A disaster. That’s what this is. An utter and complete disaster.
Chapter 6
Luke
Harper runs off into the ladies’ room, zooming through the crowd of people surrounding the boarding area. I’m about to shout her name, to tell her not to go, but I figure I won’t panic until she’s still not here by the time they start boarding our group.
I pick at the cinnamon bun, watching as everyone begins to board the plane, slowly working through the line of people. I pull at my phone to check the time and see a text from Wes.
Don’t forget to tell Harper how you feel??
I roll my eyes reading it. Typical Wes.
I don’t answer the text message but delete it in case Harper picks up my phone.
And then the thought occurs to me: When did that text message come through?
I’d left my phone behind when I’d gotten up to go to the bathroom. Could Harper have seen the message?
I’m flipping through my phone, trying to figure out how to un-delete the message, but when I’m close to figuring it out, I see Harper coming back and put my phone down.
I turn my attention to the cinnamon bun. Stuffing a bite in my mouth is the best I can do to disguise the guilty look on my face.
Harper keeps her gaze trained down, and I try to watch her, to watch her body language to see if maybe she read the message. I glance away, afraid to seem suspicious staring her down.
What am I doing?
“Now boarding group three for flight FI630.”
Harper grabs her carry-on and takes the cinnamon bun from me. “Let’s go,” she says, taking another bite while she waits for me to get my bag.
If she did read the text message, then I guess we’re both using the cinnamon bun as a buffer.
We wait in line to board, neither one of us saying anything.
I have no intention of telling Harper how I feel. Not on this trip nor any time in the future. The easy, friendly banter we have is too good to risk making it romantic. The reward isn’t worth it. At least that’s what I keep trying to convince myself.
“You want the window seat?” she asks, finally breaking the silence between us.
“I thought you had the window seat.”
She shrugs. “Yeah, but we can switch if you want.”
I let my eyes wander over her, perhaps a little too long, trying to decipher again if she read the message from Wes.
She waits for my answer, conveying nothing.
“No, it’s fine,” I tell her. “I don’t mind the middle.”
She didn’t read the text message. At least that’s what I’m trying to convince myself. When we’re standing in silence again, her face shifts from a polite smile to a nervous frown. But then she shifts again and looks normal, so I start to think I’m seeingthings.
Harper is a take-no-nonsense type of girl. She’s usually the first to call someone out on things, so if she did see the text message, she’d say something. I’m sure.
That’s what I reminded myself as we boarded the plane, getting ready to spend the next week together, just the two of us.
§
Turns out, Ido mind the middle. It’s been a while since I’ve flown, but I normally go for the aisle seat so I can lean sideways and stretch out my feet. I’m not especially tall, but I’m not short. I have to squeeze into the tight middle seat beside Harper, hoping no one comes to take the aisle seat.
