Chapter Two

Zoey

Running down the gangway after the gate agent let me board the plane, I see the open aircraft door and the flight attendant waiting for me.

Thank God!

I'm almost home free.

With all flights sold out for the next few days, I likely wouldn't have been rebooked until after Christmas. Which means I would have missed my own sister's wedding if I had waited for an open flight. Instead, I would have ended up heading back home to jump in my car and drive the twenty-one hours to San Diego from Seattle.

Driving over twenty hours after pulling an all-nighter trying to finish up the last proofs for the wedding I shot last weekend, isn't ideal. Which is why I'm relieved and grateful that they are letting me board right now.

I exhale the breath I was holding as I near the entry into the plane.

Even though the gate agent scanned my ticket and let me pass, a small part of me wondered if the aircraft would still be here by the time I got to the end of the corridor.

"Welcome aboard," the flight attendant says.

"Thank you!" I say, with as bright a smile as I can muster after the lengths it took to get here.

I know they didn't have to wait for me, and I want to make sure she knows how grateful I am to be boarding this flight right now.

She smiles and nods as I take a step inside past the thick airplane door. I clutch my photography gear bag slung over one shoulder, while my purse hangs from the other, and I attempt to keep my camera lens from smacking against anything,

My camera equipment costs a small fortune and it's also how I make a living.

I love being a wedding photographer. It's rare that my choice of profession ever feels like work. Nagging mothers of the bride and sometimes groom are usually my kryptonite. Luckily, in my experience, I haven't had to deal with many crazy mothers in my career. I can usually sniff them out during the initial meeting to prepare myself for defusing any situation on the wedding day.

It's a handy skill that I've honed over the years.

Weddings come with a certain amount of stress and high emotions. This can be a toxic combo for an already high-strung family member in the wedding party, but it comes with the territory.

My favorite weddings to shoot are the ones when the groom sheds a tear as his bride walks down the aisle toward him. It feels like you're witnessing the start of someone's true fairy tale, and this one didn't disappoint. The groom at this last wedding bawled like a baby the second the doors opened, revealing his new bride in her crisp white wedding dress.

I'm always honored to capture it all with my camera lens. Honestly, I'd do it for free if rent wasn't due every month.

But poor time management isn't what has me almost missing my flight to head to San Diego for my sister's wedding. It's because right as I was waiting for my rideshare to pick me up, my sister called me in tears. Her photographer went into early labor this morning and her assistant called to cancel my sister's booking three days before her wedding.

I was already out the door, loading into the car when I had to sprint back up to my apartment and grab all of my photography gear that I hadn't planned on taking.

The rideshare waited the extra twenty minutes, costing me an arm and a leg for the ride to the airport, but based on the time I showed up to the airport, I still had enough time.

Right up until TSA decided that my dismantled cameras, perfectly packed between soft padding in a hard case, looked like a potential threat to national security.

They unpacked and inspected every item, running everything through a high-powered X-ray machine multiple times before finally releasing me to re-pack and reorganize all of my things on my own.

I guess that was a small mercy.

If she had been responsible for repacking all of my things, I wouldn't have made my flight, and I'd be standing in the terminal watching the aircraft take off without me through the large glass windows of the boarding area.

I knew I should have told my sister during the beginning stages of wedding planning to pick a different maid of honor and let me be the wedding photographer. Then my photography gear would have already been packed, and I wouldn't have been late this afternoon, but she wanted me standing next to her and her fiancé, David, on the biggest day of their lives. I wanted that, too. Though walking down the aisle as the maid of honor with my ex-fiancé, Liam, being the best man, had me anxious.

The same ex-fiancé who left me two weeks before our wedding, and the day after we paid the last deposit on our venue, for a woman he met in line at a coffee shop.

Liam being the best man shouldn't have surprised me. He and David have been best friends since high school, playing together on the high school hockey team, and now, working together at the real estate firm that Liam's dad owns.

And though I hate to admit it, part of me still hopes that seeing me again after nearly a year apart will make him realize he made a mistake and want me back.

Now, I'm doing the walk of shame as I enter the aircraft. All seventy-four of the passengers already on-board and in their seats looking less than pleased as they wait for me to find my row so that our flight can leave on-time.

I can't exactly blame them for being disgruntled. I would feel the same way, but I have good cause for my delay—in the pursuit of my sister's happiness. And technically, if TSA hadn't stopped me, I would have been here earlier. Besides, our flight doesn't technically take off for another three minutes based on my boarding pass and the time on my phone.

I avoid eye contact as best as I can, gripping my camera bag so tight that my nails attempt to tear through the black nylon strap. If the flight attendant thinks she's going to convince me to put my livelihood in the overhead compartment, I'll have to muster up the little backbone I have and make a scene.

I'd rather swim in crocodile-infested water than make a scene in front of seventy-four strangers on a two-and-a-half-hour nonstop flight from Seattle to San Diego, but I will if it means not having to put my equipment up in the overhead compartment.

Not only is this equipment expensive, but it was also my graduation gift from Liam. He surprised me with it on the day I graduated high school and told me to pursue photography. He said that he would support my decision to pursue photography if it's what I wanted. It meant the world that he believed in me. I wouldn't have trusted myself to start a photography business if he hadn't encouraged me.

Now, I do well enough financially to do it full-time.

Unfortunately, he only saw my potential as a photographer, not as a life partner.

How sad is that?

What's even more pathetic?

Our breakup is the reason that I moved from San Diego to Seattle. I wanted to avoid running into him and his new girlfriend. San Diego is a big city, but I knew in our small circles that I'd be faced with seeing them together in all of our usual spots.

So, I packed a few bags and moved to Settle to avoid running into my ex.

Thankfully, I had a few connections that could get me wedding shoot bookings immediately. A friend from high school was already established in Seattle and had a guest room waiting for me. It was also the place where Liam said he always wanted to live but knew he'd never leave his cushy job with his father.

I've had the same fantasy for the last year—that Liam would wake up one morning, board a plane to Seattle, and show up at my door begging me to take him back after realizing what a huge mistake he made throwing our future away.

This wedding weekend feels like the last chance for us. I have to hope that seeing me again will remind him of what he gave up, and he'll want me back.

As I shuffle down the aisle, squeezing past passengers with my camera bag bumping every armrest and shoulder in sight, I focus only on finding my seat.

Row 23.

Seat B.

Middle seat.

Ugh.

I shift my bag higher on my shoulder, and my eyes scan the rows, zeroing in on the numbers, avoiding eye contact with the glaring passengers I've just inconvenienced.

Finally, I spot my row and take a breath, ready to shove myself into the tiny middle seat.

And then I see him.

I freeze mid-step, my heart slamming against my ribs like it's trying to escape. My feet suddenly feel cemented to the sticky aisle floor.

No. No way.

Brent Tomlin.

Every muscle in my body tenses. For a split second, my mind refuses to believe it. I blink a few times, like maybe I'm imagining him there because I'm just that unlucky. But it's him—his broad shoulders nearly spilling into the aisle, his dark hair tousled just right like he's been running his hands through it, and those familiar seafoam-green eyes locking onto mine.

I grip the seat in front of me so hard my knuckles turn white, the world narrowing around me until it's just him. He's massive, practically filling the entire space between the armrests, his knees pressed awkwardly against the seat in front of him. There's no escaping the sheer size of him. Even if I wanted to pretend he isn't there, it's impossible. He'll take up all the space around me—both physical and emotional.

His eyes flash with recognition, and I swear the air between us grows thicker. He doesn't smile. His lips press into a flat line, and I can't tell if he's as horrified as I am. But I feel the heat rising up my neck, spreading to my cheeks. My body reacts before my brain can catch up. Every part of me screams to retreat, to find another seat, another plane, another reality where Brent Tomlin doesn't exist within two inches of me.

"Hi, Zoey," he says, his voice a low rumble that sounds far too intimate for this small space.

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. His voice shouldn't affect me, but it does, like a shiver working its way down my spine.

Damn it.

I stare at the empty middle seat—my seat—wedged between Brent and another equally broad-shouldered man. Great. I'll be squished between two giants for the next two hours. My breath catches in my throat as I imagine being trapped, with Brent's solid body pressing into mine every time the plane hits turbulence.

My heart thumps against my chest, panic sets in, and a bead of sweat races down my back.

I dressed too warm for a panic attack.

He stands up and steps out of the row and into the aisle to let me slide into my seat beside his. The way his body rises next to mine sends another wave of shock through me. He's even bigger than I remember—towering over me with that calm, unbothered look on his face.

For a moment, I feel small—tiny and insignificant in comparison.

"After you," he says, his hand gesturing for me to enter.

There's no trace of discomfort on his face, no sign that sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with me might be miserable for him.

Meanwhile, the completely opposite of Brent's cool and calm exterior—my heart is pounding so loudly I wonder if he can hear it.

I don't move.

I can't.

My mind is still trying to process the fact that I'll be stuck next to the man who broke my heart, when he stood me up at our senior prom.

I force my feet to keep moving, my body brushing past him in the narrow space. The seats feel even closer together than the last time I flew. There's no escaping this nightmare. Even the scent of his cologne–something warm and woodsy–crowds the little amount of space I have. A smell that brings back old memories of him sitting behind me in Homeroom, and passing me snacks in Spanish.

I settle into my middle seat and do everything I can to avoid touching him as he returns to his seat next to me, but it's impossible. My shoulder bumps his arm as I try to get myself organized in my seat, and I immediately jerk away, clutching my camera bag to my chest like a shield.

And then suddenly, all at once, the frustration of finding myself sitting next to my sworn enemy replaces my shock. After all, this is cruel and unusual punishment.

And for what?

What horrible and unspeakable thing could I have possibly done to have earned me this sentencing in karma court?

I'm a good person–I swear.

So, why him? Why now? Of all the people in the world I could be sitting next to, why does the universe have to sit me next to Brent Tomlin?

My hands tighten around my camera bag. I may not be able to escape this flight, but I sure as hell don't have to like it.