Page 6 of The Love Bus

A WONDERWORLD WELCOME!

T he rest of the flight was uneventful once the plane—and my stomach—settled down. Aside from still being grudgingly aware of the man seated beside me, I managed to drift into that in-between state where you’re not fully awake but not quite asleep, making the time pass a little quicker.

Honestly, I’d rather have had a root canal than come on this trip, but at the same time, I had nothing waiting for me at home.

As the wheels touched down and the plane began to decelerate, I tried to summon a flicker of excitement.

Leo and I had traveled up and down the East Coast, visited California and Seattle, but I’d never been to Denver—or any of the “middle” states. I knew the Rocky Mountains were supposed to be stunning.

Not that I could confirm it.

Window Seat Lady had jolted awake during the descent and had been hunched forward ever since, her face practically glued to the tiny portal.

Technically, it was her view to enjoy—she had the window, after all.

Still, a glimpse might’ve been nice.

As we taxied toward the gate, the usual announcement crackled overhead, reminding everyone to stay seated—but of course, no one did. Seatbelts clicked, overhead bins thudded open, and the cabin filled with that familiar post-flight shuffle.

Because we were near the back, it felt like we’d be stuck there forever, watching the crowd ahead jostle and grab their bags like it was a race.

I half expected Aisle Seat Guy to stay seated as long as possible just to spite me. But right before there was an opening, he turned and, with a low sigh, his eyes met mine.

This time, I saw something there that I hadn’t noticed before. Not irritation, but a flicker of humor. Or maybe it was pity—something almost warm, something I probably didn’t deserve after I’d snapped at him earlier.

“If I get your bag for you, will I be in danger?” he asked.

Oh. I’d been preparing myself for attitude, not…whatever this was.

Well played.

I brushed my hair away from my face, finding it difficult suddenly to meet his gaze. “Yes. I mean, no,” I stammered. “I mean…of course not.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, and for a second, I thought he might actually smile. But he didn’t. He just unfolded himself from the seat in one smooth motion.

I’d known he was ridiculously attractive, but I hadn’t let myself really look until now. Probably for the best, considering how hyper-aware I’d been of every inch of him encroaching into my space for the entire flight.

His shirt, a well-fitted button-up, hugged his chest without trying too hard, and he had his sleeves rolled up to reveal lightly muscled forearms.

And that’s when I saw them: faint red marks, barely visible now, pressed into his skin from my fingernails.

Either he hadn’t noticed or didn’t care.

But as we waited, I couldn’t stop staring. This man exuded a natural confidence. He didn’t fidget or glance around to see who might be watching. He just was.

Leo, on the other hand, had put himself together following a careful recipe. Every detail from his perfectly knotted tie to the way he’d dominate conversations with rehearsed anecdotes suddenly seemed almost cold, calculated.

I’d found it charming—a sign of his passion.

Then again, I’d thought he’d been passionate about me, and I’d been wrong about that.

People toward the front of the plane were moving forward, and I realized my hot seatmate had retrieved my bag and was handing it to me.

“Thanks,” I said, more quietly this time. I shifted awkwardly in my seat, forcing my stiff legs into action.

He nodded, then stepped aside to let me into the aisle, and I caught one last whiff of his aftershave or soap, clean and sharp, not pretentious at all.

As I stood up, I was hit with a wave of self-consciousness, suddenly regretting my decision to travel au naturel .

My skirt, normally flowy and elegant, was crumpled in every direction.

I’d showered, but instead of using any product to tame my hair, I’d tied it on top of my head with a scrunchy.

A few strands had escaped and were curling around my face—frizzy, of course.

I tucked them behind my ear, knowing they’d spring right back.

Sure, he was a stranger, but I still didn’t like that I was leaving him with this impression of me—a hot mess—on the outside but also the inside. And standing in the slow-moving line of passengers on the way toward the exit, I couldn’t help but sneak one last glance back at him.

He hadn’t rushed like everyone else. Instead, he’d let the people around him file into the aisle first. All patient-like, he had his bag slung over one shoulder, looking completely unbothered, like he had all the time in the world.

Our eyes met—just for a second. And something in his expression caught me off guard. Steady . Encouraging.

For the briefest moment, I thought he might say something.

But then someone stepped into the aisle between us, and the moment—whatever it was—was gone.

I looked away, blinking hard.

The airport was massive, and by the time I followed the herd to baggage claim, Mr. Aisle Seat was long gone.

My suitcase was one of the last to drop onto the carousel. I hauled it outside, slid into the back of a cab, and gave the driver the name of the hotel from my itinerary.

As we merged into a snaking line of traffic, the scenery blurred past—rolling hills, new suburbs, shopping centers that all looked copy-pasted from the same strip mall template.

I was starting to wonder if we’d landed in Kansas by mistake when the Rockies finally came into view.

A massive line of jagged peaks on the horizon. Blue. White-capped.

A wave of thick flutters sucked at my chest. We had mountains back home, sure, but this was something else entirely. They looked…impossible.

I pressed my forehead to the window and took a slow breath, trying to steady the rush of nerves as the driver seemed to change lanes randomly.

Why had I let Ashley talk me into it?

My thoughts scattered in every direction—Leo, my meltdown on the show, Aisle Seat Guy, and the next twelve days, all scheduled out but also…unknown. The edges of everything felt fuzzy and too loud, the way it sometimes did when I was about to unravel.

Not now. Not here. I focused on the sound of the tires on the road, the faint buzz of the cab’s engine, and counted the number of raindrop smudges on the window until the tightness in my chest finally eased.

By the time we pulled up to the hotel—a sleek, modern thing with sharp edges and square planters—I was almost breathing normally.

The air was warm and dry against my skin, and…I was okay.

I could do this.

Inside, the lobby buzzed with life: an older couple in matching Hawaiian shirts, a family chasing a sugar-rushed toddler, a concierge nodding calmly at a frazzled businessman. I checked in, grabbed my key, and headed upstairs.

After a brief battle with the key card and the heavy door, I let myself in, tossed my bags onto a chair, and surveyed the tidy little room. The A/C kicked on with a rattle, voices murmured faintly through the wall—and somehow, I felt even more alone than I had at home.

I’d never really traveled solo. I couldn’t afford to. And once I could, I never had to—Leo was always there, leading the way.

This weird silence felt thick. Off.

I looked down at my phone. I could call Ashley, but it was later there, and she’d be making dinner or tending to Mom.

And really, since when did I need my older sister to hold my hand through everything?

Okay. That answer was obvious.

I typed out a quick text.

Me: Arrived.

Her response came almost instantly.

Ashley: Yay!

A second text followed a moment later.

Ashley: Boys are in the bath. Let's talk later. You can do this! Remember, this is supposed to be fun!

I exhaled, half-smiling despite myself. Fun . Right.

Shaking my head, I found my charger and did my best to ignore my phone after that.

I was fine. Really. Everything was going to be just fine.

To shake the silence, I turned on the TV, kicked off my sandals, and collapsed onto the bed with my eyes closed.

But the day wasn’t over. The tour group was meeting in the lobby in a few hours.

And as tempting as it was to stay right here, wrapped in this weird hotel-limbo, the stale scent of air travel clung to me.

Unlike Aisle Seat Guy, who I’d never have to see again, I’d be spending the next twelve days with a bunch of strangers.

I should probably try to smell less like a carry-on.

What had Ashley said as she dropped me off at the airport?

“ One step at a time. You’re going to get through this.”

Had she meant the trip, the breakup, or…my life? In that moment, feeling oddly untethered, I found myself clinging to her advice.

Open suitcase. Check.

Undress. Check .

Shower. Check.

With nothing else to do, I brushed out the stubborn tangles in my hair, scrunched some gel in, and then gently blow-dried it until I no longer looked like I had a pile of soggy noodles on my head. All the while, one of my favorite romcoms, Leap Year , played softly on the TV.

Anna, the heroine, was stumbling through a bunch of cows in some picturesque corner of Ireland, her high heels sinking into… Gross . I rolled my eyes. The charming, cynical stranger arguing with her was just a little too rugged, a little too conveniently swoon-worthy.

I used to love these stories—grumpy guy, sunshine girl, chemistry for days.

But somewhere along the way, I’d stopped being the sunshine. And now? I was one hundred percent the grump.

Regardless, I was pretty sure these kinds of shows had set me up for disaster.

Fictional boyfriends were far superior to real-life ones.

Leaning closer to the mirror, I swiped mascara onto my lashes. I really had believed I could have all that—love, success, adventure, and the happy ending. Something really special. Something more exciting than what my parents had had.