After I collect all my belongings and deposit my wipe in the trash, I try the door, and it doesn’t budge. Huh. Even with more force, my yanks do nothing. Maybe setting my stuff down would help? I prop my bag on the closed toilet and turn around, bracing my feet to pull this mother-fucker open. I change arms in case that helps. Nope. I double-check that it’s unlocked. It is. Why won’t you open? I even stick my tongue out to harness magical door-opening capabilities.
Nothing.
Then, I do what any normal, sane woman would do. I start screaming and banging the door like a lunatic. Flashes of news stories about “Woman Stuck in Bathroom on Skyline Airlines Flight Has to Be Sedated” scroll through my mind. Would they have to land the plane?
“I’m coming—don’t worry!” a female voice says from the other side. “Is it unlocked?”
“Yes!” I yell, still pulling.
“Okay, it’ll be fine! I promise,” she says calmly. “This has been sticking a lot lately.”
It takes roughly twenty seconds of joint effort until I see my hero. The door finally dislodges, and she stands there. She has dark hair tied back in a classy bun and wears the navy-and-yellow uniform well.
“Oh wow, I thought I needed to get the jaws of life to get you out!” she jokes. I smile hesitantly, the claustrophobic trauma still buzzing through my veins. She continues with a hand flip. “That door has been sticking forever. I keep telling the higher-ups we need to fix it, but they never listen to me. At least one person gets stuck every flight.”
I wonder about the liability, but the flight attendant says in a hushed tone, “Do you want something to drink? I can get it for you before everyone else.”
She taps into one way to get me to forget any stressful situation. Alcohol. I remember the Island Margarita, the drink Landon had his eye on. I still really want a Bloody Mary.
I really don’t know what I want.
“Bloody Mary,” I blurt out.
She points her finger at me with a sassy finger gun. “You got it. My name is Jade, if you need anything else at all.”
“Erin,” I say as we shake hands. I’m sitting in 34B, I believe.”
“You got it. I’ll mix it up and bring it straight to you,” she says with a wink.
I meet a cute guy and get a drink before everyone else? Besides the whole getting-locked-in-the-bathroom thing, this is turning into a great flight.
I walk back to my seat, and Landon pops up. He spreads his arms.
“You were saved! The flight attendant had it handled, but I would’ve stepped in if it would’ve gone on five more seconds. I enjoy talking to you too much.”
I blush as I walk past him. He rubs my shoulder as I pass, and the goosebumps are back.
“I think she was worried the airline would get sued, so I’m even getting a drink early out of it.” I pump my fist.
“Nice,” Landon says, holding his hand up. I high-five him, and he clasps his fingers over mine. Our eyes lock, and his smile disappears. I do not look away. Please kiss me, Landon. Make this the most epic flight ever.
He averts his eyes, and the moment is gone. “You look a lot more comfy.”
“Oh yes. I feel like a brand-new woman,” I say.
“You got to change, you’re getting a drink early, and me? You’re having the best flight ever.”
I smack him lightly with the back of my hand. “I was just thinking that.”
“Erin,” Jade, the flight attendant, says. “Here’s your Bloody Mary.”
“Thank you, Jade,” I say, taking the plastic cup brimming with liquid from her. Jade leaves, and I take my first sip. Usually, airplane cocktails leave a lot to be desired. This Bloody Mary is an airplane drink unicorn.
“This is the most amazing Bloody Mary I’ve ever had. There is so much vodka in this.”
“Let me try,” Landon asks. I hand him the drink, and he sips, pursing his lips. “Ooh my. I will have to carry you off this plane.”
“If I am so lucky,” I say, stirring the drink with the plastic toothpick. The drink cart rolls by, and Landon rubs his palms together. I sip my drink. Yes, I want another one, and I want Jade to mix it.
We bounce from topic to topic, ping-ponging and stacking on each other’s energy. He tells a lively story about his dog growing up named Spot who made friends with a neighborhood raccoon they named Dot. I laugh so hard I snort unattractively. I tell him about my friends, and I even tell this story about a drunk girl we met in the bathroom in Lake Tahoe and how we steered her toward rekindling things with an ex.
Landon’s jaw drops halfway through the story and never closes.
“No way. So, you stayed friends with her?”
“Oh yeah,” I say. “Zoey is a riot. We absolutely love her. We got invited to her wedding.”
Jade drops off another Bloody Mary for me and an Island Margarita for Landon. He sips it, and his face collapses. My Bloody Mary, while still good, was not as good as the “don’t sue us” one was.
“So, Erin,” he says, leaning his head against the seat.
“So, Landon,” I say. I take another sip. The vodka is doing wonders for my soul.
“I want to know everything about you. First off, are you single?”
“Yes. Incredibly single.” I down the last of my drink.
“Oh man. That bad, huh?” Landon asks, and his smile returns.
“I was supposed to get married,” I say. “It didn’t work out.”
“Did you break up before the wedding or…”
“No,” I say. Memories from that day come back to me. The night before, Patrick did not respond to my texts after I checked into our bridal suite without him. I remember writing it off since the wine flowed at our rehearsal dinner, and I assumed he had passed out. Patrick was affectionate, kissing my cheek and running his fingertips up and down my bare arm all through the toasts. We walked out to look at the water, and he told me how excited he was to marry me.
Then, I was slipping on my dream dress, about to pull a strap over my shoulder, when Cassie came in with her phone in her hand.
“He’s not coming,” Cassie said, her eyes filling with tears. I do not remember much after that. Our other friend, Sarah, somehow wrestled me out of my dress, dressed me in sweatpants, and mainlined me vodka. I was a blank slate, devoid of all feelings. It took some time for the tears to come with the intense rage. How could someone be affectionate at a rehearsal dinner and then bail as I pulled on my dress?
“He texted my friend the morning of our wedding and told her he was not coming,” I say. “He did not have the decency to tell me himself. He told my friend.”
I say all of this with a finger point; my eyes focused on Landon’s lap.
“I’m glad he screwed up, though,” Landon says.
I smile, and there is no chance for tears. “What about you?”
“Single,” Landon says.
Looking to the ceiling, I smile. “I can’t believe this.”
“What?” he asks. He waggles his eyebrows, and I want to kiss his lips off, he’s so damn cute.
“I get this horrible middle seat, and you waltz onto this plane.”
Landon ponders for a moment. “I don’t know if I waltzed so much as ran onto this plane like my life depended on it.” He pauses. “Maybe I was running to you. Though, I don’t believe in that shit.”
“What?” I ask.
“Fate. Love at first sight. This is just a happy coincidence.”
I’ll take it.
He reciprocates my huge grin. I see his slightly crooked teeth that give him a boyish charm. We inch closer to one another, his breath hot on my face. We are so close our foreheads almost touch. My lips almost touch his as I hear, “Oh my God, he’s loose!”
3
Please don’t let it be a snake. Please, God, don’t let it be a snake.
Landon and I sit up from our seats, peeking over the passengers’ heads to find other passengers doing the same thing. Many people scan the aisle, looking for the loose thing,
but I just notice a portly woman, running down the aisle, giving zero information, and freaking out.
Jade, the flight attendant, rushes the woman and speaks in hushed tones as the woman frantically searches under seats and under other passengers’ feet. She begins moving belongings, and the owners object.
The woman yells out loud, “Zack Morris, where are you?!”
Landon turns to me. “That is possibly the best name ever—whatever it is.”
I shake my head. “No, it’s not. Zack Morris was a total asshole.”
“How dare you shit all over my childhood. Zack Morris is a legend,” Landon says with a wink. His arm is around my shoulder, his hand grazing my skin. “We will circle back to your thoughts on the most delightful character ever, but first, I need to watch this as it unfolds, second by second. I also need to know what Zack Morris is.”
Jade and Zack Morris’s owner continue to bend down to look under seats. Jade instructs other passengers to stay seated and to alert them if Zack Morris is found.
With all the commotion, there’s not a chance in hell anyone will sleep on this flight.
I should really learn my lesson with red-eyes. Tiredness tugs at my eyeballs, and I rub them to alleviate it, but it doesn’t help. The adrenaline of the flight and newfound crush on my rowmate mix together in an odd cocktail of alertness.
I may never sleep again.
As the search party wears on, Landon rolls his eyes and stands up, also looking for the elusive animal on the loose. He wanders to the back of the plane, and his face lights up as he crouches down. In hushed baby tones and with arms out, he coaxes the small creature into his arms. He steps into the aisle and thrusts it above his head.
“I…have…found…ZACK MORRIS.”
Above his head, in his hands, is a five-pound, brown Chihuahua.
The owner ambles to him, taking the dog into her arms. She pets the dog as he shivers.
Landon plops back down in the aisle seat. We watch as the owner walks back to her seat, and Jade lowly tells her something we cannot hear. I hope Jade is triple-checking that that dog’s carrier is locked.
“That dog was totally looking to escape,” Landon says. “Did you see that dog’s eyes? They were saying help me.”
“I wonder if she dresses him in snazzy shirts in the winter.”
“Absolutely,” Landon says, grabbing for my hand. “I don’t know how I feel about Chihuahuas.”
His hand feels nice and soft with mine. I never thought I’d hold hands with a stranger on a plane, multiple times, but here I am.
“Oh, I know how I feel about Chihuahuas. Anything under fifty pounds is not really a dog,” I say.
“False,” Landon says. “My roommate has a French Bulldog named Mr. Jazzles. Frenchies are the best dogs EVER.”
I ponder that for a moment and nod. “Okay, I like those dogs. They are the only small dogs I allow.”
“Yes,” Landon says with a fist cheer.
I pause for a moment. “This is the craziest flight I’ve ever been on.”
“I usually sleep and avoid everyone, but this flight is different. Special,” Landon says, shaking our connected hands on my lap.
“You have been super chatty. You’re not like this with everyone?”
Landon shakes his head. “Nope. I mean, I’m friendly. Something about traveling, though; I just prefer to keep to myself. This is definitely an anomaly.”
“I’m glad I’m your anomaly,” I say, patting our hands intertwined between us. “I dare say this is fate, even though you don’t believe in it.”
“Oh man, now you did it.” Landon turns to me, his eyes twinkling with something mischievous. “You mentioned it.”
“Don’t you think this was fate? Meant to be? We got seated together on this crazy flight? We were destined to meet? It’s love at first sight?”
Landon shakes his head. “You’re great and all, but no.”
I laugh and cover his hand with mine. Landon covers my hand with his other hand, like we are teammates about to crush a match. Something about Landon being on this flight feels like destiny, like I am meant to be seated next to him.
My day was absolute hell. I cried in the bathroom for ten minutes during a break in negotiations. I wiped the mascara from under my eyes and plastered the bravest face on to finish the meeting; though, inside, I internally screamed. Then, a hunky, Zack Morris-loving, smiley app creator charged the plane, and my day was completely salvaged.
“It feels like you were meant to sit next to me,” I say, resting my head on the headrest. “I was having the worst day. You are a ray of light.”
He brings his hand to his chest. “Oh, thank you. I do still think this is random.”
He leans back as well. “I’m having a great time with you, Erin. Maybe the best time I’ve ever had on a plane. Truly. I just don’t think this is the universe telling me anything. This is just a fun thing that happened.”
“You mentioned you were running to me earlier. That has to mean something,” I tease.
“Oh, that. It sounded romantic, so I said it. I didn’t feel like I was actually running to my destiny. I was legitimately late.”
Though I’ve been disappointed with it, I believe in love. I’m a glutton for punishment.
This thing with Landon is definitely a one-off. A happy accident of a hot, genuine guy seated next to me on an airplane. This could be an experience I reference back to as a moment of magic that only needed to last a few hours to take hold of me forever—even if he claims he doesn’t feel the magic.
We did just meet two hours ago.
“Was that an almost kiss earlier?” I ask. I might as well know. It will hurt like hell, but I brace for the answer.
“Oh, I definitely almost kissed you earlier,” Landon says. “Just because I don’t believe in fate doesn’t mean there isn’t anything between us. I still want to kiss you.”
“Oh good,” I say. Our eyes lock again, and I roll my lips together. His lips part slightly, and I want to grab his face and plant a thousand kisses on it. I imagine him undressing me slowly, taking his time as his hands caress my skin, trailing goosebumps along it. My eyelashes flutter with the thought.
This could be the kiss to end all kisses.
That putrid smell from earlier hits me again, and I cringe, closing my eyes. It burns my nostrils, and I gag. I peer around the row of seats, and Smelly Feet Guy is at it again. His feet rest on the armrest. Again.
“Some people, man,” Landon says loud enough.
Smelly Feet Guy, who had been quiet the entire plane ride, except the pork-rinds chomping sounds, turns around, glaring at Landon.
“What did you say, Pretty Boy?” Smelly Feet Guy asks.
Oh fucking shit.
“I said, ‘Some people, man.’ I was talking about you and your feet, bro.”
Mild, cautious clapping sounds through the cabin.
“I have a condition. My feet get sweaty on planes since I get overheated.”
“Don’t we all,” Landon says. “My feet feel like they’re being waterboarded in the jungle in my shoes right now. I have these stupid wool trainers, and my feet are on FIRE. You don’t see me being a dick.”
The clapping grows louder.
The balls on Landon. Patrick and other guys I’ve dated would’ve quietly cursed another person like this. Suffer in silence. Seeing Landon stand up for every person on Flight 457 to San Francisco makes my nipples hard.
Smelly Feet Guy unclips his seatbelt and stands up. He is the size of Goliath; his head is close to the top of this airplane. He’s wearing a fashion vest.
A full brocade, green-and-pink vest over a black T-shirt.
“Kid, you better watch your mouth.”
Landon’s eyes go wide. He presses his hand down in the air to the man. “I think you need to sit down.”
“Yeah, sit down!” another guy yells from three rows forward. Other passengers turn to watch the commotion and sit up in their seats.
Jade j
ogs to the man from the rear of the plane. “Hello! Is there anything I can help you with?”
“This little punk is telling me to put my shoes on. I have a condition.”
“Your feet stink, man,” another guy tells him, waving his hand in front of his nose.
“Sir, I am asking you to sit down,” Jade says. I see the back of her head, but the pleading in her voice is real.
He looks flustered, his hands clenching into fists. Landon’s hands are up in a universal “don’t shoot” pose. Smelly Feet Guy looks around and points a meaty finger at Landon.
“You better be quiet,” he says in hushed tones. He walks to his seat, and his butt is almost in his seat.
Almost.
Then, Landon opens his big mouth.
“I’ll be quiet—when you put your shoes back on.”
Everything happens quickly after that. I shift out of the way, practically climbing onto my sleeping neighbor who is jostled awake with the commotion. He blinks like he just resurfaced from a coma.
Here’s what I think happened: Smelly Feet Guy stood up, wound up, and clobbered Landon in the face. Something goes flying from Landon, and it lands on my thigh, perfectly in the lip of my shirt.
I grab it before it goes flying, and it’s a fucking tooth.
There’s a flurry of limbs and bodies. A man wedges himself between Landon and Smelly Feet Guy, and Smelly Feet Guy screeches.
“You stepped on my foot!” he yells when Landon just lost a tooth.
“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!” I say. I clasp it in my hand as two men—one of them being Landon—wrestles Smelly Feet Guy to the ground. Another man steps in, and they haul the brute of a man to the rear of the plane. They rearrange groggy passengers from the back row, moving one person to Smelly Feet Guy’s original spot. A tank of a man steps in and sits on the aisle while Smelly Feet Guy is shoved next to the window.
Jade, the flight attendant, scurries around, running from the front of the plane to the back of the plane. She talks to Landon, examining his face each direction. She runs off and returns with a plastic bag of ice.
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