In the Likely Event(4)
A small smile crept across his face. “Don’t worry about it. So why get on a plane at all?” He adjusted the airflow above his head, then shoved the black sleeves of his henley up his tan forearms. The guy was built. If his forearms looked like that, I couldn’t help but wonder if the rest of his body followed suit.
“Thanksgiving.” I shrugged. “My parents went on one of those around-the-world cruises after dropping me off for freshman year, and my older sister, Serena, is a junior here at Wash U—she’s studying journalism. Since I’m all the way up at Syracuse, flying made the most sense since we wanted to spend the holiday together. You?”
“I’m headed to basic training at Fort Benning. I’m Nathaniel Phelan, by the way. My friends call me Nate.” The stream of passengers down the aisle had trickled to just the hurried latecomers.
“Hi, Nate. I’m Izzy.” I reached out my hand and he took it. “Izzy Astor.” Not sure how I managed to say my full name when every ounce of my concentration was on the feel of his calloused hand engulfing mine, and the flutter that erupted in my stomach at the warmth of his touch.
I wasn’t one of those people who believed in jolts of electricity at first touch like all the romance novels, but here I was, jolted to my core. His eyes flared slightly, like he’d felt it too. It wasn’t a shock as much as an almost indescribable, sizzling feeling of awareness . . . connection, like the satisfying click of the final puzzle piece.
Serena would have called it fate, but she was a hopeless romantic.
I called it attraction.
“Nice to meet you, Izzy.” He shook my hand slowly, then let go even slower, his fingers waking up every nerve ending in my palm as they fell away. “I’m guessing that’s short for Isabelle?”
“Actually, it’s Isabeau.” I busied myself fastening my buckle and tightening my belt across my hips.
“Isabeau,” he repeated, buckling his own.
“Yep. My mom had a thing for Ladyhawke.” The aisle was finally empty. Guess we had everyone aboard.
“What’s Ladyhawke?” Nate questioned, his brow furrowing slightly.
“It’s this eighties movie where a couple pisses off an evil medieval bishop because they love each other so much. The bishop wants the girl, but she’s in love with Navarre, so the bishop curses them. Navarre becomes a wolf during the night, and she turns into a hawk during the day, so they only catch a glimpse of the other when the sun rises and sets. Isabeau is the girl—the hawk.” Stop babbling! God, why was I like this?
“That sounds . . . tragic.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Transcontinental Airlines Flight 826,” the flight attendant said over the PA system.
“Not completely tragic. They break the curse, so it has a happy ending.” I leaned forward and managed to get my cell phone out of my purse without taking the entire bag out.
Two missed text messages from Serena lit up my screen.
Serena: Txt me when u board
Serena: not kidding!
The messages were fifteen minutes apart.
“If you haven’t already done so, please stow your carry-on luggage in an overhead bin or the seat in front of you. Please take your seat and fasten your seat belt,” the flight attendant continued, her voice chipper but professional.
I tapped out a text to my sister.
Isabeau: boarded
Serena: u had me worried
Smiling, I shook my head. I was the only thing Serena worried about.
Isabeau: worried? Like I’d get lost between security and my gate?
Serena: i never know with u
I wasn’t that bad.
Isabeau: I love you. Thank you for this week.
Serena: Love u more. Txt when u land
The announcement continued. “If you’re seated next to an emergency exit, please read the special instructions card located in the seat back in front of you. If you do not wish to perform the functions described in the event of an emergency, please ask a flight attendant to reseat you.”
I glanced up. “That’s us,” I said to Nate. “We’re in an exit row.”
He looked at the markings on the door, then reached forward for the safety card while the attendant informed the cabin that it was a nonsmoking flight. Had to admit, that only made him cuter.
Nate read while the attendant finished out her announcements and closed the door. My heart rate spiked, the anxiety hitting me right on time. I fumbled with my phone and checked my Instagram and Twitter, then put my device on airplane mode, slipped it into the front pocket of my vest, and zipped the pocket. When my throat went tight, I adjusted the air above me, putting it on max.
Nate put the safety card back into the seat in front of him and settled in, watching what activity there was to see on the ground. The fog was dense this morning, already delaying us twenty minutes.
“Don’t forget your phone,” I said just before the attendant said the same over the intercom. “It has to be on airplane mode.”
“Don’t have a phone, so I’m good there.” He flashed me a smile, then winced, running his tongue over the split in his lip.
“What happened there?” I motioned to my own lip. “If you don’t mind me asking this time.”
His smile fell. “I had a slight disagreement with someone. It’s a long story.” He reached for the seat in front of him and took out a paperback from the pocket—Into Thin Air, by Jon Krakauer.