Page 4 of Delicate Storm

“You wonderful human, you. Thank you. That’s perfect. May you always be blessed with green lights when you’re running late.”

The attendant laughs as I jump up and grab my bag.A massage.Why didn’t I think of that? I smile as I pass and walk toward the front doors, a bounce in my step until she calls out.

“Miss, wait.” I turn and she winces as she points behind her. “It’s that way.”

“Of course. Thank you.” I would probably know that if I wasn’t always running late for my flights. I never get time to use the facilities here. Which is a shame because then I would have known that everyone on my flight was going to have the same idea. By the time I arrive at the day spa, there are at least ten people in front of me. Not that I let it derail my happiness. I have time and I’m getting a massage.

How can I not? It’s the perfect way to begin my new life.

My body may be well and truly relaxed, but I amnotfeeling the zen. I lost track of time as I waited for my massage, and when they called me in, I followed without question. I was beyond ready to rid myself of the built-up tension I’d been stockpiling over the past few weeks. And now, as if to remind me that I am still in fact the same Paige D’Angelo that I was yesterday, I’m late.

“Sorry.” I rush through the hall, expecting to be greeted by a bunch of angry expressions as I board the plane, but instead, I’m blessed with smiles.

“Welcome, Miss D’Angelo. Please take your seat and we’ll be with you shortly to offer some refreshments.”

I smile and nod, graciously thanking them as relief fills me. But the second I locate my seat—already occupied—the smile fades and I internally groan. If I ever needed proof that being early sucks, here’s exhibit A. If I was late, I wouldn’t have thought to get thatdamnmassage.

I move slowly down the aisle and pause next to the first class seat assigned to me.

The man who’s laid claim to my sanctuary for the next seven hours doesn’t look up as I loom over him, his bald head reflecting the cabin lights into my eyes.

Tapping my foot, I clear my throat, but he continues his laser focused stare on the screen of his phone, reading what looks to be emails.

My eyes flicker to the man seated by the window seat beside him, but he too is ignoring me. I blow out an audible breath just as the window seat guy flexes his hand, drawing my attention to the veins in his forearms, and…Hello, hottie. My gazemomentarily shifts to his face shadowed by his baseball cap, pulled low, to see his rigid jaw tighten as his lips purse. Like the bald guy beside him, he has his eyes on his phone, and it’s safe to assume that he’s not happy about whatever he just read.

But I’m choosing to pretend he’s angry onmybehalf, and it makes my next move easier.

“Excuse me.” I gently tap the bald man's shoulder. “I’m really sorry, but you’re in my seat.”

I sense the window-seathottieglancing up, but before I get the chance to look his way, he huffs and goes back to his phone. Meanwhile, I don’t even get an eye roll from the guy whose attention I actually seek.

“I know it’s annoying,” I continue, taking a sympathetic approach. “I’m not sure what happened, but my ticket says—”

“All the seats are the same,Miss,” he snaps, finally looking up at me. “Just sitsomewhereelse.” He waves a hand before wriggling to make himself comfortable, hitting me with a patronizing smirk.

Oh-kay.

I make a show of searching the cabin, but he couldn’t be more wrong. “The only free seat is awindowand I purposelybookedan aisle.”And as an added bonus, I happen to be very partial to attractive forearms, so this seat is a must. There’s no way I’m moving.

I toss him a sarcastic smirk of my own, but he doesn’t even flinch.

“Look, Miss. I—”

“Hey man, I get it,” window-seat hottie cuts in, and I frown. “You’re settled and comfortable,” he adds while the guy in my seat widens his smirk, only for it to drop from his face in an instant as the man beside him continues, “but be agoddamngentleman and get the hell out of the lady’s seat.”

His eyes widen along with mine, but instead of arguing, he undoes his belt and makes a show of grabbing his things, muttering something about famous people.

He stands, and while I’ve left plenty of room to let him past, he purposely knocks into me, grunting as though it’s my fault.

“Ex—”

“Hey asshole.” Window guy snaps, his body half out of his seat, ready to get up. “What the fuck are you doing?”

The bald guy holds his hands above his head and scoffs, showing no remorse. “Leave it alone. It was an accident.”

My eyes bounce between the two of them in a standoff as my heart races. I’m about to change my mind and walk away when a flight attendant joins us. “Everything okay here? We need you to take your seats.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” bald guy curses under his breath before walking the three steps it takes to get him to what was presumably his assigned row, knocking the person next to him as he pushes past to the window.

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