Chapter 2
stella
“Excuse me, sorry.” I frantically pick up my pace through the overcrowded airport, gently nudging my way through.
Every year since I left home three years ago, I’ve been at the San Francisco International Airport the week before Christmas, and every year, I’m reminded of how painfully annoying it is.
No matter how many times I tell myself I’m going to get here early to avoid the stress of being late, along with the embarrassment of having to run through the airport, I always find myself doing just that.
This year, I have the added bonus of a looming headache because I was so late that I didn’t have time to stop for coffee.
The woman at the counter avoids eye contact, and I don’t blame her. I’ve been frantically running through the airport because we were supposed to board twenty minutes ago. I can’t imagine the people she’s talked with have been very pleasant.
Turning on my heel, I dig through my bag for my wallet and head to the coffee shop two gates down.
Las Chismosas:
Lily: Did you make it to the airport on time?
I want to be annoyed about feeling called out, but the eye roll is directed at myself because, obviously, that’s a valid question.
I’m about to type out a slightly snarky response when I catch a whiff of a delicious scent.
I’m not subtle about the lung full of air I take in, and I’m even less subtle when I look down at the shiny, brown shoes on the man in front of me.
My gaze travels up, and higher still, until I hear the barista laugh and the man wearing a three-piece suit runs a hand through his perfectly quaffed, dirty blond hair.
She hands him his coffee, and I’m taken aback by his deep, sultry voice when he thanks her. I duck my head back down to my phone just in time as he turns to walk away.
My throat is dry as I try to order, and it comes out raspier than I’ve ever heard, which is saying something, considering my voice is permanently smoky. Thankfully, the barista is in just as much of a daze as I am to notice anything wrong with me.
Coffee in hand, I make my way back to my gate when my phone buzzes again, and I realize that I forgot to text my sisters back.
Isabelle: She has Aiden with her now! Of course, they made it on time.
And there it is. The sucker punch I’ve been desperately trying to avoid. My stomach drops as my thumbs hover over the screen, and a dull roar takes over any thoughts I have left. I gnaw on my bottom lip, racking my brain to come up with something—anything—to say.
‘Actually, Aiden isn’t coming anymore.’
‘Aiden had an emergency, so he had to stay home.’
‘Aiden is busy sticking his dick in everyone but me.’
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 and offer 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.
Ignoring the way my cheeks heat like a girl with her first crush when he says the word pleasure, I nod my head.
“I guess a little bit of both. I’m meeting my family for a Christmas vacation.”
“And what’s the business?”
“I have to tell them why my boyfriend won’t be joining us.”
“Ahh.” He nods his head as if he understands what a burden this is on me.
“Want to help me come up with an excuse?” I ask with a little more excitement than I intended.
“Shark bite,” he says without missing a beat.
“In San Francisco?”
“We happen to have one of the top dive spots for great whites in the world.”
This guy is quick with responses. He’s either a Shark Week enthusiast or just really smart.
“I was thinking something more like swallowed by an earthquake. It’s quick and brutal.” I leave ‘and what he deserves’ hanging in the air, but Jonas is already shaking his head.
“And all it will take is one simple Google search to make a liar out of you.”
“Good call.”
“How about food poisoning? No one wants to be around someone who can’t decide which end he’s going to expel from.”
My jaw falls open again because imagining it is both good and horrifying at the same time. I try to say something, but a laugh bubbles out of me instead.
Jonas drops his head back with an easy smile and runs his hand down the leg of his pants. “What really happened to him? Had a hard time waking up for a six a.m. flight?”
I strum my teeth along my bottom lip, going over every second of the last two days.
“More like he had a hard time not sleeping with other women,” I say, surprisingly steady.
“Oh shit.” Jonas looks genuinely taken aback. “Stella, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” I shrug, slapping on a forced smile. “Nothing some of my mom’s Vicks VapoRub won’t be able to cure.”