1. Maggie

CHAPTER ONE

maggie

I grew up by the ocean, but my favorite place to be in the summer is in the mountains. Surrounded by nature, listening to the leaves move as the breeze flutters through , birds singing in the distance. The mountains have always felt more like home than the beach. Plus, there's too much sand on the beach.

Unfortunately, I'm sitting in a cramped seat, flying through the sky in a giant metal tube. Maybe now would be a good time to mention that while I love the mountains, I don't like flying. I still can't fathom why someone thought it would be an excellent idea to hurtle through the sky at light speed when there are other ways to travel. But I'm on this death trap because I didn't have time to drive to Colorado for this hike. Fiona, a good friend from college, reached out two days ago and told me that her sister bailed on a hiking trip. She asked if I wanted the spot. Since I'd just lost my job, I thought, why not? I booked a plane ticket, and now I'm trying not to think about the fact that I hate flying.

Look at me, twenty-four and genuinely thriving. Jobless, carless, and by the end of the summer, I'll be homeless—well, that's not true. I can live in my parents' basement, but I don't want to do that.

"Are you heading somewhere special?" The older woman in the seat next to me breaks up my spiraling thoughts. I'm fine; it's all going to be okay. If anything, this hike is going to change everything for me.

"I'm going on a hike," I say. "You?" Mom would kill me if she heard me ask a question like that, as a single word. But I don't care about being super formal right now. I'm in my threadbare sweats that I've had for nearly seven years and a ratty T-shirt I stole from a roommate in college. So yeah, today, I am not the epitome of class.

"Heading home." The older woman sighs as if this is the worst thing in the world. "I was in California to spend time with my daughter, but now I'm going home." Her voice is a little rough around the edges. I wonder what type of life she's lived. "Where are you hiking? I'm not much of a hiker myself."

"Longs Peak." My chest grows warm at the thought. Though nothing about this summer is going the way I hoped it would, at least I finally get to hike the one mountain, I always said I'd hike back when I was in college. I went to University of Colorado where I majored in real estate. But my favorite part about living in Colorado was being in the mountains. In five-ish hours, I'll be in the mountains again. Tomorrow, I'll be hiking.

"Maybe you'll meet a nice boy," the woman beside me mutters. I glance at her, and she's blatantly staring at my bare left hand. I tuck it under my thigh.

"I'm happily single," I tell her. While I miss the feeling of being someone's future—and being so sure about it—I genuinely am happily single.

She snorts. "Sure you are."

I gape at her. Who does this woman think she is? She's probably in her early seventies, but what right does that give her to tell me that I'm not, in fact, happy with my relationship status?

"How about that one?" She points to a man sitting two rows ahead of us and across the aisle. He's typing furiously on his laptop as if something will combust if he doesn't get the words out. It makes me miss work, but I will not think about it now. This trip will give me the clarity and distance I need after getting fired for something I didn't do.

I stare at the man a moment longer. He's wearing shorts, a fitted black T-shirt, and a baseball cap. There's something about him that feels oddly familiar. I squirm and look away. "No, thank you. I'm not looking for any relationship right now. I just want to go and enjoy my hike." The words spilling out of my mouth feel ironic because when I went hiking as a teenager, my family loved to travel to the mountains, and there was always one boy on my mind who I'd daydream about—specifically, how he and I would hike together, flirting and holding hands. But that's in the past. I don't need a guy right now; my life is too much of a mess.

The woman clucks her tongue at me. "You young people think you have it all figured out. You need each other."

I don't know how to respond, so I don't.

"I could get that man's attention—maybe you'll change your mind once you see his face."

"Please don't."

Before she can do something that will absolutely embarrass me, a flight attendant walks down the aisle, distracting her. The flight attendant passes, and the man we were looking at shifts slightly. My heart stops as I take in his profile.

I'd know that slightly crooked nose anywhere.

I try to swallow, but instead, I breathe in my spit and start coughing like I'm about to lose a lung. I duck down, reaching for my water bottle. My eyes tear up as I continue to choke. I take a tiny sip of water, which brings minimal relief. I sit back up, blinking away the tears in my eyes, and take another sip of water.

"You all right, dear?"

"Fine," I tell my seat companion, but my voice is high-pitched and raspy. I offer her a reassuring smile since she's staring at me like she's afraid I'm about to drop dead, which I would like to do. Who chokes on their own spit? I clear my throat. "I need to work on my phone, if you'll excuse me."

I put my water bottle in the seat pocket in front of me and pull out my phone with trembling fingers. I already paid the ten dollars to have in-flight texting, and now I'm grateful I did. I shift in my seat so the woman next to me can't see what I'm doing, and type out a text to my girls. My best friends.

We may not see each other all the time like we used to when we lived together in college, but they've kept me sane since I lost my job last week.

Me

HELP. CODE RED. DEFCON 1 (or is it 5?) EITHER WAY RED ALERT!!

I flip my phone over and close my eyes, willing my heart rate to slow. Why am I having this reaction? It might not even be him. Right? I glance at the man ahead of me again; his laptop is gone and he's got a book out. His forearm flexes, and I watch as he turns the page. Who knew that watching someone read could be so…sexy?

"Maggie," I whisper to myself. I have got to get a grip. I need to confirm whether or not he is actually who I think he is. I stretch a little to see his right hand; I need him to turn it to see if he has a scar on his thumb. Someone in the universe must be on my side because he turns his hand, and I can see the back clear as day. And just as clearly, the one-inch-long scar near his thumb stares back at me. "Crap."

"What was that?" the woman grumbles. She's pulled out her book and is mostly minding her own business.

"Nothing," I say. But I lean back in my seat and close my eyes again. My mind goes back to the day we were trying to eat steak at Jack's parents' house and I accidentally stabbed his hand with my steak knife. It was going to be a joke. You know that thing magicians sometimes do, where they poke a sharp knife between their fingers, or someone else's fingers, while blindfolded? It was supposed to be like that. But not me being blindfolded. We'd been talking and even flirting, but then, just as I moved the knife, he moved his hand, and instead of connecting with the table on Donovan's back patio, I stabbed Jack.

My first crush.

And the first guy who ever broke my heart.

It's the very same Jack, who is now on the same plane as me, headed to Colorado. I wipe my sweaty palms across my lap and look at my phone.

Brooke

I thought you were flying. How are you texting us?

Meg

What's going on?

I force my hands to stop shaking to type out a response.

I paid for in-flight texting. And now I'm glad. BECAUSE WE HAVE A HUGE PROBLEM. JACK FREAKING DONOVAN IS ON MY AIRPLANE.

"Who's Jack?" my seatmate asks loudly. I glance in Jack's direction, but thankfully, he doesn't turn.

"Didn't anyone tell you it's rude to read people's text messages?" I ask, avoiding her question.

She raises her eyebrows at me. "I'm old. I'm bored. And you didn't answer the question. Who's Jack? Is that man up there Jack?"

I ignore her and look back at my phone. I can't handle having a conversation with a stranger right now.

Meg

THE Jack Donovan??

The very same. What do I do? What if he turns around and sees me?

Brooke

Why would that be a problem?

Ava

You're not wearing his sweatpants, are you?

I frown.

My seatmate laughs, setting her book on the tray table in front of her. "You have his pants on? Oh, this is way better than my romance novel."

I squirm as far away from her as I can in this tiny seat, hoping she can't see my texts now. Did it just get hotter in here? I need to get off this airplane. "This cannot be happening." I mutter under my breath.

They are my sweatpants.

I mean, they were at one point his, but they are mine now.

Meg

If he sees you, do you think he'll remember you?

I certainly hope not. But if he does, I will make him wish he didn't.

There. Typing out those words makes me feel the teensiest bit calmer. If he notices me, I will make him pay for what he did.

Brooke

Do you think that's the best idea?

Chloe

The man broke her heart. It's fair that she does whatever she wants to make him pay for that.

THANK YOU

But I hope he doesn't notice me. I want to go and enjoy my hike.

Ava

What if he does notice you?

I'll just first pretend he doesn't exist.

Just like he pretended I didn't exist that night. I push away the memory. A rule of mine is not to think about that night. Ever. Just because Jack Freaking Donovan is on my flight doesn't mean I need to acknowledge his existence or remember anything I've spent so long forgetting about him. I can pretend I didn't see him.

I set my phone down. I'm overreacting. He probably won't even notice me, so why am I freaking out so much? Maybe because it's been six years, and I didn't plan on seeing him today. I don't like when my plans go out the window, and Jack is not on the plan for this trip.

"So, will you tell me anything, or should I ask Jack?"

I grit my teeth as I turn to my seatmate. She's staring at the back of Jack's head. Not good. Not good at all.

"The only thing I'll say is that he and I are ancient history. I'm not going to get into it more than that."

"He must have really hurt you," she surmises. "You don't avoid good-looking men who read books if they didn't do something to you. Did he cheat?"

I shift uncomfortably. "No."

The thing is—at least in hindsight—what he did wasn't all that bad. I've been through worse since then. But the sting of that first rejection still hurts more than it should.

The woman smiles, delighted. Then she grabs a notebook and scribbles something down on it. She hands me the paper. "That's my address. Send me the wedding invite."

I gawk at her. "There's not going to be a wedding."

She pats my arm. "Just send me an invite."