Accidentally in Love with the Pilot

by Teri Anne Stanley

  “Who do you think is a badder ass, Uncle Ben,” Harry asked, his little face serious, “Tony Stark or Chuck Norris?”

  “That’s a stupid question. Chuck Norris is too old,” Stephanie, who was her brother Paul’s oldest, and wiser than her sister Beth’s Harry by eight months, announced before Ben had a chance to swallow the food in his mouth and answer.

  “It doesn’t matter, he’s still way cool. And Tony Stark’s not real, duh,” Harry shot back.

  “Wonda Woman, Wonda Woman,” Lexxie shouted, and chaos reigned while Megan tried desperately to keep the peace. She expected Ben to erupt from his seat and run in horror. Except when she shot him a glance, he was sitting there, watching and listening to everything with a half smile on his face, not saying a word. Must be military training in stoicism, she thought.

  “Knock it off!” her dad hollered when the volume reached the danger level, and the crew settled. Grandpa didn’t yell often, so when he did, everyone listened.

  The peace lasted for about two minutes while they all shoveled Mom’s amazing meal into their mouths. During the workweek, there was a startling discipline to the diets of the performing Shuttlekrumps, ever conscious of how their costumes fit, but Monday was the one night everyone let a few notches out on their belts and just ate. Megan loved family dinner night—especially lasagna night—but since she ate out most of the time anyway, she tried not to gorge. Between carryout meals, she sustained herself on the Pepperidge Farm cookies she kept in her glove box while running from family crisis to crisis.

  They were just diving into dessert—a gooey concoction of chocolate cake, pudding, and cherry pie filling when a ruckus erupted inside the house.

  “Mooooom!” Beth wailed, coming outside with her youngest, whom she’d gone inside to retrieve from the bathroom. “The baby shoved his whole diaper in the toilet, and now it’s overflowing!”

  There was a collective “eww” from the family. Everyone turned to look at Megan. Normally, she wouldn’t hesitate to hop up and fix the problem.

  She glanced at Ben. He seemed confused. This was usually the time that most guys would start checking their watches, the beginning of the new-guy-versus-family schism, but she decided to try to hold it all off a little longer. Taking a deep breath, she said, “The plunger’s under the sink behind the Drano. Mom, this dessert is amazing, as usual.”

  Stunned, everyone stared.

  “But Megan, you’re as good at plumbing things as you are at running the Waltzing Wallaces,” a brother said, as good at working the shameless flattery angle as any of them.

  Megan waved her hand, cringing at the halting tone in her own voice when she said, “It’s pretty easy. You’ve seen me do it a hundred times.”

  He nodded reluctantly and pushed his chair back to stand.

  “You have to come with me,” he said, pointing to the other siblings.

  Avoiding Ben’s gaze, she returned her attention to the last few bites of dessert.

  “Are you guys done?” she asked the kids.

  They were quickly disappearing from the table, so apparently that was a “yes.”

  Megan stood from her seat to clear the dishes, and asked Ben, “Do you want coffee?” She’d stepped out of her comfort zone a little there, asking the guys to take care of something that was normally her thing, and that was good—but stepping out of her comfort zone made her uncomfortable, so she had to get up and do something. And maybe check on the plumbers while she was at it.

  “No coffee, thanks, but I’ll help you.” Ben jumped up and started grabbing stuff from the other end of the little row of plastic tables.

  He even took Megan’s pile and stacked it on top of his own. It was also nice to watch him walk up the back steps with an armload of dishes. His step-climbing muscles were in excellent condition.

  And then he managed to balance everything with one arm and open the door for her. He actually held the door and waited for her to walk in first, while holding about eighty pounds worth of ceramic bowls and uneaten dessert. Swoon.

  “Thanks,” she said, instead of Oh my God, you are so freaking hot I could do you on my mom’s kitchen floor with everyone else outside. But she did manage to drop a kiss on his cheek as he straightened from putting the mountain of crockery on the counter.

  His smile was worth it. She couldn’t get enough of how pretty he was. And the way his eyes held hers, pupils dilating. Knowing he wasn’t immune to her admiration was even sexier.

  A crash from down the hall kept her from slamming him up against the refrigerator to have her way with him and reminded her disaster loomed just a few feet away. How on earth had he made her forget?

  “Megan!” one of the reluctant plumbers shouted. “Can you give us a hand here?”

  “Okay, guys,” she called to her brother-in-law, who’d appeared in the kitchen doorway. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  She would force herself to make them wait. With a sigh, she grabbed the top level of the leaning tower of dishes and began to rinse. Ben slid plates neatly into the empty dishwasher rack.

  “You’re pretty good at that,” she said, watching him find a place for everything. “I bet Mom doesn’t even come in here and rearrange it before she turns it on.”

  He nodded. “Worked in a restaurant, raised by a working mom and grandma. This kid learned how to do dishes.”

  She sent a mental thank-you to his mom and grandma that she got to reap the rewards of that early training, because his muscles, as he bent and reached and grabbed—phew. Megan had a moment in which she understood the term “domestic bliss.”

  He reached for another plate, then looked up at her when she was slow handing it to him. That cute chipped tooth appeared.

  Cheeks heating, she said, “I was just admiring your, um, technique.”

  He smiled, eyes crinkling in the corners, and leaned his head back to get a better view of her backside. “Me, too.”

  A stream of cursing filtered down the hall, followed by “Megaaaaaaan!”

  “Should I…go help?” Ben asked, his brow furrowed with frustration. Clearly getting in the middle of that mess was the last thing he wanted.

  She sighed. “I’ll go in a second.” But when she tried to hand him the next plate for the dishwasher, Ben was gone.

  Chapter Nine

  “Still, you shouldn’t have had to do that,” Megan insisted, once they’d finally escaped Casa del Wallace-Shuttlekrump.

  “All I did was show them which end of the plunger to use.” He’d have preferred to do it without an audience, though. Considering her family was a crowd, it hadn’t been as bad as it could have. The work part helped—just like when he was at sea or in the air, doing things was easier than talking about things.

  “You’re a good sport.” She looked at him for a long time, then sighed and threaded her fingers through her hair, letting the long ends trail over her shoulder.

  He didn’t know about that “good sport” thing. There was some definite entertainment value here, and a little bit of puzzle. Her family was interesting, as was Megan, and her relationship to them. It almost seemed like she didn’t want to let them do anything she could do for them.

  After he’d unclogged the toilet, she’d come in and kicked everyone out so she could mop up the floor.

  He suspected it wasn’t a good idea to point out she seemed to spend a lot of time running interference in everyone else’s life. He couldn’t say anything, because she wasn’t really his wife. Unless, of course, he was really married to her, in which case it wasn’t his business because she was his soon-to-be ex-wife. Which didn’t sound good at all. Not that he’d have any business meddling in her relationships whatever their status. Okay, maybe he should let the puzzle part of things go until his hangover wasn’t threatening a headache-pounding return.

  At any rate, for the next month, Ben would enjoy the hell out of being with Megan. Even washing dishes and grocery shopping were fun. Especially grocery shopping. Remembering the chocolate syrup, he
hoped that using the groceries might prove to be even more fun.

  Oblivious to his thoughts, Megan said, “I have high hopes Harry’s going to turn out to be handy with tools. He’s really good with Legos, which is more than I can say for any of the adults.” Her phone rang, and she silenced it.

  “They might not be handy around the house, but they’re all creative types, right?”

  “And how. Jane, who’s married to Craig, is a makeup artist for a lot of the big shows. Paul’s wife is an architect, and Beth’s husband does custom airbrush paint work for Quinn’s Customs, one of the hottest motorcycle shops in Vegas. And you know what the rest of them do.”

  Yeah, but he couldn’t remember who was who to save his life.

  Megan went on, “I’m the only one who doesn’t earn a living being creative.”

  “I thought you did costumes.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t make enough to support myself.”

  “You’re the problem-solver. Don’t you think that requires creativity?”

  They’d reached a stoplight, and she turned to stare at him.

  He resisted the urge to brush at her concentration crease, as he was beginning to think of the line between her eyebrows.

  “I never thought of it that way.” The crease disappeared. “I like being the person who gets things done for the Waltzing Wallaces—I’m not too proud to admit I like being a necessary part of the show. Sometimes Mom tells me I’m acting like Cinderella, but I’m hardly sitting there on the little stool next to the fireplace.”

  Hmm. “Talking to mice?”

  She laughed. “I’m about as much like a Disney princess as…well, I’m not.”

  No. She wouldn’t want to be a Disney princess. More likely she’d choose to be everyone’s fairy godmother and put her own dreams on hold. Ben had an overwhelming urge to be her Prince Charming, though he suspected Megan didn’t have many rescue fantasies.

  He shifted in his seat, and she asked, “Why do you drive an SUV?”

  “Because it’s a decent car and I can pack a lot of stuff in it.”

  “Huh.”

  “The 2011 Chevy Traverse has the highest safety rating from the NHTSA, and it gets decent gas mileage.” He was beginning to feel defensive. Why was she—

  “I thought you’d drive a muscle car or a Maserati or something like that.”

  Ah. He cleared his throat. “Sorry to disappoint.”

  “Not at all,” she said, laughing. “I’m surprised you chose function and safety over flash and adrenaline.”

  He shrugged, uncomfortable. Her phone rang and saved him from trying to explain how he’d spent most of his life trying not to be noticed.

  They were walking up the path to Megan’s front door when her phone rang again.

  “I guess I should answer this before they come looking for me. Hey, Beth,” she said, and listened as Ben took her keys from her hand to unlock the door for her. “Oh darn. I’m sorry. I forgot to leave that skirt for you.” A pause. “Okay. Well, I can drop it off tomorrow before you leave for the school. What time do you have to be there?” She nodded, then said, “Okay. I’ll do that. Text me a reminder about the time, ’kay? Love you, too. Bye.”

  No sooner had she hung up than a text came in. She checked it and nodded to herself before telling Ben, “I’ve got to drop this skirt off for my sister to wear to her son’s teacher’s conference. Apparently, I’m the keeper of the ‘conservative but not so much that I’ll be mistaken for our mom’ wardrobe.” She laughed. “Maybe I should reverse that… ‘cute but not so revealing that anyone would think I’m impersonating the Waltzing Wallace’s magical main attraction.’”

  It occurred to him that she might have more time to pursue her own projects if she restricted her work efforts to work, rather than personal errands. Not my Wallaces, not my circus. He wasn’t going to be the whiny interfering boyfriend/husband/whatever. He dropped the keys in the basket next to the door as he shut it.

  ”I’ve got some work stuff to do earlier tomorrow,” she said, “but then maybe later we can go wedding chapel hunting?”

  “Sure,” he said, working to hide his disappointment. She’d already warned him that she had to work and wouldn’t be able to hang out with him while he stayed with her. “If you can’t make it, I don’t mind going alone.”

  And normally, that would be true. For someone who enjoyed his solitude, he found he liked spending time with Megan. He kind of thought she liked hanging out with him, too. But the way her family pinged her constantly with questions and requests made him wonder when she got time to do what she wanted to do.

  He followed her to the couch and sat a respectable—but not too respectable—distance away while she picked up the remote and started scrolling through movie options.

  “I should go help you find our wedding chapel, too,” she said. “Don’t you think I should? I mean, we both said ‘I do,’ right?”

  “Okay,” he agreed, pleased she was going to be hanging out with him, even if it was so they could get unmarried as soon as they were sure she wasn’t pregnant.

  “I’ll be done with errands by lunchtime. We can go then.” She nodded in satisfaction. “What do you want to watch? Action-adventure? Thriller? Horror? Historical drama?”

  “What, no Broadway musicals?”

  “Please, God, no. The show must go on, but not in this apartment.”

  Chapter Ten

  Dawn broke bright and hard through the living room window, all over Ben’s face. He squinted into the sharp reflection made by the sun against the glass coffee table.

  Last night, he and Megan had fallen asleep together on the couch halfway—okay, a quarter of the way—through Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2, and he’d once again regained consciousness with his arms around Megan, one hand groping her while his dick beat a marching rhythm against her hip. This time she’d remained zonked out, so he carried her into her room and tucked her—alone—beneath her sheets and returned to the couch, where he’d easily returned to sleep, barely registering the fluorescent colors of the orange, green, and pink afghan he pulled over himself. He hadn’t been lying when he told her he could sleep anywhere. The flip side to that was he could also wake up anywhere, especially if the desert sun was shining into his eyes.

  Rolling to his feet, he folded the blanket and put it back over the arm of the couch. The cushions were hard blocks of foam that didn’t need any plumping to be restored from bed to couchiness. Everything else was shipshape.

  Padding into the bathroom, he did his thing, washed up, and then decided he should go for a run. He hadn’t done PT yesterday, and if he didn’t stay in the groove, he’d be a mess in no time. Fortunately, he’d remembered to grab his bag on his way out of Megan’s room last night, so he didn’t have to disturb her. He slid into his running shoes and shoved the bag under the couch where she wouldn’t trip on it if she got up before he got back.

  He silently shut the apartment door behind himself, checking to make sure he had her keys before setting off at an easy pace.

  …

  Something woke Megan at the ungodly hour of 7:10 a.m. She lay still, listening for Ben’s snores, but there was only silence. The covers were twisted around her legs, and she struggled to roll over, but the other side of the bed was empty. Had he even slept there? She couldn’t remember—

  Oh yeah. They’d sat on the couch to watch a movie last night after a few minutes of awkward, “I dunno, what do you want to do?”

  She must have fallen asleep—had he carried her to bed? Something warm unfurled in her belly at the thought of his big strong arms cradling her on the way from the couch to bed. Whoa.

  He’d already impressed the hell out of her when he stepped in and took care of the Great Bathroom Disaster of 2018, even though she’d given him a hard time about it. Her crazy family was a lot to deal with in their first full twenty-four hours in a crazy city, and it was admirable he hadn’t bolted the second they’d gotten home.

  The other pillow ha
d a dent in it, but that might be from yesterday’s nap, so she couldn’t tell if he’d joined her overnight. She splayed her hand over his spot—his spot—but the sheet was cool. Her gaze immediately went to the wall next to her door, where he’d dropped his bag yesterday. Nothing but a fuzzy pink rug. Her heart gave an unwelcome lurch.

  Okay, maybe he’d slept on the couch.

  She jumped out of bed—faster than she’d moved at this time of day since, well, yesterday, when she’d woken up and realized she was naked with a strange man.

  She opened the bedroom door slowly so she wouldn’t disturb Ben if he was still sleeping, but the light shining through the blinds showed her immediately that the couch was empty. The blanket she’d wrapped around herself last night was neatly folded on the end of the couch.

  Was he in the bathroom? No, the door stood open, dark, empty.

  Worse, there was no luggage next to the coffee table.

  Disappointment bloomed through her chest and into her limbs, weakening her until she had to sit down on the couch. Which still held a faint trace of his sandalwood scent. She picked up the throw pillow and held it to her face, breathing in.

  He’d left. And under cover of darkness, too.

  Which made sense, right? More sense than him wanting to stick around and pretend to be married and be a dad to a probably nonexistent baby. Especially after he saw how involved she was with her big, noisy family. She knew he was reserved, shy, even. The Shuttlekrumps would be enough to send the most extroverted guy scrambling for solitude. But still. Not so different from those other guys after all.

  He said he’d find out if they’d had a real wedding. Maybe he came across proof and decided to cut bait and run, in case there was some law about cohabitation that would prevent an annulment. But she really needed to know. Couldn’t he have left a note? What an ass. Just because he was Mr. Important and Studly Fighter Pilot Guy didn’t get him out of common human courtesy, did it? No. It did not.