Page 73 of Don’t Go Breaking My Heart

I sized up the other people waiting in the same area. They were the people I was going to be riding in a flying tin can with. It was good to know whose air I was breathing.

I continued to fidget and look around uneasily at our fellow passengers. Merritt placed her hand on my bouncing knee.

“Relax,” she said softly. “Everything will be fine. Flying is very safe.”

I took a deep breath. “I know, I know. I just don’t like being trapped in a metal tube hurtling through the sky. With two hundred strangers.”

“Would it help if you knew them all personally?” she asked with a smile.

“No, I suppose not.”

It wasn’t long before our flight was finally called to board. We got in line once again. It felt like the whole day was spent standing in lines, one of my least favorite things to do. Merritt pulled out our tickets and handed mine to me.

It felt like we were being herded. We presented our tickets and fell back in line following people down the jetway. There was a serious bottleneck up ahead, causing everyone to have to stop and wait. I could hear raised voices and knew someone was arguing about the size of their bag. I rolled my eyes and shook my head.

Finally, we started moving again. Slowly. The stuffiness was enough to make me feel claustrophobic as we waited for people to take their seats. “Right up here,” Merritt said. “Twelve A and B. Wait.” She stopped short, frowning.

“What’s wrong?”

She pointed to a man sitting in her seat, flipping through a magazine like he belonged there. Merritt glanced at her ticket, then back at him.

“Excuse me,” she said politely. “I think you’re in my seat.”

The man barely looked up. “I don’t think so.”

I inched closer, my irritation flaring. The man sat there flipping through the pages like it was no big deal.

But it was a big deal.

A really big fucking deal.

30

MERRITT

When I saw the man sitting in my aisle seat, my heart sank. I’d specifically chosen that seat because I liked the freedom to get up whenever I wanted without bothering anyone. Being stuck in a middle or window seat felt suffocating. I knew that sounded like first-world problems, but I paid for it. Technically, my boss did, but still. We paid, but he didn’t.

I looked at the guy—broad-shouldered, wearing oversized headphones, and casually perusing the magazine in his hands. I felt my anxiety increase. He definitely didn’t look like someone who wanted to be disturbed.

I shuffled awkwardly in the aisle, trying to decide if I should say something more or just let it go.

Kannon’s voice came from right behind me. “What’s wrong?”

I pointed to the seat invader. My ticket was clear it was my assigned spot. I had no choice but to tell him.

“Excuse me,” I said, trying to keep my voice gentle. “I think you’re in my seat.”

The guy didn’t bother glancing up at me. “I don’t think so.”

Kannon reached out and tapped the guy on the shoulder.

The man slowly pulled off his headphones and looked up, irritated. “What?”

“You’re in the wrong seat,” Kannon said flatly.

The man shrugged. “So?”

Kannon stared at him, unamused. “So move.”