Page 1 of Better Than Gelato
ChapterOne
I’m not scared. I’m not even nervous or uneasy. The man next to me is terrified. His huge dark hand squeezes the armrest so tight I see the sharp peaks of each knuckle. He tightens the seat belt another millimeter, the blue vinyl fabric straining against his bulk. I’ve never seen a man big enough to wrestle grizzly bears look like he wants to curl into a ball and suck his thumb.
A flight attendant walks down the narrow aisle and gives him a reassuring smile. He turns away from her toward the small oval window. As he shifts, the sleeve of his T-shirt comes up, revealing a tattoo across his large right biceps. It says FEARLESS in bold, jagged letters. I look at the hunch of his massive shoulders, and the irony is too much for me. I try to smother a giggle, but I’m unsuccessful.
“Something funny?” he asks in a low voice.
“Absolutely not,” I say. It comes out with a British accent, which is unfortunate because I’m not British. I sometimes accidentally switch into accents when I’m nervous.
His eyes bore into me, and the muscles in his jaw tighten. I clear my throat and continue in my regular California accent.
“Okay, maybe alittlefunny. Big tough guy, scared of flying, ironic tattoo…”
He does not look amused.
“It’s definitely less funny now that you’re looking at me like you wish me bodily harm.” I discreetly look for a flight attendant. Maybe it’s not too late to change seats.
“You can stop shaking, Blondie. I’m not going to break your arm.”
I’m not really shaking, just tapping my feet on the worn blue carpet.
“But if I feel my Big Mac coming up,” he continues, “I’m not grabbing that motion sickness bag. It’s going right on your shoes.”
I can tell from the slant of his eyes he’s not joking. “Did you just threaten to vomit on a total stranger?” I ask.
“Did you just make a grown man feel like a sissy-baby-chicken-head?” he snaps back.
“Sissy baby what?”What is this guy talking about?
“According to my kids, that’s the worst thing you can be called,” he replies.
My eyebrows shoot up. “You have kids?”
“Yep. Two of ’em. But I tell you what, I got that Fearless tattoo before they came along. Being a dad brings a whole new kinda fear into your life.”
“How old are they?” I ask.
“My boy Samuel is nine and my little girl Tanya is six.”
“That’s like my girl!”
He gives me a once-over. “How old are you? There’s no way you got a six-year-old daughter.”
“Well, no.” My cheeks heat up. “I’m twenty. But I’m a nanny. I mean I’m going to be. And the little girl is six.”
“A nanny huh? Do you have any younger brothers or sisters?” he asks.
“No,” I shake my head. “All older.”
“Ever spent much time with a six-year-old girl?” he prods.
“No,” I repeat, irritation creeping into my voice. “There were surprisingly few six-year-olds living in my college dorm.”
“Well, good luck,” he says with a smirk.
The plane starts shaking as we accelerate down the runway and my seatmate mutters under his breath. I can’t tell if he’s praying or swearing. He has the same look my best friend Maggie had when I convinced her to go on the Zipper at the county fair. I had to sing the Star-Spangled Banner at the top of my lungs to keep her from puking. We were twelve.
I’m not going to sing for this guy, but I could try to take his mind off things. I do love the shoes I’m wearing.
