The New York Charm (Uptown Love #1)

1. Dylan

1

DYLAN

Y ou would think that I’d be on time for the flight that’s about to change my life. Yet here I am, rushing through the airport, nearly knocking over unassuming travelers, making it to my gate in the nick of time. I couldn’t sleep last night, my stomach full of butterflies. I’ve been packed for weeks, and my mom dropped me off at the airport hours early because my anticipation got the best of me.

When it came time to say goodbye to her one last time, I couldn’t find the strength to tear myself away. Woodland Heights, Tennessee, was all I had known my entire life, and the two of us had been to hell and back. My mom was my best friend, and the idea that I had to leave her alone made my chest raw with guilt. But I knew I couldn’t linger too long because if I did, I’d never leave.

If I thought about her puffy eyes or splotchy skin, I’d break down again, which I can’t afford right now. I’m on my way to New York, where I know not a single soul. But that’s okay because it’s the Big Apple. It’s where you go to make dreams come true. At least, that’s the American dream that every TV show and movie I’ve ever watched portrays .

With my headphones in, drowning out the sound of boarding groups being called, I begin daydreaming about my new position as marketing assistant at Thrive Creative Co.

This is what I’ve been dreaming about ever since I graduated college. It always felt like such a pipe dream, one that I thought would surely never happen. I’m going to have the desk, the cubicle, the view. I’m going to live my very own Working Girl life.

Woodland Heights is one of those towns where everyone knows everybody. It’s the kind of place where you don’t need ‘no solicitor’ signs on your door because strangers simply don’t exist. You’re family friends with the mayor, and there’s a good chance you’ll run into your ex at the market on the corner at least once. Unfortunately, I am speaking from experience. On the upside, I’ve become a pro at dodging conversation. It’s now one of my party tricks.

Before I can fully immerse myself into what my new life is going to look like, I’m snapped back to reality as my group is finally called. I shift the worn-out black duffle bag I’ve had since I was sixteen further up my shoulder, feeling as if I’m only seconds away from permanently dislocating it. I curse myself for shoving half of my belongings into the bag that I have to carry everywhere I go.

Note to self: buy a suitcase once I get settled.

I nearly drop my phone as they scan my pass to get onto the plane, thanks to my clammy hands, but I catch it with gusto. I’m overrun with giddiness at the thought that as soon as I step onto that plane, my life will never be the same.

After what feels like hours of waiting for the previous passengers to find their seats, I finally make my way down the long aisle of the plane, scanning the seat numbers for 12F. Eight, nine, ten–rows of mostly empty, blue leather seats pass through my vision as I grow closer .

As I approach my seat, I lock eyes with a pair of baby blues that I’d recognize anywhere.

No. It can’t be.

My heart immediately drops, and a wave of nausea hits me like a freight train. I look behind me, trying to find an escape route, ignoring that mere seconds ago, all I could think about was being seated. I’m met with a long line of impatient looks, desperately waiting for me to sit so they can do the same. I have no choice but to charge forward.

I turn back around and move toward the seat, my palms dripping with sweat. All I can do is pray that I’m sitting behind him.

As I inch closer, reality hits. Not only is he on my flight, but we’re also in the same row. Right next to one another. Our shoulders will inevitably have to touch, and the idea makes my stomach roll.

Why don’t planes offer more breathing room instead of packing us in like a can of sardines?

Before I can ask someone to switch with me, I hear his voice, smooth as velvet. It wraps itself around me like an all too familiar blanket on a brisk winter night.

Fucking great.

“Dylan?” he questions, the shock in his voice evident.

Shit, so he did see me. The invisible cloak I imagine covering me apparently doesn’t work. I nod, barely muttering out a choked hello. I avoid eye contact, keeping my eyes on the overhead compartment. As I try to swiftly stuff my bag in, it gets caught on the corner, stopping me in my tracks.

“Do you need help?”

Despite averting his gaze, I can see him begin to stand out of the corner of my eye. I know there’s a high chance that if I reply, my voice will be that of a prepubescent teenage boy–squeaky and high-pitched, so I opt to keep my mouth shut and give a terse head shake. I shove the bag one last time, fitting it into the small storage bin.

He settles back down into his seat, and I find my seat next to him, my face burning.

The last place I ever expected to see Parker Townsend was on a plane headed across the country. I begin to fidget with the rings on my fingers, nearly sliding one off thanks to the sweat that has accumulated. Even if I wanted to initiate a conversation, the nervous tickle plaguing my throat has my full attention. I do my best to clear it unsuccessfully–the sound that escapes similar to a cat hacking up a hairball. Perfect.

What do you say to the man who broke your heart five years ago? The man you haven’t seen since the night that he walked out your front door for the last time.

I shuffle in my seat, staring at the small television in front of me, which is currently pitch black and showcasing a very unflattering reflection of my beet-red face. Maybe if I pretend he’s not there, he’ll get the hint that I prefer silence, and we can enjoy our flight in peace.

“Dylan, you can’t ignore me,” he tries again, clearly fighting a smile.

Okay, so maybe my plan isn’t entirely logical. I didn’t account for the fact that he knows me well. One could argue too well.

I turn slowly and am once again met with those ocean eyes that make me feel like I’m drowning at sea. He looks different yet so familiar my heart involuntarily clenches.

Parker’s once short, dark brunette hair is now grown out, a singular curl falling in front of his face. He has the beginning of a five o’clock shadow that makes him look like a real man—not the boy I once knew better than I knew myself. In spite of the differences, I can spot the dimples on his cheeks that he’s had since he was a child. Two little divots that render me powerless any time they make an appearance .

I scan down his body, noticing that he fills out his plain, long-sleeve black shirt, the muscles he’s clearly worked hard for, causing the cotton to strain. His left, tanned arm is resting on the armrest, and I catch a quick glimpse of a few small tattoos peeking out from the sleeve he’s lazily pushed up.

It suddenly feels like the plane’s narrow body is closing in on me as my chest tightens and I fight to catch my breath. When we were younger, he was adamant about never getting a tattoo–he said they were too permanent for him. He must’ve had the same feeling about us, too. I guess I didn’t know him as well as I thought.

Unfortunately, my mind is a traitor, and one glance at his tatted forearm makes me wonder what it would feel like to be curled in his arms again.

No, Dylan . Stop it. You shouldn’t be having these thoughts , I scold myself.

I cough a little too loudly, still trying to rid myself of the scratchiness in my throat, and the woman sitting across from us glowers at me. It takes all of my willpower not to roll my eyes at her. How would she react if she were in my position? I’d venture to guess very similarly.

“Hi.” It’s a pathetic response, but it’s all I can muster up.

He breaks out in a grin, which is the epitome of boyish, and my pulse quickens. I mentally reprimand myself once again, reminding myself that I need to play it cool.

“I can’t believe it’s really you,” he says, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I can’t either. What are you doing here?” My tone comes out a little too accusatory, like he isn’t allowed to be on this flight. I mean, what are the chances, though? It’s like fate is playing some sick joke on me. Well, you know what, universe? I’m ready for the game to be over now. I’ve had enough for the day!

He lightly chuckles as if genuinely amused .

“I’m, uh, actually moving to New York. I was just in town visiting family. I figured I owed them a visit since it’s been a while. What about you?”

That’s impossible. I rub at my brow, willing my jaw to stay shut. It feels like my brain is short-circuiting, and I have to be very careful with my response because I know I’m seconds away from making an ass out of myself.

“That’s nice. I’m moving there, too…” My voice is strained as it comes out, and I drop my hands in my lap.

With that, his eyes widen ever-so-slightly. If I hadn’t been staring so hard (cut me some slack), I might have missed the sudden, subtle shift in his facial expression.

“Oh really? So you’re finally making your dreams come true, huh?”

The question creates a sense of unease in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t want him to know anything about my life. We spent years talking about moving across the country and had countless conversations about what our life together would look like when we made it happen. It was never a matter of if that day would come. It was always the when . Or so I thought.

Although he was always supportive, he lost the right to know what I’m doing the minute he called it quits.

I nod tightly, trying to avoid having to talk with him any further.

“Good for you, Dyl. I always knew you could do it.” He rests his hand on my forearm, a gesture of love that feels like a white-hot brand striking my skin. Thank god I’m sitting down because my legs grow weak at the contact.

Tears fill my eyes, and I quickly turn to face the window to hide the pained look I’m confident I’m wearing.

I know he means well, but it’s too painful to hear. I’ve spent far too many nights with my face buried in a pint of Ben and Jerry’s, watching ridiculous rom-coms with a heartache that felt like it was going to kill me. It got to the point where I started going to therapy.

I shudder at the thought of how much money I’ve spent on my healing, only to have that wound ripped open slowly, stitch by stitch, the minute I see him again. I’m coming unraveled.

I close my eyes, taking deep breaths to soothe the anxiety stirring in my belly. In through the nose, out through the mouth. It takes a few rounds of focused breathing before my heart rate drops and I can open my eyes without a trickle of tears threatening to fall.

“Thank you.” I swallow. “I’m starting a new job on Monday.”

“Hell yeah. You’re making it happen for yourself. There’s no one more deserving of it,” he responds, that dashing smile reappearing on his face.

I nod, feeling the corner of my lips twitch up as I warm up. We haven’t seen each other in years, yet we’re already falling back into the ease that was once our everyday lives. No matter how hard I try to fight to keep him at arm’s length, slipping back into the uncomplicated conversation that we used to have feels as natural as breathing.

“What about you?” I ask. “What’s the reasoning behind your move?”

“I’m starting a new job too, believe it or not. You’re looking at one of the newest editors at Blue Bird Publishing.” His voice is dripping with pride, and I can feel the skin of my cheeks stretching as my grin grows.

“Wow, you really are becoming a hot shot. Congratulations. I’m sure you’re going to kill it.” I beam, feeling truly overjoyed that he’s also chasing his dreams. A small, whispered voice in the back of my head begins questioning our past. Maybe us going our separate ways was for the best, after all.

He blows out a breath, his eyebrows shooting up anxiously. “I sure hope so. This could be huge for my career. ”

I nudge his elbow playfully, that jolt of electricity running through my veins again almost instantly. I immediately pull away, hoping he didn’t feel it, too.

“You’ve always been ridiculously talented. I wouldn’t be too worried if I were you.” The minute the words are out of my mouth, I want to crawl into a hole six feet under the ground. How am I complimenting him already? The least I could do is make him work for it.

“Thank you. That means a lot coming from you.” He holds eye contact with me for a few seconds too long. I divert my attention away, trying to distract myself from the butterflies running rampant in my stomach again.

Seconds later, the captain comes on the overhead speaker and announces we’re ready for departure. Thank god. I don’t know how much longer I can make small talk. I already despise it as is, let alone with him . What are we supposed to talk about? The weather? The fact that I haven’t experienced love in the years we’ve been separated? I’m sure that won’t be awkward at all.

I look out the window and notice we’re moving down the jetway. I must’ve missed the safety briefing while being too engrossed in conversation. Here’s hoping we don’t crash because I would be utterly useless. Sure, I’ve flown enough to know the protocol. But knowing that I’m sitting so close to Parker makes me worried that I’d be pushing my way past the panicked passengers, trying to claw my way off the plane so that I don’t have to spend my last day on Earth with him.

“If you don’t mind, I’m going to listen to some music,” I say as I grab my AirPods from my bag and throw them in. Before he can respond, I queue up “Cigarette Daydreams” by Cage The Elephant and turn up the volume all the way. It’s the only way I can think of getting out of this conversation.

If he’s insulted by my ending the conversation, he doesn’t say anything. I see him slide on his own headphones and pull out a paperback book in my peripheral. Why do men have to be so damn attractive when they read?

This is going to be the longest two hours of my life.

I’m awoken by a flight attendant lightly tapping my shoulder, politely asking me to put my tray table up to prepare for landing. I glance down at my phone and see we’re only twenty minutes from our arrival time.

I don’t remember falling asleep, but I’m grateful that I did because that very well could have been my own flight from hell if I had been forced to continue talking with Parker.

I sneak a look over at him, and he’s still enthralled by the book he brought with him, folded up in the exact position I remember him being in when we took off. As I shift in my seat to put my headphones away, he marks his spot with a bookmark, closes the book, slides his headphones off his head, and places them in the backpack at his feet.

“Have a good nap?” he smugly questions.

A flush creeps up my neck and cheeks. I just had to fall asleep. I can only hope that I didn’t drool all over myself or let my head fall onto his shoulder. I discreetly feel around my mouth and chin for any wet spots, but I think the coast is clear.

“I did. I didn’t think I was tired, but there’s just something about flying that puts me to sleep.” I stretch my arms and legs up, trying to get my blood flowing again. My feet have fallen asleep, and it feels like pins and needles are poking my soles.

As I reach my hands toward the top of the plane, I feel his eyes trace my movements, his eyes catching on my shirt, inching up my torso. I simper to myself, regrettably pleased that he can’t keep his eyes off .

“I know. If I recall correctly, you slept the entire flight to Arizona. Remember that?”

I let out a small giggle, trying to push away the memories attempting to ambush my thoughts. It was the first vacation we took together, and we spent our days relaxing under the sun. Well, mostly relaxing. There may have been some poolside rendezvous, too. I shake my head, clearing away the image. I don’t need him catching onto the fact that I’m reliving some of our most sensual moments together–even if they do live rent-free in my head.

“Yeah, I do. What can I say? I feel completely relaxed the minute I step onto a plane.”

Except for this one. Although I was calm enough to fall asleep, so clearly, his presence wasn’t too upsetting. That or I really need to work on my fight or flight response. Is sleep a third option in times of distress? Because I clearly have that nailed.

I cuss silently to myself for slipping back into the comfort I once was extremely familiar with.

“That a good book?”I question, thirsting to change the subject.

He shrugs. “It’s not bad. You’d think I’d spend my time doing anything besides reading since that’s all I’m going to be doing day in and day out soon, but I can’t stop.”

“You’ve always been a reader. It’s one of the things I admired most about you.” I bring my top lip between my teeth and bite down.

There I go again. That was the last thing I was supposed to be admitting out loud. These are the kinds of thoughts that you think about internally until you have time to gush in your journal later.

Real slick.

“Thank you, I appreciate that. It’s nice to escape reality, even just for a bit.” His voice is laced with a tinge of sadness. I’m not sure why, considering it seems like he has everything he’s ever wanted.

“I understand that. More than you know.” I furrow my brows, deep in thought. I’d love to escape reality. Hell, that’s why I’m moving across the country. I need a new beginning—a fresh start.

There’s a moment of silence between us, and I feel like I’ve made things uncomfortable. He doesn’t seem to notice because right as I turn to him to fill the unpleasant quietness, he places his backpack back under his seat before turning to me.

I don’t get a word in as he asks, “Hey, this may be crossing a line, but since we’re both moving to a new city, why don’t we grab a coffee sometime? It’d be nice to have a familiar face around every now and then.”

No . No, no, no, no, no. That’s a bad idea. I’ve come too far to be pulled back under his spell. I shiver before throwing him a small smile, ready to let him down gently.

“Look, I appreciate the offer, but I think it’s probably best to keep our distance. I really do hope that life in the city is everything you hoped for, though. It was nice to catch up, even if only for a couple of minutes.”

The grin he’s been wearing falters, but before it turns into a full-fledged frown, he catches himself and nods. “I completely understand. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

The hope in his eyes quickly diminishes, and no matter how hard he tries to pretend, it’s clear to see that he’s hurt by my rejection. I attempt to take a deep breath and find it hard to fully fill my lungs with air. My knee-jerk reaction is to apologize, but I swallow the urge.

“Thanks.”

We spend the next fifteen minutes sitting in silence. As much as I want to spend hours catching up and seeing how life has been (beyond what I’ve seen during my social media stalking sessions), I need to hold my ground. Falling in love with him was easy the first time. Too easy. And now that he’s in the same city, looking as handsome as ever, I know that the likelihood of me falling all over again is extremely high. I’m here to focus on myself for the first time in my life. Not love.

Fortunately, the wait to get off the plane isn’t too long when we land. I thank my lucky stars I paid to be in the front of the plane, throw my bag onto my shoulder again, and turn to him one last time.

“Good luck. I hope it goes well for you.”

I know it’s probably a cold and callous thing to say, but it’s all I can think of. I do wish him the best in his endeavors, even if I’m no longer a part of the picture. I always have.

“You too, Dylan.”

Before I have time to deal with the swell of emotions I’m feeling, I rush off the plane, ready to put this whole interaction behind me.

The minute I step onto the grounds of JFK, I’m beaming. This is it. Even a run-in with the former love of my life can’t take it away from me. I’m ready to start over, and the time is now.