Chapter 21

The world tastes sweeter with a double scoop of sea salt caramel dripping down my wrist.

“Tell me again how you conned me into this?” I mumble around a mouthful of waffle cone as Julian drags me across the tiny parking lot of the private terminal.

“You looked sad,” he says, like it’s obvious. “I’m a good friend. I’m legally obligated to bribe you with overpriced artisanal ice cream.”

I squint at him. “You don’t even know what happened last night.”

He grins, shameless. “Didn’t have to. You stormed into the hotel room at two A.M. looking like a kicked puppy and threatened to set fire to men’s dress shoes. I read between the lines, babe.”

I snort, wiping sticky caramel off my fingers with a paper napkin that’s already falling apart.

The morning sun is hot against my shoulders, my hair is frizzing at an alarming rate, and my stomach is vibrating from the unholy combination of sugar, caffeine, and suppressed rage.

A tiny mean part of me wants to feel guilty for what we’re planning, but every time I remember Axton calling me a gold digger and Ashley a skank like it was just another Tuesday... the guilt poofs like smoke.

Julian checks his watch. “Shit. We’re late.”

I gasp dramatically. “Me? A jet-setter? Late for my luxury helicopter tour? Say less.”

“Keep talking, princess,” Julian says, grabbing my elbow and practically dragging me toward the terminal door. “You can flirt with the pilot to buy us forgiveness.”

“Julian!” I hiss, scandalized, and maybe a tiny bit intrigued.

The inside of the terminal is all marble floors, glass walls, and the kind of quiet that makes you feel way too loud just existing. I clutch my half-eaten cone like it’s a weapon, trying to act like I belong here even though my sparkly flip-flops are sticking to the floor with every sugary step.

A sharp-looking woman at the front desk spots us and arches an eyebrow. “Charlotte Montgomery?”

“That’s me,” I chirp, trying to look respectable while subtly hiding my cone behind my back.

The woman sighs in that put-upon way only people who deal with rich idiots can. “Your flight will be delayed. Technical issues. It should only be about forty minutes.”

“Technical what now?” I blurt, ice cream dribbling onto the floor.

Technical issues is not exactly what you want to hear before willingly strapping yourself into a tiny tin can that flies.

Julian elbows me. “Relax. It’s probably just a paperwork thing.”

“I’m not panicking,” I whisper-shriek. “I’m casually spiraling.”

The woman gestures toward the waiting area, and Julian nudges me along with a smirk. “Come on, Birdie.”

“Don’t call me that.”

He winks. “You chirped.”

“I gasped.”

“Sounded like a chirp.”

The waiting area is somehow even fancier and quieter than the lobby. I sink into a plush chair and take a big, aggressive bite of my cone.

“Maybe this is a sign from the universe,” I mumble around the melting mess. “Maybe I wasn’t meant to helicopter today.”

Julian flops down next to me, stealing a lick of my ice cream before I can smack his hand away. “Or maybe the universe wants you to flirt with a hot pilot.”

I roll my eyes and stand up again and start pacing because at this rate, I can’t sit in one place. “You act like hot pilots grow on trees.”

“Manifestation, baby.” He grins. “Think positive.”

Before I can tell him exactly where he can stick his manifestation, someone barrels around the corner, moving way too fast.

And before I can sidestep, I crash into something or someone hard.

My ice cream cone squelches against a very solid, very expensive-looking navy jacket.

“Oh my God,” I squeak, stumbling backward.

Strong hands catch my elbows, steadying me. “Whoa there, tiny terror.”

I look up, and immediately forget how words work.

He’s tall. Tall enough that I have to crane my neck, tall enough that the sun halos around his messy brown hair like he’s a literal angel sent to humble me.

His uniform is slightly rumpled like he’s been racing around all morning, and his grin is easy and boyish and completely unfair.

I think I’m in love.

“I-I’m so sorry,” I stammer, staring at the sad blob of caramel now soaking into his navy blue jacket.

He looks down at himself, then back at me, and laughs, a warm, genuine sound that makes something in my chest flutter.

“No harm done,” he says, coffee brown eyes crinkling. “Was it at least good ice cream?”

I blink. “Um. The best.”

He tilts his head, still smiling. “Guess I deserved it, then.”

I have never wanted to melt into a puddle of mortification more in my life.

Behind me, Julian is wheezing.

“I’ll pay for your dry cleaning!” I blurt, brain scrambling.

The guy laughs again. “You’re cute. But seriously, don’t worry about it.”

I feel my face flame hotter than the sun. “No, really I’m usually not this—”

“Violent?” he teases.

“Sticky,” I correct, mortified.

He grins like he finds me the funniest thing he’s seen all day. “Well, sticky or not, you just made my morning way more interesting.”

I can’t even breathe.

“Um,” I manage. “You too?”

Julian coughs pointedly behind me. “Flirt harder, Charlotte. He’s cute.”

I elbow him in the ribs, but Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Ice-Creamed just chuckles.

Before I can dig my grave any deeper, the receptionist calls out again, clipboard in hand.

“Change of pilots!” she announces. “Captain Dalton will be taking the tour today.”

The cute stranger lifts a hand in a little salute. “That’s me.”

It takes me a second.

Wait.

Wait, wait, wait.

HE’S THE PILOT?

I stare at him, horrified and dazzled all at once.

He winks. “Ready to fly, sticky?”

My heart does a triple backflip into the sun.

I am absolutely, irreversibly, catastrophically screwed.