Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Avery
I jiggled my foot impatiently as I sat at the airport's designated meeting point, checking the time on my phone for what felt like the millionth time as the minutes ticked by slower than my mom trying to find the right emoji.
Fan-fucking-tastic. I should have known better than to expect punctuality from someone whose entire brand revolved around spontaneity and adventure.
Just as I was thinking the man probably thought schedules were a government conspiracy, a notification from my chat app dinged.
Mackenzie: Breaking news! Our globe-trotting goddess has a 90-day boy toy!
Avery: It's not like that, Mack. It's for your book, remember?
Quinn: Uh-huh. And I'm just “researching” when I stalk hot guys on Insta.
Kennedy: Spill, Avery. That Brody guy, right? The one with the abs?
Avery: …maybe.
Taylor: As a therapist, I fully support this journey of “self-discovery.”
Shelby: And as a physical therapist, I support all the...”workouts” you'll be doing. Damn, those biceps can probably bench press you.
Avery: Thanks for all the support (insert eyeroll). I’m serious. This is purely professional.
Quinn: Professional. Right. And all those arm muscles are just for carrying his camera equipment?
Harlow: Ooh! Can I plan your wedding? I'm thinking a destination ceremony on top of Everest!
Avery: There will be NO wedding!
Taylor: Denial is not just a river in Egypt, honey.
Shelby: Speaking of Egypt, think of all the “exploring” you two could do in those pyramids…
Avery: You guys are ridiculous.
Emerson: Welcome to the club, cuz.
Mackenzie: Just go get your man and make my book a bestseller!
Quinn: And don't forget to send pics! For research purposes, of course.
Avery: I'm blocking all of you.
Harlow: Love you, Avery! Have fun on your “professional” adventure!
I closed the group chat, shaking my head at my family as I scanned the bustling airport terminal again.
Just as I was about to give up and head to the gate on my own, ready to leave his perfectly toned ass behind, I spotted Brody sauntering toward me.
That carefree grin was plastered across his face like he'd won the lottery and was about to buy the airport. His hair was artfully tousled, as if he'd just rolled out of bed (which, knowing him, was entirely possible) or had a quickie in the airport bathroom (also possible, given his reputation).
He wore a fitted t-shirt that showed off his athletic build—and hello, those biceps could probably bench press me—paired with cargo shorts and hiking boots.
The perfect ensemble for someone who looked like he was always ready to scale a mountain, hunt for his own dinner, or star in a rugged deodorant commercial at a moment's notice.
“You're late,” I snapped, adjusting the strap of my carry-on bag with more force than necessary. “Did you stop to rescue a kitten from a tree? No, wait, it was probably autographs for your adoring fans.”
Brody's casual shrug only heightened my annoyance. I swear I could feel my blood pressure rising.
“Relax, Spark. The adventure's just beginning,” he quipped, winking at me like he was auditioning for a role as a charming rogue in a B-grade romance movie.
Jesus. How in the fuck had I agreed to date this guy?
“It's Avery,” I said. “And our flight leaves in less than an hour. We need to get moving before I leave you behind and tell Rebecca you got abducted by aliens.”
“Aw, come on, Spark,” he said, falling into step beside me. “You know you'd miss me. Who else would provide the dazzling commentary on our travels?”
“A chatty parrot would probably be more insightful,” I said.
As we approached the check-in counter, a commotion that rivaled the chaos of my family's last Thanksgiving dinner was breaking out. Fragments about “canceled flights” and “rerouting” floated to us.
A knot formed in my stomach as I realized our carefully planned itinerary might be in jeopardy.
Fantastic. This day was turning out about as well as expected.
The airline representative confirmed our fears with the enthusiasm of a teenager announcing their failing grade: our flight had been canceled due to mechanical issues.
Panic rose in my chest as my mind raced through the potential consequences for our tight schedule. I turned to Brody, expecting to see my own worry mirrored on his face but instead found him looking oddly calm, like he'd just popped a Xanax or was secretly a Zen master.
To my surprise, he stepped forward and engaged the airline staff with charm and ease that would make a politician jealous. I watched, impressed despite myself, as he negotiated alternate routes and options.
His resourcefulness in the unexpected situation tested my preconceived notions about him. Maybe there was more to Mr. Instagram than his washboard abs.
“Looks like we've got two options, Spark,” Brody said, turning to me with a glint in his eye that inconveniently made my stomach do a little flip.
I bristled at the nickname but decided to let it slide for now. We had bigger problems than his apparent inability to use my actual name.
“We can either wait six hours for the next direct flight, during which time I'll regale you with tales of my adventures and maybe teach you how to juggle…”
“Pass,” I interjected.
“…or we can get to Europe, then hop on a smaller local flight that'll get us closer to our destination. It'll mean less travel time on the ground, and we'll get there faster overall. Plus, you'll get to experience the thrill of flying in what is essentially a tin can with wings. What do you say, ready to live dangerously?”
I weighed the options, feeling like I was on a particularly sadistic game show.
The direct flight would be more comfortable, but the delay would throw off our entire schedule. The local flight was riskier, but it showed initiative and adaptability—qualities our readers and followers (and more importantly, Rebecca “The Shark” Palmer) would appreciate.
“Let's take the roundabout way,” I decided, surprising myself with how quickly I'd made up my mind.
Who was this spontaneous woman, and what had she done with the real Avery Grant?
Brody's eyebrows shot up, a grin spreading across his face like he'd just won a bet.
“Look at you, living on the edge. There might be hope for you yet, Spark. Next thing you know, you'll be bungee jumping off bridges and eating gas station sushi.”
“Let's not get carried away,” I said dryly.
As we rushed to the new gate—because apparently the universe decided we needed cardio today—I tripped over my carry-on like the graceful gazelle I was.
Brody's hand shot out faster than I could blink, catching my arm and steadying me. The brief physical contact sent an unexpected jolt through me, like I'd touched an electric fence.
I quickly pulled away, flustered and annoyed at my body's betrayal.
“Careful there, Spark,” he said, his voice soft, sending another unwelcome shiver down my spine. “Can't have you breaking an ankle before our adventure even begins. Though I suppose I could always carry you around bridal style. Great for the 'gram, right?”
I mumbled a thanks, avoiding his gaze as we continued to the gate.
What the hell was wrong with me? This was Brody Hawkins, for crying out loud. The man was the human equivalent of a massive thunderstorm—exciting from a distance, nothing but chaos up close.
I couldn't afford to let my guard down around him. No matter how good he smelled or how strong his arms were.
The first flight into France was uneventful, but the second plane taking us off the beaten path and into the countryside was much smaller than I'd anticipated, looking like something the Wright brothers would have rejected for being too rickety.
As we settled into our seats, our shoulders brushing in the confined space, I became acutely aware of Brody's proximity.
The scent of him—some kind of citrus blended with something woodsy that screamed 'rugged outdoorsman'—wafted over me, and I found myself taking a deeper breath than necessary.
Great, now I was sniffing him like a bloodhound.
“Alright, partner,” Brody said, pulling out his phone and leaning closer.
I tried to ignore how the warmth of his body seemed to seep into mine.
“Let's figure out how we're going to make this work with our new timeline. Unless you'd rather play I Spy or thumb wrestle to pass the time?”
I leaned in, our heads close as we pored over the map on his screen. Despite my best efforts to focus on the task at hand, I couldn't help but notice the way his brow furrowed in concentration, or how his eyes lit up when he came up with a new thought. It was… oddly endearing.
“If we take this route here,” he said, tracing a line on the screen with his finger, “we could hit that castle you had on the itinerary and still make it to the mountain village in time for the festival. Two birds, one stone. Or in this case, one incredibly handsome travel companion.”
I snorted but nodded, impressed by his quick thinking.
“That could work. We'd have to push the hiking portion to the morning, but that would give us better lighting for photos anyway. Wouldn't want to miss the opportunity to capture your 'blue steel' look for the masses.”
“You wound me, Spark,” Brody said, clutching his chest dramatically. “I'll have you know my 'blue steel' has already broken hearts across six continents.”
“What happened to the seventh? They have taste?”
As we continued to banter and brainstorm, I found myself relaxing into our partnership.
Brody's ideas were unconventional but exciting, and I realized that our different approaches might actually complement each other pretty well. Like peanut butter and jelly, or tequila and bad karaoke disasters.
Midway through the flight, we hit a pocket of turbulence.
Don’t get me wrong, I loved every destination I’d ever been to, but I'd never been comfortable flying. And this was a whole new level of terror as the small plane shook violently and I gripped the armrests, my knuckles turning white.
Without a word, Brody placed his hand over mine.
The warmth of his palm against my skin was comforting, like a security blanket made of pure testosterone. I found my breathing starting to even out, though my heart was still doing the cha-cha for reasons that I wasn’t quite sure had to do with the turbulence.
I glanced over at him, expecting to see that cocky grin, but instead found a look of genuine concern in his eyes.
It was a softer side of Brody, and it made something in my chest tighten.
“You okay?” he asked softly, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of my hand.
I nodded, not trusting my voice to come out as anything other than a squeak.
As the turbulence subsided, Brody didn't immediately remove his hand, and I realized I didn't want him to. Which was ridiculous. I was a grown woman, not some swooning teenager.
The rest of the flight passed without incident… unless you counted the internal combustion of my common sense.
Soon, we were beginning our descent, and I looked out the window, watching as the landscape below came into sharper focus.
Rolling hills gave way to clusters of red-roofed houses and winding roads that looked like they'd been drawn by a cartographer who’d had a few too many. It was beautiful, and I felt a familiar thrill of excitement at the thought of exploring a new place.
As I turned back from the window, I caught Brody looking at me with an unreadable expression.
The intensity of his gaze sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the cabin temperature, and I quickly turned away, my heart racing like I'd just run a marathon.
What the hell was happening to me?
This was supposed to be a professional arrangement, a means to an end. But as the plane touched down and we prepared to disembark, I couldn't shake the feeling that these next 90 days were going to be far more complicated than I'd anticipated.
I stole one last glance at Brody as we stood to leave the plane.
He was busy adjusting his backpack, a look of focus on his face that made him look almost… vulnerable.
For a moment, I allowed myself to really look at him—not as the Instagram celebrity or the thorn in my professional side, but as a person. The confident set of his shoulders gave way to a hint of something deeper that sometimes peeked through his carefree facade.
As if sensing my gaze (did the man have eyes in the back of his perfectly coiffed head?), Brody looked up.
A slow smile spread across his face, not the cocky grin I was used to, but something softer, more genuine. It did funny things to my insides.
“Ready for an adventure, Spark?” he asked, his voice carrying a hint of challenge.
I took a deep breath, squaring my shoulders like I was preparing for battle. In a way, I suppose I was.
“Ready as I'll ever be,” I replied, surprised to find that I meant it. “Just try not to get us killed or married to any locals, okay?”
One thing was certain: this journey with Brody Hawkins was going to be intense. And despite my best efforts to remain detached and professional, I couldn't help but feel a thrill of anticipation.
Like standing on the edge of a cliff and knowing you're about to jump, but you’re not quite sure if you'll fly or fall.