1. Macy

Chapter 1

Macy

I nearly killed a man earlier. Perhaps that's on the melodramatic side, yet my palms bear crescent marks from squeezing my fists together to restrain myself from punching my fiancé in his beautifully cruel face.

The words "I do" pound against my skull like someone's beating me over the head with a baseball bat again and again and agai?—

"Do you need some help, miss?"

I blink a couple of times, realizing I'm crumpling the magazine I mindlessly picked up. I meet eyes with an older woman stationed behind a gift shop desk with a concerned, borderline frightened, expression.

I clear my throat. "Sorry! I'll take this," I say, a bit high pitched for my liking. I put the magazine I have no intention of reading and a pack of gum on the counter. She's quick to swipe my card, eyeing the plastic bag she places my items in as though extending them to me would put herself in danger like petting an alligator. I grab my purchase and stuff it into my suitcase. "Thank you," I say with a smile.

Thousands of voices infiltrate my ears when I step out of the store and into the organized chaos. I'm lost among the crowd of travelers in the JFK airport, far ways away from Walter, my fiancé.

By now, I've triple checked I'm at the right terminal for my layover. The white boarding pass in my hand says so, but for safe measure, I make my way to the screen that displays today's flights. A tight crowd gathers in front of it, and I have to force my way between people to read the words, during which I smack into a wall of muscle.

A huff of air escapes my lips. "Excuse me," I say with a smile in my voice. When the owner of such a hard chest doesn't move, I crane my neck and nearly blush at the striking man towering above me. "Excuse me," I repeat, assuming he didn't hear me the first time.

His gaze seems to make its way slowly up my body, pinning on the boarding pass I'm holding for a moment, and finally settling on my face with not so much as a blink. Lips parted, he doesn't step aside. I clear my throat, causing him to blink several times at me, as though he's coming out of a trance.

"Your flight is canceled," he says, voice deep and masculine.

I reel back, raising an eyebrow at the stranger in front of me. He doesn't know what flight I'm on. I step aside, finally able to view the screen. My eyes travel over the different flights. Once I spot mine, I drag my gaze across the row to the flight time. The word canceled is in bright red. That can't be right. I check again, dragging my finger horizontally in the air, and still reaching the same conclusion.

My expression falls and I can feel my heart begin to speed.

"Told you," a deep voice says from directly behind me.

I slowly turn to him, getting lost for a moment in light blue eyes, the shade of glaciers. But then, as if the grin spreading across his face is an anecdote to the spell I'm under, I immediately sober. The stranger's cocky grin is a feather rested on top of the crushing weight I've carried today, suppressing me whole.

"Excuse me?" I squeeze my hands into fists in an attempt to contain my emotions, worsening the marks from earlier.

His eyes crinkle at the sides, as if the ruination of my day is amusing. I can't help but notice how undeserving he is of the luscious eyelashes framing the glaciers. Before I can stop him, he pulls my boarding pass out of my hand.

I swallow down the annoyance brewing beneath my skin. Hanging on to the last thread of my patience, I say as kind as one can through gritted teeth, "Give that back." I inhale a deep breath. "Please."

"All flights to the west coast of Florida are canceled," he says calmly, holding up my boarding pass.

Before I can respond, a muffled voice comes through the intercom. "Flight 547 to Fort Myers, Florida has been canceled due to weather."

The guy's eyebrows raise in the most infuriating told you so face I've ever seen.

My sweaty palms grip the handle of my suitcase. I bite back the words I have for him, and weave in and out of the mass of bodies.

"Excuse me, coming through," I say countless times. Once I'm finally spit out of the crowd, I need to find my way to a ticket counter. Several minutes go by, and when I find it, my entire body feels as if it's frowning. There are already dozens of people forming a line.

As though he can sense my presence, the guy turns right as my eyes lock on his. They wrinkle in the corner when he sees the displeasure on my face. He's second in line. I'm sure the crowd naturally parted for all six foot four of him—if I had to guess his height.

My legs carry me right up to him before my mind can stop them. Countless voices complain, protesting about me skipping the line. I need to be on the next flight to Fort Myers, so I muster up my sweetest smile and wrap a hand around the guy's arm—which feels like steel beneath his hoodie. Of course it does. I turn to the people behind me and give them a polite smile. "I'm with him."

The guy peeks down at me with a raised brow. I widen my eyes, silently pleading with him to go along with this. The corner of his lips tick up in amusement. We both step forward when the person in front of us leaves the line. I smile wide at the ticket agent, who looks no older than eighteen.

"Hi. I need to book another flight," I say, putting my boarding pass on the wooden counter and sliding it in his direction.

His eyes go everywhere but my face as he mumbles, "There aren't any flights to Fort Myers until further notice." I can hardly hear past the lisp caused by his bright blue braces.

"Sir…" I glance at his nametag. "Erick. I live on the other side of the country. This is my layover." I look at him with pleading eyebrows. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Sorry for the inconvenience." He cracks his knuckles. "I can put you guys on standby for tomorrow's flights. I'll need your boarding pass too, sir."

"Oh, we're not togeth?—"

"Here," the guy interrupts me, handing him the slip of paper. I shoot him a questioning look. "I was on the same flight as you," he says, so only I can hear.

"I put you both in the system. I can't guarantee you'll be on the same plane, but we'll notify you when there's a seat available."

"All right, thanks, man," the guy says. He tries to pull away, but I tighten my grip.

"Are you sure there's nothing for today? I have nowhere to sta—" I start to ask but am quickly interrupted.

"There's no flight, Macy. They can't fly into a storm just so you're not inconvenienced."

I scoff. How does he know my name?

"You coming?" He gestures with a flick of his head to follow him, but I stay put. I'm not going anywhere with him.

Someone behind me clears their throat. I shoot them a glance, realizing the line has grown even longer and several people are directing their frustrated looks at me. I feel my face get hot and quickly step out of line.

The guy stands tall with only a backpack, waiting for me like I belong with him. "Thanks for your help," I say as I walk past him, wondering why every good looking man possesses the same arrogant personality as the next. I nearly trip when my luggage gets caught on something behind me.

I turn around, realizing the guy has a firm grip on my suitcase.

"Let. Go," I say through my teeth, hoping I come off at least slightly intimidating.

"Macy—" he says calmly.

"How do you know my name?" I ask in an accusatory tone.

"Macy Brookes." His lips curl over my name. "It's printed right there." His gaze lands on the hand holding my boarding pass. That's curiously intrusive of a mere stranger.

I'm exhausted from plastering smiles on my face to placate assholes who make me uncomfortable. Each encounter with these copy and paste individuals has slowly unraveled me by pulling loose a thread. It's in this very moment that I come undone. "Are you going to hold me hostage by my luggage all night?" I glare at the hand on my suitcase.

He watches me for a moment, then releases his hold on my luggage. I only make it two paces away before I nearly trip on my shoelace.

He laughs huskily from behind me.

I slowly turn to him, hoping my glare is scathing. Deep shadows peek out from his cheeks. It's strange to see something as boyish as dimples on a face that's all-sharp edges and contours.

"Good save," he says. "If you'd fallen on your face, it surely would've ruined my afternoon. Blood freaks me out."

I stare at him, my mouth nearly agape at his audacity.

"You need me to tie your shoe, Macy?" The moment he says my name, he grins.

"Stop…saying my name." I grind my teeth.

"What would you prefer I call you?" His eyes sweep over my face, landing on my worn-out University of Idaho hoodie. He looks up with a smirk. "Idaho. Interesting."

"Why's that?" I narrow my eyes.

"I just didn't know anyone actually lived there, let alone attended the state college." He pinches his chin in a considering manner. My eyes home in on the strand of dark brown hair hanging over his forehead while the rest is a tousled mess. He has sharp cheek bones, a slightly crooked nose, and a hardly noticeable scar on his upper lip. He's handsome in a different way than my fiancé. Walter has ash blond hair and a face symmetrical enough for magazines. I've grown to dislike perfection.

"Potato." He snaps his fingers. "No wait…" His eyes sweep over me once more before he says, "Tato. Short for potato."

I blink several times. "What?"

"You said to stop saying your name, so instead I'll call you Tato." He crosses his arms and shrugs.

"Don't call me anything," I say, my eyes hopefully burning holes into his skin. This is a ridiculous waste of my time. I slip my phone out of the front pocket of my hoodie. Not a single missed call or text from Walter. I don't even think he realizes I've left the house, let alone the state. I booked the first flight I could get, grabbing everything out of my dryer, and with the addition of the warmer clothes tucked away in my closet, I threw it all into a suitcase. I figured if I wore it in the last week, then it'll do.

I open the airline's app, fumbling with the screen, trying to get another flight. If I have to fly to a different airport in Florida, I'll rent a car and make the long drive.

I just need some fresh, salty air. Maybe then I'll remember how to love the man I agreed to marry. I'll unlearn all his mannerisms that double as my biggest pet peeves. Like the way he clips his toenails on our dining room table and doesn't bother cleaning it up. Or how the spare bedroom in our house automatically became his video game room, when I'm the one who works from home and needs an office.

"You look like you're going to murder that phone of yours," a voice I've grown unfortunately familiar with says.

Oh, you're still here , is what I want to say. "I appreciate you helping me back there in the line," I say as a way of farewell.

I pocket my phone, accepting there isn't a single flight to Florida I can book this late into the day. It's already almost eight p.m.

A woman to my left catches my attention. She looks to be in her mid-twenties, slightly older than I am at twenty-three. I catch the tail end of her frantic phone call. "I can't keep these kids entertained the entire night in an airport." She sounds on the verge of tears.

My eyes travel down to a toddler yanking on her mother's pant leg. Another kid with the same bright blond hair jumps along the chairs in the terminal.

I sigh and go back into the gift shop I'd just left before my plan for redemption fell apart. I buy coloring books and crayons and then find the blond mother and her children again. She doesn't notice me as she makes phone calls. I bend down, eye to eye with the little girl. She can't be much older than two or three. "Do you like to color?" I ask.

She looks at me with two big eyes and nods her head.

"Here." I hand her a coloring book with a box of crayons. Her face lights up when she sees the princesses on the cover. "Is that your brother?" I ask, pointing to the blond boy who stands on a chair, jumping up and down as if it were his personal trampoline.

She nods.

"This one's for him." I place it on the nearest chair.

I stand and grab my luggage. When I turn around, I find the guy right where I left him, except now he gazes at me with the most confused look on his face. As though he's trying to solve a puzzle.

I need to get a hotel for the night or else I'll have to sleep on the airport floor like several people already are, so I walk past him. My stomach squeezes, releasing a noise that gets drowned out by the thousands of people. I haven't eaten since breakfast, other than the few complimentary crackers from my first flight. I'm hangry and stranded in New York, billions of miles from my fridge. Okay, maybe not billions, but it might as well be.

It takes nearly half an hour to get out of the airport. And I thought it was hectic inside. Horns beep, and cabs zip in and out of the lanes to pick people up. Bodies knock into me as if I'm not even standing here.

This is no Idaho. I try to book an Uber on my phone, since that's what I'm used to, but every time it looks like I have a driver, it gets canceled right before I can confirm. I clutch my phone, about to sink onto the dirty concrete so everyone can step on me.

"Macy!" a deep voice calls, distracting me enough that I drop my phone. The moment it touches the ground, an alert flashes across the screen. "Crash detected. Enter passcode to disarm or a notification will be sent to your emergency contacts." I hastily input the numbers so my parents don't get a concerning notification.

The only person looking my way is the guy, who holds the door to a cab open with a raised brow. He gestures with his head for me to join him. My stomach growls again, and it feels like I might pass out if I don't eat soon.

I don't give the guy a single glance as I attempt to steal his cab.

"Where to?" the driver asks as I buckle my seatbelt.

I've never even been to New York. "Uh—" I start but am cut off when the car is filled with the scent of something woodsy, like sandalwood.

"Just start driving and we'll let you know from there," the guy says, making himself cozy in the cab. Lovely. In the dim space, I notice that his eyes are more silver like the full moon, and then I want to kick myself for even noticing.

You see, I was blind to anything but the color of Walter's green eyes, so even the red flags he wore like a uniform appeared green to me, so much so that I agreed to marry him, and can't seem to find my way out of that one. He has a beautiful face, but a hideous personality, and I refuse to be blindsided again by a pretty man.

I nearly glare at the guy just thinking about it. He merely glances at me before looking out the window. If he wanted to murder me, I've given him the perfect opportunity to do so, since I'm stuck in this cab. Him and the driver can split the profit on my kidneys.

"I need to get to a hotel. Do you know if there's one nearby?" I ask, assuming he lives here based on how easily he hailed the cab.

He doesn't respond.

"Hello?" I push his shoulder.

He turns and his eyes scan my hand with an unreadable expression.

"When someone talks to you, the polite thing to do is answer." God, where did that come from?

He stares at me for an uncomfortable amount of time before answering. "And you're well versed in manners?"

"You don't know me," I sneer.

He scoffs, then shakes his head, like he thought better of whatever he was going to say. My raised brow answers him, daring him to speak whatever is on his mind.

"You're Macy Brookes, a brunette with olive skin and an attitude the size of Mount Everest. You probably live in Idaho since you're wearing the college hoodie and your flight to Fort Myers was canceled, leaving you stranded in New York with a handsome stranger you are quick to dislike."

"You are going to kill me," I say more to myself. "You've kidnapped me, and now you want to kill me."

He laughs without humor. "If someone were to hypothetically kidnap you, they would return you after five minutes." He looks up like he's considering something. "Make it two."

"Excuse me? Can you take me to the nearest hotel please?" I speak up to the driver.

"Stop at a diner first. The Mrs. gets catty when she's hungry," the guy says, handing the driver money.

"Just the hotel is fine," I say, but he ignores me as he pockets the extra cash. Humanity at its finest.

We stop for the hundredth time. I don't think we've made it more than half a mile from the airport. I've heard that a five-minute drive anywhere else could turn into an hour in New York City.

"Tell him to take me to a hotel!" I whisper-scream at my cab mate.

"No."

"No?" I gape at him.

"It's a word used in speech that indicates something is not entirely tru?—"

I interrupt him with a groan. "You…"

"Me?" he asks with raised brows and a smirk.

"I don't like you," I say, matter of factly, ignoring the honking and constant stopping. I think I'm going to be sick.

"You don't even know me." He throws my statement back at me.

"You are…" the guy probably has a name, but since I have no interest in learning it, I let that part of my sentence trail off. "You're a very rude man, who probably doesn't have any friends because you're ridiculously obsessed with yourself. Oh, and I'll bet you have a cat who hisses and claws at everyone and it's no coincidence that it only takes a liking to you."

He seems amused by this, fighting a grin by pressing two fingers to his lips. His features reflect the traffic surrounding us. He glows red like the devil. "Would a rude man offer a stranded woman his cab?"

A serial killer would. "I wasn't stranded." I roll my eyes. "Can you just be a decent human being and tell him to take me to a hotel, since he refuses to listen to the woman who's clearly in an uncomfortable situation, thanks to the help of your bribery."

He sighs. "I'm Grayson." Of course, he'd have a sexy name like Grayson. "I was supposed to go home today from a business trip in the city, but my flight was canceled."

I try to ignore him by looking out the window.

"Let me buy you apology food. Do you like chicken tenders? There's this diner by my hotel with the best you'll ever eat."

I mumble, "I'm not hungry." My stomach betrays me, choosing this moment to let out the loudest growl. I lift my chin even higher.

A smirk plays on his features when I glance at him. "Fine, you aren't hungry. But I am, and you're riding in my cab."

This guy's got to be a narcissist or something. I once read the best way to win an argument with one is to ignore them, so that's what I do. I watch the city surrounding me. The people who walk the sidewalks, the names on the buildings, the benches with ads on them.

After forty-five minutes of being confined in a car with Grayson, I can finally stretch my legs. We stand in front of a diner.

"You coming, Tato?" He flicks his head toward the restaurant.

"No," I say, walking in the direction of a hotel I spot only a block away. A breeze goes right through my sweatshirt, rattling my teeth and carrying the scent of cigarette smoke.

"You can't go walking these streets all by yourself. It's dark," Grayson says, walking into step with me.

"What do you care?" I wrap my arms around myself, the autumn chill is nothing compared to Idaho's, but I'm always cold, even when it's seventy degrees. Like I was meant to live someplace warm.

"Just come eat with me. That, or I'm walking you to the hotel," he says like he's fine with either option. He's like a cockroach you can't get rid of.

"Why?" I stop walking. The city around us is full of life, and people are passing us on the sidewalk while traffic congests the street.

He is expressionless, but his eyes lure me in. Despite their cold color that should deter me, they feel oddly familiar. Like the nostalgic scent of sunscreen on a summer day. "Because you're in a huge city that's crime rate is quadruple whatever yours is in Idaho. Are we eating or going to the hotel?"

I blink at him once. Twice. Three times before sighing. "I'm a little hungry."