Chapter Two

  Tessa

  I arrive at gate B27, and the long line that’s normally formed when people are waiting to board a plane isn’t there, and the entire seating area is cleared out. The ticket agent is looking around with an annoyed expression.

  I rush over to where the woman is getting ready to shut the door.

  “Wait!” I shout. “I’m Tessa Atwater.”

  She stops and gives me an expression as if to ask where the hell I’ve been.

  “I’m so sorry. I was at the wrong gate.” I scan my ticket and the machine beeps.

  She gives me a wan smile. “You need to board the plane now, ma’am. Everyone is waiting.”

  I cringe and walk down the corridor, where there’s no line of people waiting to get on the plane. Shit.

  The first flight attendant I meet glares and asks me to quickly take my seat.

  “I’ll be quick,” I whisper, hoping to get on her good side, but she just makes a noise and goes back to whatever she was doing.

  I read my seat number off my ticket once more. “4B,” I mumble.

  I kind of wish I could have a window, but I’m not going to complain. It’s first class. I didn’t even pay for the ticket.

  As I walk down the aisle, I stare at the seat numbers above the seats. I get to row four, ready to crawl into my seat, but someone is there.

  “Oh,” I say, staring down at GI Joe in his fatigues.

  The same GI Joe who received special treatment in security, took the last pretzel and probably the one who tripped me with his bag.

  Irritation flares inside but I give him a sweet smile and say, “I think you’re in my seat.”

  He raises both eyebrows at me and shifts his weight to the side, digging into his pocket to retrieve a printed-off boarding pass. While he’s busy, the lady next to him looks me up and down in judgment.

  “4B is me.” He holds his boarding pass out toward me.

  I hold mine up. “Me too.”

  “Well, if you weren’t late and holding up the whole plane, princess, maybe you’d have gotten here first,” he whispers, clearly not about to get up.

  My head rears back. Did he seriously just say that? “Sorry, we don’t all run on military time.”

  “Is there a problem?” A flight attendant comes up behind me.

  “GI Joe and I both have the same seat number on our boarding pass,” I say, lifting mine.

  She smiles at him and purses her lips at me, yanking the boarding pass from my hand, then delicately takes his. She huffs while looking over them both. “I’ve never seen this before. Hold on.” She walks up the aisle and the entire first-class section groans.

  Some of them already have blankets over them, drinks in their hands. I should’ve been first, GI Joe is right. The flight attendant gets on the phone at the front of the plane while I stand there feeling like everyone looking at me thinks I’m trying to scam my way onto the plane or something.

  I’m so irritated now that my dream of traveling in first class might be ripped away from me. And by the same man who has already caused me so much irritation all day.

  He’s probably one of those people who everything magically falls into place for. God, what must it be like to have that be your life? I’ll never know, mine is the exact opposite.

  “Don’t get up or anything,” I snip.

  “Oh, I should get up because that’s the chivalrous thing to do?” He raises his eyebrows.

  “It’s the polite thing to do.”

  He unbuckles his seat belt and stands in the aisle, crossing his arms.

  I can’t deny, his arms are impressive even covered with his jacket. “By all means, sit. You’re the woman, so you should have the seat, right?”

  My cheeks heat. “Meaning?”

  “Now you’re distressed and naïve, princess?” He raises both eyebrows.

  Do his soldier buddies pluck them? How can they be so perfect?

  “Tessa Atwater, correct?” A different flight attendant comes up to me, the flight attendant who took my boarding pass behind her.

  “Yes, that’s me.” I manage to slap a smile on my face.

  “We’d been trying to get a hold of you prior to boarding but you didn’t come up to the desk when paged. I do apologize, but first class was overbooked and since yours was the last ticket sold, we had to move you to coach.”

  “Coach?” I screech like an entitled bitch when in reality, it’s where I always sit.

  “Yes.” She smiles sweetly.

  “But…my boarding pass?” I eye the woman who took it.

  The attendant hands me another piece of paper. “This is the right one. I do apologize and you’ll of course be refunded the difference between the two.”

  My shoulders slump and I stare at GI Joe, who’s snickering and sliding back down onto the seat with the assumption that this is just it.

  Why can’t I ever get a break? The more I look around at everyone in first class eyeballing me, the more my self-pity morphs into anger and my temper rises to the surface. The lion inside me purrs, sharpening her claws.

  “So, I’m the one who gets screwed?”

  “If there was anything we could do, we would. On behalf of the airline, we do apologize,” the attendant says. “And now if you could take your seat in the back. I’ll store your bag up here as a courtesy because there are no overheads open back there.” She reaches for my bag, but I don’t give it to her.

  “Right, I get shoved back there even though I had a perfectly good ticket. And of course, if I say something, I’m the asshole, because he’s in the military and fights for our freedom.”

  I ignore the few gasps around me because the lion inside me is roaring now.

  The soldier straightens his back and grants me his full attention with a smirk so big I’d like to slap it off. But getting arrested will only make this worse.

  “Ma’am, it’s been a long day and I know the holidays can bring a lot of emotions to the surface, so why don’t you take your seat so the plane can take off?”

  “Sure, I’ll go stuff myself in the small coach seat because, let me guess, the middle seat was the only one left?”

  “Ma’am.” She’s trained well. Her voice hasn’t risen one octave so far.

  I bring my hand to the bridge of my nose. “Why would I expect any different considering how shitty life has been lately?”

  “I’ll have to escort you off if you don’t take your seat,” she says, voice sterner now.

  I drop my hand and narrow my eyes at her. “Really? You’re going to escort me off when it’s your airline that double-booked a first-class seat?” My hands are moving in all directions.

  “This is your last warning,” she says.

  I close my eyes for a beat, then turn my head sharply toward the soldier. “Enjoy first class.”

  “I most definitely will.” The edges of his lips tip up and I glare at him.

  I’m not sure if it’s in my head or not, but I swear I growl and stomp through the curtain from the serene section of first class to what looks like a kindergarten room in coach.

  Fuck my life.

  The flight attendant follows me, and sure enough, I’m in the second row from the back. At least I’m on the aisle.

  “Thank you for understanding,” the flight attendant says, taking my carry-on.

  I slide into my seat and stare at the round, pregnant belly of the woman beside me. Beyond her in the window seat is a grandma with an open tin of cookies on her lap. I buckle in and fight back the tears that are desperate to fall.

  The more I sit, the angrier I become. Not just at the first-class situation, but at everything that’s been weighing heavily on me lately. Then I think of about a million things I should’ve said to that jerk who was in my seat. I hate it when that happens.

  Chapter Three

  Tre

  “Man, she’s a bitch,” the woman next to me says once the whole scene is over.

  I don’t enjoy being a part of a spectacle, especially when I’m in uniform. People won’t hesitate to pull out their phones and videotape or snap a damn picture these days. “Traveling is stressful. Holidays are stressful.”

  My phone dings in my hand and I click on the family group message, happy to have an excuse to stop talking to this woman, though not so happy about the messages. My family is treating my coming home as if I was injured or a POW.

  * * *

  Mom: Can’t wait to have you home. We’ll be at baggage claim.

  Lil’Bro: If anyone questioned whether you’re Mom’s favorite, it’s been confirmed. Wait until you see the spread.

  Lil’Sis: There’s a reason he’s her favorite. He’s not a douchebag who can’t put the toilet seat down.

  Me: Shit, did you fall in?

  Dad: The scream in the middle of the night confirms it.

  Lil’Sis: So great sharing a bathroom with him.

  Mom: Tre doesn’t need to hear us gripe. He’s been through enough.

  * * *

  I shake my head because she has no idea how much I miss the banter of my family. I’m thankful to get to experience it.

  * * *

  Lil’Bro: Get home so I can school you in rummy. I’m the leader right now.

  Lil’Sis: Because you cheat.

  Lil’Bro: I do not cheat.

  Lil’Sis: Really? Say it with a straight face.

  Dad: We miss you, Tre, tell the pilot to fly faster.

  Me: They’re not really big on cockpit visits these days. We’re pulling back from the gate. See you in five hours.

  Mom: ☺

  Lil’Bro: Prepare yourself. There will be tears.

  Me: I’ll text you when I land.

  * * *

  I really hope there aren’t poster boards in my family members’ hands when I meet them in arrivals. I’m not sure why my anxiety is at an all-time high with the thought of seeing them. They’re my family. The ones who have missed me most. Maybe it’s returning home, to my friends and the memories of before I left.

  “I just don’t get people like her. I mean, as if she should get the seat over you?” The woman next to me starts up again now that I’ve put my phone on Airplane Mode and pocketed it.

  “She’s probably having a bad day.”

  I feel like a total ass for treating her as if she was out of line. The seat was hers. She paid the money. When the attendant at check-in offered me a first-class seat as a thank you for my service, I assumed they had an open seat, not that I was taking someone else’s. But her writing her phone number on the back of my boarding pass should’ve been my sign.

  The more attitude the brunette gave me, the more I gave it right back because that’s what I’m used to. I’ve spent years with soldiers who razz each other endlessly. If you don’t hand it right back, you’re considered weak. Things just escalated from there. I shouldn’t have fed into it.

  I lean my head back and close my eyes as the flight attendant goes over the safety procedures in the middle of the aisle. Rather than drifting off to sleep, all I can picture is that woman’s dark hair thrown in that messy ponytail, her bright blue eyes showing how she was moments from tears. I know the flight attendant said her name, but I didn’t catch it, and I wish I did, though I don’t know why.

  I’d tracked her back at security. As I was pushed to the side and checked with someone looking through my things and patting me down, she was the entertainment for the area. At first she forgot to take her sweater off, so she rushed back, apologizing to everyone she was inconveniencing. Then her Apple Watch was still on her wrist. The security guy had to tell her to take it off and put it in the tray.

  Exasperated as she was, she did that move women sometimes do when they blow the hair that’s hanging in their eye away to see better. I’m not sure what it is with that move, but it always turns me on. Once she was through security, her arms were full of all her things and she went to a bench and tossed it all in her bag, then slipped her feet back into her shoes. At least she didn’t put her shoes at the end of the line, holding everyone up like some people do.

  Her phone rang a minute later, and she disappeared from sight. A woman like her, it was probably her boyfriend. Likely whoever will be meeting her in Portland. No chance a woman like her isn’t single.

  Eventually I drift off. I’m not sure how long I’m out for, but when I wake, we’ve taken off and it’s still dark within the cabin. A few people have their lights on above their seats and are reading or working on their laptops. I stretch, pulling back my shoulders and glancing at the woman next to me. She gives me a welcoming smile as if she’s been either watching me sleep or waiting for me to wake up.

  “Good morning,” she says, wiping some pretend drool from my face with her thumb.

  What the fuck?

  I must give her a confused look because she laughs, apparently getting the whole wrong impression. “Just kidding, it’s still nighttime.”

  I rub my eyes, still getting used to having a good sleep.

  “So, tell me about yourself,” she says. “Do you just not wear a ring or are you not married?”

  The woman is attractive, a few years older than me from what I can judge. She’s nice enough I suppose, but I don’t want to discuss my personal life with some stranger.

  “Not married,” I say in a gruff voice.

  “Oh, Carly owes me a drink.” She wiggles in her seat in celebration.

  My forehead creases. “Carly?”

  “The flight attendant.” She points at the short-haired brunette who was rude to the woman who was supposed to be in my seat. “You were sleeping, and we got to chatting.”

  “Oh.” I think I’d rather be back in coach right now. “I have to use the bathroom.” I unbuckle myself and slide out of my seat.

  “You’ll have to go in the back. The bald guy from the first row has been in there for twenty minutes already.”

  “Great,” I say and sneak past the curtain that separates the first class from economy. I take a moment for a deep breath, gaining the distance I need from my seatmate.

  I can kind of see why the woman was so upset to be moved back here. There are kids whining, people talking. Overall, it’s much more social back here.

  My eyes scan over the seats as I make my way to the back, but I can’t find the brunette from earlier. She’s probably sleeping, and she hates me anyway. I’m halfway down the aisle when the brunette from earlier gets up from her seat near the back. I bite my lip so I don’t smile when our eyes meet.

  Maybe she’s going to apologize. I should definitely apologize. My mouth opens as she slides out of her row and steps in front of me. She quickly turns her back to stand in line for the bathroom in front of me.

  “Excuse me,” I say.

  She glances over her shoulder then turns around. “Oh, did you want to use our bathroom?”

  I look up to see both of the bathrooms are occupied right now. “First class is taken so…”

  “So, you’re okay using the bathroom but not sitting with us common folk?”

  So much for apologizing. This woman is infuriating. “It wasn’t my fault the tickets got messed up. I’m not sure why I’m getting your wrath?”

  “He’s a hottie,” a senior woman says from the row the brunette came from. “Want a cookie?”

  A tin hits my stomach, and I look down at a pregnant woman in the aisle seat who’s holding the tin containing a crap-ton of decorated cookies. “They’re so good. I’ve had five already,” the pregnant woman mumbles, and I watch crumbs fall to her chest.

  I hold up my hand. “I’m good, thanks.”

  “Suit yourself.” She shrugs and gives the tin back to the grandma who has her silver hair pulled back in a clip.

  “They’re for my grandkids. My son moved them across the country from me and this was the first Christmas I had to make and decorate them all by myself.”

  “I’m really sorry. It’s hard being away from your family during the holidays,” I say. I know how much it sucks not to be with your loved ones this time of year.

  The brunette in front of me huffs, drawing my attention back to her.

  “What?” I arch an eyebrow.

  She shakes her head. “Nothing. It’s just that you’d think if you were really military, you’d miss a home-baked sugar cookie.”

  “You think I’m not a real soldier?” I chuckle.

  “I’m just saying it’s weird.”

  “Maybe I’m diabetic.” I raise my eyebrows.

  “Are you?”

  “No.”

  “Well then.” She eyes the tin then me again. She’s hot, but I’m starting to think she might also be a tad unhinged.

  “So what? Because I don’t want a cookie, I’m not a soldier returning home for Christmas?”

  “It’s like a movie. You return home and, on the flight, run into a snarky brunette you secretly want.”

  I look down at the voice and the pregnant woman smiles brightly as if she thinks the brunette and I are going to walk out of the Portland Airport hand in hand singing Christmas carols. Not a fucking chance.

  “Polly, I already told you, there’s nothing remotely romantic between us,” the brunette says.

  “Because she’s going to Portland for the other guy,” the grandma adds.

  My muscles tense. Other guy? Jealousy should be the last emotion overtaking me, but… what’s with this other guy?

  She looks at me, and for a moment, the chip on her shoulder is gone. There’s a vulnerability shining inside her. She did not want me to know about this. “It’s just… I mean…”