Chapter 4
ELLA
Okay, so my seatmate is officially the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen in real life.
I steal another glance at Alec-No-Last-Name-Given while he’s staring down at his hands with the kind of brooding intensity that belongs in a cologne commercial.
Dark brown hair that’s perfectly styled even after hours of travel.
Mesmerizing green eyes that would be stunning if they weren’t constantly narrowed in what appears to be his default state of mild irritation with the universe.
And that squared jawline? Dear God, that jawline is so sharp it could cut glass.
He’s also tall, a fact I noticed when he stood to let me back to my seat.
His broad shoulders fill out his crisp white button-down shirt perfectly.
The sleeves are rolled up to his forearms, revealing strong wrists and hands that look like they could handle anything.
Including a woman’s body. Not that I mean mine.
Damn. He may be uptight, but he sure is nice to look at. Not to mention way out of my league.
Even his “casual” clothes scream money and taste—the shirt looks expensive, and his dark jeans fit him like they were tailored specifically for his long legs. Basically, he looks like he stepped off a yacht in the Mediterranean and somehow ended up slumming it in first class with us mere mortals.
Too bad he has the personality of an unplugged toaster.
I mean, seriously. Who flies to paradise and spends the entire flight looking like they’re contemplating their own funeral? Then again, maybe he’s contemplating mine. And what kind of person tries to meditate with their jaw clenched the whole time?
“What can I get you both to drink today?”
The flight attendant’s voice pulls me out of my seatmate analysis. She offers us a warm smile, which, of course, Alec ignores.
“Champagne, please.” I lean toward her, which forces me into Alec’s personal space again. “And could I also get some cookies if you have them? I forgot to eat breakfast this morning.”
She nods. “Of course. And for you, sir?”
Mr. Grumpy glances up from whatever fascinating thing he was contemplating in his lap. “Black coffee. No sugar.”
Of course he drinks his coffee black. Probably thinks cream and sugar are signs of moral weakness.
“I’ll be right back with those,” the flight attendant says.
After she leaves, I settle back in my seat and try not to let Alec’s mood kill my excitement. I’ve waited my entire adult life for a vacation like this, and I’m not about to let some gorgeous grouch ruin it for me.
“So, Alec,” I say, taking a breath and trying again since our earlier conversation got cut short by my bathroom break. “What brings you to paradise?”
He doesn’t look at me. “Vacation.”
The way he says it makes “vacation” sound like a prison sentence.
“That’s... great! Is this your first trip to Barbados?”
He practically grunts his reply. “Yes. First time.”
Wow. Okay then. I try again, because apparently I’m a glutton for punishment. “Are you from New York originally, or did you move there for work?”
“Originally.”
Why am I even bothering? This is like trying to have a conversation with a particularly moody brick wall. A really attractive brick wall with shoulders that could make a girl forget her own name, but still.
“I love New York. Well, I love visiting New York. I could never actually live there—too fast, too expensive, too many people per square inch. I’m more of a wide-open-spaces kind of girl, you know?
That’s why I ended up in Arizona. Though honestly, I picked Sedona by pointing at a map with my eyes closed, so it was kind of luck that I ended up somewhere so perfect for me. ”
He finally looks at me, and for a second I think I might have cracked through his shell. Then he speaks.
“Do you always share your life story with strangers?”
The question hits like a slap, but I’ve been a waitress long enough to handle difficult customers with a smile. “Only when they seem like they could use some cheering up.”
His green eyes narrow. “I don’t need cheering up. I need quiet.”
“Right. That’s why you’re flying to a tropical island with two hundred other people. For the quiet.” I gesture around the first-class cabin with my hand. “Nothing says ‘I want to be left alone’ like booking a vacation in paradise.”
Something flickers across his face before his expression goes back to its default setting of barely controlled irritation.
The flight attendant returns with my champagne and a small packet of chocolate chip cookies, along with his black coffee.
I watch as Alec wraps his long fingers around the cup, and even the way he holds his coffee is annoyingly attractive.
Those hands look strong and capable, with neat, clean nails that suggest he takes care of himself.
“Want one of these?” I ask, taking a bite of a cookie. The chocolate melts on my tongue, the cookie crisp and sweet and perfect. “Mmm! These are really good. Sure you don’t want one?”
When I look over at him, he’s staring at me with an expression I can’t quite read. His gaze lingers on my mouth for just a heartbeat before he looks away.
“I don’t eat sugar,” he says, his voice rougher than before.
“Like, at all?” I can’t hide my disbelief. “What about birthday cake? Or ice cream? Or chocolate?”
“No.”
“That’s...” I search for the right word. “Tragic. Not even one crumb? For science?” I shake my head in mock pity. “Seriously, when’s the last time you did something just because it was fun?”
This time he doesn’t even look up from his coffee. “I don’t do fun.”
“You don’t do fun?” I laugh, because honestly, what else can you do with a statement like that? “What do you do?”
“I work.”
“Even on vacation?”
His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “I don’t take vacations either. Not unless I have to.” He exhales an annoyed-sounding sigh. “I work a lot.”
I lean back in my seat and really look at him. Everything about him screams success, but there’s something almost hollow about it. Like he’s built this perfect shell around himself and forgotten there’s supposed to be a person inside.
“That sounds exhausting,” I say softly.
For just a second, his fingers pause around his coffee cup. Then he takes another sip, his movements deliberately controlled.
I decide to give him some space and pull out my phone to scroll through my vacation playlist. Maybe if I put my headphones in, he’ll relax a little.
But as I’m reaching into my bag to find them, my elbow knocks against his tray table, jostling it just enough to send his coffee cup sliding toward the edge.
He reaches for it at the same time I do, and black coffee splashes across the front of his white shirt. The movement makes the vein along his forearm stand out as he grabs for the cup.
“Shit,” he mutters, staring down at the spreading dark stain across the pristine fabric.
“Oh God, I’m so sorry!” I scramble for the tiny beverage napkin on my tray, my face burning with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to. I was just reaching for my headphones and—”
“It’s fine,” he says, but his voice is tight with barely controlled frustration. He’s dabbing at the stain with his own napkin, his movements precise and controlled even when he’s clearly aggravated.
“No, it’s not fine. I’m such a klutz.” I try to help, but he waves me off.
“Don’t worry about it. Just... try to be more careful.”
Try to be more careful. Like I spilled coffee on him on purpose.
I sink back into my seat, feeling about two inches tall. My champagne suddenly tastes flat, and the excitement that’s been bubbling in my chest since I bought my ticket deflates like a punctured balloon.
This is not how I imagined my dream vacation starting.
“I need to clean this up,” he says, standing carefully and heading the few steps toward the restroom.
The flight attendant appears at his empty seat almost immediately with more napkins and a sympathetic smile. “Don’t worry about it, honey. These things happen.”
“I feel terrible,” I mumble, dabbing at the coffee puddle on his tray table. “He already seemed miserable, and now I’ve probably ruined his shirt.”
“I’m sure it’ll be okay,” she says kindly, though her tone suggests she’s not entirely convinced either.
When Alec returns five minutes later, he’s managed to clean most of the coffee off his shirt, but there’s still a large damp patch across the front. The white fabric clings slightly to his chest now, and I have to force myself to look away before I get caught staring.
“I’m really, really sorry,” I say as he settles back into his seat with the careful movements of someone trying very hard to maintain control. “I’ll pay for dry cleaning, or a new shirt, or—”
“It’s not necessary.” His voice is flat, carefully controlled. “Accidents happen.”
The way he says it doesn’t make me feel any better.
“Right. I’ll just be over here, trying to be more careful. No elbows, no sudden moves. No… personality,” I mutter under my breath.
I spend the next hour trying to be the perfect passenger.
I don’t fidget unnecessarily, don’t attempt conversation.
I barely even breathe so as not to disturb Alec’s precious personal space.
We settle into tense silence, him staring down at his hands with that same brooding expression, me pretending to read a magazine while stealing glances at his perfect profile.
The plane gives a gentle shudder as we hit a pocket of turbulence—nothing dramatic, just the kind of bump that makes you remember you’re flying thirty thousand feet above the ocean.
My champagne glass slides slightly on my tray table, and I reach to steady it at the same moment the plane gives another small bounce.
The movement sends me tilting toward Alec’s seat, and his hand shoots out instinctively to steady me. His palm lands on my arm, warm and solid, his fingers wrapping around my wrist as he keeps me from spilling into his lap.
“Easy,” he says quietly, his deep voice lower than before.
For a moment, we’re frozen like that—his hand on my arm, my face closer to his than it’s been since I squeezed past him to get to my seat. I can see those gold flecks in his green eyes again, can catch his scent—clean and warm and entirely too appealing.
“Thanks,” I whisper, but I don’t pull away. Neither does he.
The plane levels out, but his hand remains on my wrist, his thumb now resting against my pulse point where my heart is beating far too fast. His gaze drops to my mouth for just a second before snapping back to my eyes, and there’s something different in his expression now.
Something heated and aware that makes my breath catch.
“You okay?” he asks, and his voice has gone rough around the edges.
“Yeah.” The word comes out breathier than I intended. “Just wasn’t expecting that.”
His grip is still lingering, and the contact sends electricity shooting up my arm. “Turbulence,” he says, like he’s trying to remind himself why we’re touching.
“Right. Turbulence.” But I still don’t move away, and his hand is still warm on my skin.
Then he seems to come back to himself, clearing his throat and releasing my wrist like I’ve burned him. “Sorry. I just—” He clears his throat. “I didn’t mean to grab you like that.”
“It’s okay,” I say settling back into my seat with my heart still racing. “Good reflexes.”
He nods curtly and develops a sudden, focused interest in the flight progress displayed on the seatback screen in front of him, but I catch the way his jaw tightens, like he’s fighting some internal battle.
The rest of the flight passes in a different kind of tension—not the hostile silence from before, but something charged and aware.
We don’t talk, but I register every small movement he makes, every time he shifts in his seat or reaches for his water glass.
And I swear I catch him looking at me a few times when he thinks I’m not paying attention.
The captain’s voice crackles over the intercom, apologizing for the brief turbulence and assuring us of smooth air until we land at Grantley Adams International.
“Weather conditions are clear and calm, with a perfect forecast for those of you traveling to Barbados for Crop Over and Grand Kadooment.”
A raucous cheer travels forward from the back seats of the plane at the mention of the festival currently taking place on the island. At least some people on this flight are excited to be here.
I feel a pang of regret that I opted for the last available seat in first class instead of flying in coach, where it sounds like everyone is having a lot more fun than I am, stuck beside an uptight grump who probably wishes I’d booked a cheaper seat too.
I steal another look at him as he stares down at his hands again, that same brooding expression on his perfect face. There’s something almost vulnerable about him when he thinks no one is watching, like all that controlled perfection is just armor protecting something softer underneath.
Well, too bad for both of us, I guess. I’ve got a fabulous solo week in paradise ahead of me, and he’s probably got some uptight, equally grumpy rich friends or colleagues waiting for him somewhere on the island.
Or a girlfriend. I’m not sure why the thought of a beautiful woman waiting for him when we land should make my chest squeeze a little.
Sure, there was that moment during the turbulence when his hand was on my wrist and I thought I felt something—a spark, a connection, some kind of awareness that made my toes curl in my sandals.
But that was probably just the altitude and the champagne and the fact that Broody Alec really is ridiculously good-looking when he’s not actively trying to freeze me with his stare.
Either way, in a couple more hours, we’ll go our separate ways. He’ll disappear into whatever five-star resort someone like him stays at, and I’ll never have to see him again.
Which is exactly what I want.
Even if every simple glance and accidental touch during this entire flight has been sending little electric shocks straight through me.
Even if I keep catching myself wanting to make him smile, just once.
Even if there’s a tiny, traitorous part of me that’s curious about what put all those walls around him in the first place.
Nope. Not my problem. All I need to think about is what kind of tropical cocktail to order once I arrive in paradise. My dream vacation is so close I can taste it, and it’s going to be amazing.
As for Alec?
In two more hours, he’ll be nothing more than a grumpy, gorgeous footnote in my otherwise perfect adventure.