Page 3 of The Christmas Cover Rule
I inhale sharply, coming back to reality. The nine-and-a-half-hour flight to the Dominican Republic won’t be enough time to get over the last two days, but it should be just enough time to come up with a better excuse. For now, I choose to play it safe.
Stella: Made it. Boarding now. See you soon.
Before waiting for a response, I turn my phone on airplane mode, and I’m either manifesting or being rewarded for lying because as soon as I drop my phone into my bag, the woman at the desk announces they’re ready to board. I stay where I am, leaning against a post and blowing into my coffee, while waiting for my group to be called. When they call business and first class, something in my chest flutters at that delicious, rich scent again. I look up in time to find Mr. Three Piece Suit. He scans the barcode on his phone with a broad smile, and if I hadn’t seen it for myself, I would think the flight attendant's knee-buckling reaction was overkill.
For the first time in days, I’ve thought about something other than Aiden or what my family's reaction to me showing up without him will be, because of a smile on a stranger. A smile I’m still thinking about when they finally call the last group.
Immediately, I spot Mr. Three Piece Suit, and of course, he’s sitting in first class. Miraculously, I manage to pass him without ogling him again, and just as soon as the people in front of me learn to put their bags away, I’ll make my way to the back of the plane.
I pass an aisle of women wearing tropical print dresses, with the exception of the one in all white. They laugh together, smiling while taking selfies, and I shove down the seeds of envy trying to take root. I pass an older couple, the woman—who reminds me a little too much of my abuela—reads an old school romance novel based on the small size and the bodice ripper cover. Handfuls of kids are already watching movies and playing games on their tablets, while their parents are ordering drinks to start the holiday festivities early.
Two hours into the flight, my bladder can no longer hold the coffee I guzzled before takeoff. I offer the couple to my right the universal face for ‘sorry, I’m the worst,’ and they both stand, letting me out.
I’m not usually such a pessimist, but it would be just my luck that both restrooms closest to me have county fair-sized lines. I make my way down the aisle, trying my luck with the one up behind first class. Also occupied.Perfect.
I glance back, and at least this line is shorter, so I might as well wait. The curtain separating first class from the rest of the cabin is pulled aside just enough that I catch a glimpse of the back row. Sitting all by himself is Mr. Three Piece Suit. His dirty blond hair is perfectly styled, but there’s a light scruff across his jaw, slightly more than a five o’clock shadow, giving him a hint of unpolished. He taps away on his phone, and I’m distracted by the watch that likely costs more than my rent sitting on his wrist.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
I feel my eyes widen, and I jerk my head back, looking anywhere but at him. My only option now is to hope the person in the bathroom comes out so I can flush myself down the toilet.
“Miss?”
Or I suppose I can be an adult.
I peer back around the curtain andoffer him a polite smile. “Sorry about that. I didn’t see anything,” I rush to say. “I’m just waiting for the restroom.”
“Would you like to sit while you wait?” Effortlessly, the corners of his lips curve upwards, and my stomach flips as if I’m seeing it for the first time.
A smile that charming feels dangerous, so I blink, clearing away the spell his grin puts me under, and square my shoulders back. “As a rule of thumb, I don’t generally sit next to people I don’t know.”
His green eyes squint as he looks around with a lopsided smile. “You’re on an airplane…”
Got me there.
“How’d you get both seats to yourself?” I ask, ignoring him.
“I bought them.”
My mouth parts because what a cocky thing to do, but then I can’t help shaking my head with a laugh. I bite down on the corner of my lip and look from the open seat beside him back to the still closed bathroom door. If this is the adult version of‘Never take candy from a stranger,’I think I’m fine with it.
“I’m Stella,” I say, extending my hand as I sit down beside him.
“Stella,” he echoes in a way that feels like he’s testing how my name sounds on his tongue, and I won’t lie and say I don’t like it. “I’m Jonas.” He shakes my hand with his much larger one, and I blame the poor air circulation for the rush that travels through me at the contact.
“Are you traveling for business or pleasure?” I ask, looking down at his suit.
“That’s your opening line?”
“What?” I shrug. “It’s not like this is a date.”
“No?”
“No. I would have dressed nicer.” I give a tight-lipped,closed smile and bat my eyelashes at him, but I wasn’t prepared for his eyes to trail down my body. When I got dressed this morning, I could practically hear my abuela yelling,‘Ay dios mío. You cannot wear pajamas to the airport.’I chose comfort over fashion this morning, but as Jonas’s gaze trails over the buttery soft material of the cobalt blue tank top clinging to my body and then further down to the sliver of exposed skin before my leggings, I feel every inch of his burning stare.
I clear my throat, expecting him to shake his head or show some embarrassment for getting caught, but to my surprise, he just flashes his perfect, straight white teeth at me.
“I’m assuming you’re here for pleasure then,” he says.
