Chapter 12
TWELVE
Jesse
The terminal is buzzing with the kind of pre-flight chaos that makes me glad I usually travel private for work.
Kids are crying, some guy is blowing his nose way too loud, and there’s a woman having a heated argument with the airline rep about seat upgrades.
I had tried to convince Madeline to let me charter a jet, but she wasn’t having it.
“We’re flying commercial, Jesse,” she’d said in a tone that made it clear the discussion was over.
I know when to pick my battles, so I let that one go.
So, here I am in the midst of the airport madness, trying hard to tune it all out.
But I snap right back to the present when I spot her.
She’s in a fitted white blouse tucked into high-waisted pants, a soft gray sweater with the arms tied over her shoulders.
Simple and effortless. Drop dead gorgeous.
“Morning.” Her tone is clipped. She adjusts the strap of her bag like she’s bracing for turbulence already.
I fall into step beside her as we walk toward the gate. “Checked in?”
“Of course,” she says, without looking up from her phone. “Seat 14C. I booked an aisle seat.”
“Why am I not surprised?” I ask. “That totally tracks.”
She finally looks at me, one brow arched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I sip my coffee, fighting a grin. “Control issues, Mads. You leave nothing to chance.”
She lets out a sharp breath—half disbelief, half exasperation. “We haven’t even boarded the flight yet and you’re already giving me a hard time. Please tell me you booked yourself into first class so I can fly in peace.”
“No can do, Mads,” I say with a smirk. “Middle seat, 14B. Lucky you.”
Her eyes narrow. “What? How…did you do that on purpose?”
“Let’s just call it fate.”
She shakes her head. “I can’t believe I agreed to this.”
“I’m glad you did.” She rolls her eyes at me when she hears the nickname. I grin. Mission accomplished.
The announcement for boarding comes over the intercom and she immediately straightens, tucking her phone into her pocket. “We should line up.”
“After you,” I say, gesturing toward the queue.
She gives me a look—somewhere between suspicion and resignation—and steps forward. I fall in line behind her, already amused at how tightly she’s wound before we’ve even boarded.
This trip is going to be very entertaining.
A flight attendant’s voice drones through the speakers, rattling off the safety briefing no one’s actually listening to.
I know I’m not. All I can focus on is her.
Madeline sits beside me, spine straight, belt clipped, the picture of composure except for one tell: her knee bounces, just slightly.
A quick, rhythmic movement that gives her away.
She’s anxious and while I’d like to think it’s me that has her off balance, I’m starting to wonder if she has a fear of flying.
I lean back, pretending to study the laminated safety card just to stop myself from staring too openly. The faint scent of her shampoo drifts between us—grapefruit, a little floral—and it makes me want to know what brand it is.
For once, I’m grateful for the cramped airplane seats that leave barely an inch between us. Her arm brushes mine when she adjusts her seatbelt, and the contact sparks through me like static electricity.
She exhales slowly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, oblivious to the chaos she’s creating inside my head. I tell myself to look away, to focus on anything else but her, but then her knee begins to bounce again, and it’s over. Every nerve in my body feels wired to hers.
“Relax,” I murmur, glancing sideways. “We haven’t even left the ground yet.”
She shoots me a look. “I am relaxed.”
“Right.” I smirk. “That’s why you’re vibrating like a phone on silent.”
“Maybe your presence just has that effect on people,” she mutters, eyes fixed on the seat in front of her.
“I’ll take it as a compliment.”
Madeline sighs beside me. “Of course you would.”
She sounds annoyed, but I catch her forcing down a small smile and I feel a rush of satisfaction that I distracted her from her anxiety.
She stares at the seat-back in front of her, one knee bouncing, until the plane reaches altitude. Only then do I sense some of the tension leave her body. Her shoulders lower just slightly, her knee settles itself.
I swipe my phone to life and then reach down and hit the recline button on my seat. Immediately, she stiffens again.
“What are you doing?” she demands, head whipping to look at me.
“Uh, relaxing? What are you doing?”
“You’re not seriously going to recline your seat.”
I glance at her, feigning confusion. “Why wouldn’t I recline my seat? That’s what the button’s for.”
She blinks at me like I’ve just committed a crime. “It’s basic airplane etiquette, Jesse.”
“Etiquette?” I echo. “So, the button’s just…decorative?”
“Exactly,” she says primly.
I half turn to look behind me. The guy in the next row is out cold, headphones in, drooling into his hoodie. “Pretty sure he’s not filing a complaint.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Oh, I think it’s exactly the point.” I grin. “If the button’s there, it’s meant to be used. Otherwise, the airline wouldn’t put it there.”
She groans, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Oh my God, Jesse, you’re exhausting.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”
I wink at her, and it has exactly the effect I thought it would.
Her glare could level a small city, and I have to bite back a smile.
She’s so damn in control and put-together with her crisp pants and sweater, laptop stowed perfectly under the seat and yet, I can see that she’s seconds from strangling me.
I smirk, pretending to focus on the view out the window. The clouds stretch endlessly below us, sun glinting off the silver edge of the wing. I’m a frequent flyer thanks to my job, but it always kind of blows me away, being above the clouds.
I lean back so that Madeline can take in the view from her aisle seat, but when I look at her, I see she’s still looking straight ahead, sitting perfectly upright, arms crossed, ankles tucked neatly under her seat like she’s auditioning for a safety video.
Every time she exhales, I can practically feel the irritation radiating off her.
“You look like you’re about to file a complaint with the pilot.”
Her eyes meet mine, and there’s a challenge in them. “Maybe I will. I’m not exactly thrilled about the seating arrangement on this flight.”
“Bet you’ve never broken a rule in your life, have you?”
Her mouth twitches but she doesn’t give me the satisfaction of answering right away. She just lifts her chin and looks out the window like she’s above the entire conversation. I lean closer. “So,” I press. “You haven’t, have you? You’ve never broken a rule in your life.”
“Not intentionally, she says. “Because I prefer not to inconvenience innocent bystanders.”
“So that’s a no.”
“I’m not having this conversation with you, Jesse.”
I’m still laughing when the plane jolts. It’s subtle at first, just a tremor, but then another, sharper one follows. The seatbelt light dings overhead as Madeline’s hand flies to the armrest, her knuckles turning white.
“Hey,” I say quietly. “It’s fine. It’s just a little turbulence.”
She nods, but her shoulders stay tight. “I hate turbulence,” she says, her grip on the armrest tightening.
“It’s just air pockets,” I tell her, in my best reassuring tone. “It’s totally normal. You have nothing to worry about.”
Another bump shakes the cabin, harder this time, and she squeezes her eyes shut. Without thinking, I reach over and put my hand on hers.
She freezes, as if I’ve startled her, but she doesn’t pull her hand away. Her skin is warm, her pulse quick against my thumb. Slowly, she exhales, and the tightness in her grip eases just a little.
After a few moments, her breathing evens out. The tension in her starts to ease, and her fingers slowly uncurl beneath mine. I tighten my grip just a little. Just enough for her to know I’m not going anywhere.
“Better?” I ask.
She nods once, turning her head to look at me.
For a second, the rest of the plane disappears—the quiet conversations, the slight rattle of suitcases in the overhead compartments, the hum of recycled air.
All I can focus on is her hand in mine, the vulnerability in her eyes, and the quiet ache in my chest of wanting something I definitely shouldn’t.
“Just try to breathe deep and slow,” I murmur, my thumb tracing an absent line over her knuckles.
She hesitates, like she wants to brush my hand aside, to insist she’s fine, but then she exhales a long, steady breath. I can feel the change beneath my palm, the way her pulse eases.
“That’s it,” I tell her. “You’re okay.”
The plane steadies and after another few moments the seatbelt light above flickers off.
Still, neither of us moves. Her hand stays in mine.
A few rows up, someone laughs too loud. A baby squeals.
The flight attendant wheels the drink cart past, asking if anyone wants pretzels. I barely notice any of it.
I glance down at our hands—hers small and soft, tucked perfectly in mine.
I should probably let go, pull back, crack a joke so we can move on.
But I don’t. I just sit here, feeling her skin against mine, noting every quiet rise and fall of her breathing until the tension in her frame fully melts away.
She tilts her head slightly, not looking at me but leaning the smallest bit closer, like maybe she’s decided I’m safe. And God help me, that thought wrecks me more than any turbulence ever could.
“Thank you,” she says quietly, gently easing her hand out from under mine.
I shrug, trying to keep things casual. “Don’t mention it.”
“I mean it, Jesse.”
“I know.” I pause, letting a small smile pull at my mouth. “And for the record, you did great. Didn’t scream once.”
Her lips twitch, and that tiny, unguarded smile—it does something to me. Something warm and dangerous.
Madeline leans back in her seat and closes her eyes.
I let my eyes sweep over her face: her high cheekbones, the straight slope of her nose, the perfect pout of her lips.
We sit in silence for several minutes, until I wonder if she’s fallen asleep.
The question is answered a moment later when her head tips slowly toward me.
I shift just slightly, letting the side of her head rest lightly against my shoulder, feeling the softness of her hair against my neck.
I glance down at her, the same woman who called me impossible half an hour ago now curled into me like she’s done it a hundred times before. I breathe her in, and she smells like citrus and soap. It’s the kind of scent that sticks to your skin long after she’s gone.
I remind myself to behave, to stop noticing how warm she is, how the edge of her knee brushes mine every time she shifts, how her head fits against my shoulder like she was meant to be there.
But the truth is…I don’t want to stop. I like the way she feels against me. The quiet weight of her trust. The peace that settles somewhere in my chest.
So, I just sit in the stillness. Because for once, in this tiny space thirty thousand feet in the air, with her head resting against my shoulder, I don’t feel restless or impatient.
I just feel right.