that I wasn’t interested in him helping with anything, he did nothing to call her back.

Fine. Fine. Who needed water, anyway? I slumped back into my seat with a sigh.

The older woman in the window seat was already fast asleep, slumped over against the side of the cabin, her mouth slightly open, a line of drool trailing down to collect on her shoulder. At least it wasn’t me she was leaning and drooling on. Small blessings, I supposed.

I directed my gaze past her, out toward the endless expanse of clouds beyond the window. The sunlight shimmered off their fluffy tops, the kind of view that might have been inspiring under different circumstances.

That was when it happened.

The plane just…dropped. Not just run-of-the-mill turbulence, but it lurched so hard that drinks went flying into the air, and I lifted about an inch off my seat, pressing up into the belt that was thankfully still secured across my lap.

One of the small dogs on board yapped, and a baby started crying somewhere behind me.

I clutched something. The armrest? Nope. A masculine arm? Yep.

Did I care?

Nope.

If I’d claimed not to be a nervous flyer, strike that, because I was not handling this very well. An ominous amount of saliva suddenly coated my mouth, and every muscle in my body tensed.

The turbulence that followed wasn’t as bad—but that first drop had left me feeling a little lightheaded, a little…green.

“Close your eyes.” A low voice came from beside me.

I turned, startled, and found myself momentarily distracted by Aisle Seat Guy’s eyes.

“What?” I uncurled my fingers from his forearm and pretended not to notice the little halfmoons left by my nails.

“Close your eyes,” he repeated, thankfully ignoring them too. “Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth. Slowly.”

“I’m fine,” I lied, still clenched all over.

“You don’t look fine.”

“I can take care of myself, thanks,” I managed.

“It’s just that you’re doing such a great job of it,” he said dryly. Then, with a quick once-over: “You’re pale, your pulse is rapid, and your breathing’s shallow.”

I blinked at him.

“Long slow breaths,” he added. “I’d rather not be thrown up on today.”

“Today? That’s a common occurrence for you?”

“You’d be surprised.”

Before I could think of a response, he reached into the seatback pocket in front of me and pulled out a stiff paper bag.

“If you don’t want to take my advice,” he added, holding the bag out toward me, “at least take this.”

I stared at it for a moment, my pride and my queasy stomach waging an internal battle.

“Right,” I mumbled, snatching the bag but hoping I wouldn’t need it. Then I leaned back, closed my eyes, and focused on my breathing.

Gradually, I started feeling better.

He was right; I’d simply forgotten how this worked.

“Good girl,” he said, and then settled back into his seat, for now, abandoning the armrest and acting like nothing had happened.

Good girl?

My pulse kicked in a way that had nothing to do with altitude.

Oh no. Absolutely not.

I placed my elbow in the newly freed space, half of me wishing I had a good comeback while the other half just felt…grateful.

The grateful part won this time and, forcing my jaw to relax, I just…breathed.

Feeling angry, tense, and mad at the world obviously wasn’t helping.

But how the heck was I going to make it twelve days on my own if I could barely manage to get through these four hours?