“‘Stop, at sea.’ Five letters.”
He stared at it, frowning. Up close, she noticed that while he might have shaved this morning, he wore an end-of-the-day stubble, something that turned him a little dangerous. And he smelled good. A sort of clean cotton–meets–cologne freshness despite the trapped airplane air.
“Avast!”
She glanced up at him, startled.
“Ahoy, matey. Avast!” He grinned at her, nodded at the crossword.
“Oh, right,” she said and tried not to giggle as she wrote it in. But see, she was making friends already. Maybe she’d make more at the culinary school. She didn’t need Max Sharpe. Not at all.
“Two down is ‘General on Chinese menus,’” she read.
“That’s easy—Tso.”
“Sow?”
“T-S-O.”
“Right. I should have thought of that. We don’t have Chinese takeout where I live.”
“Seriously?”
“It’s a small town. We don’t even have pizza delivery.”
He put his hand over his heart as if in pain. “I’m so very sorry.”
“It’s okay. I work at a pizza place, so I bring it home.”
“Your family must love you.”
She lifted a shoulder. “One across. ‘Water ring, not gold.’”
He counted the letters. “Atoll.”
“A what?”
“Atoll. It’s a ring-shaped coral reef that encircles a lagoon.”
“Wow. You’re a fount of crossword information.”
He had beautiful eyes. She noticed that, too, when he looked at her and grinned. Crystalline brown, with green at the center, and just staring at them turned her insides all warm.
Or maybe that was the plane jerking through turbulence.
“Oh no.” She pressed a hand to her stomach.
“Don’t worry; it’ll pass.”
Grace hoped so.
“Are you okay?”
“I don’t travel well. On planes or boats or—I get terribly sick.” When she reached for the airsickness bag, he pulled back, his face white. “Sorry.”
“No, that’s okay.” He reached up to hit his call button, but she stopped him.
“Please, don’t. I’ll be okay. I just need to hold the bag.”
“Right.” He gave her a smile, but it didn’t touch his eyes.
“This is a disaster. I knew it would be. I shouldn’t have come on this stupid trip.” She handed him the crossword puzzle. “Thank you, but I think I’m just going to sit here and try not to regret my life.”
“Ah, c’mon. It’s Hawaii. You’ll be fine when you get there.”
“No, trust me on this. It’s only going to get worse. Like I said, I don’t travel well—I never have. When I go someplace by myself, it’s always a disaster. I have a terrible time, or I get sick . . . I think I’m just one of those people who should never leave home.”
He gave a chuckle and she glanced at him.
“It’s not funny. I’m serious. Last time I left home, I got snowed in on the side of the highway. And before that, I visited my sister and got food poisoning from this little Thai place she took me to.”
“I love Thai food.”
“Me too! That’s what made it worse. The fact is, I can’t leave home without it turning into a fiasco, and I hate it. I like my small-town life; I don’t need more.” She should have figured that out instead of letting an impulse lead her down dark—and turbulent—roads.
She closed her eyes, leaned back into the seat, breathing. And now she’d made a fool of herself in front of this nice soldier who probably traveled all over the world.
“Here, drink this.”
She opened her eyes to find him cracking open a bottle of water. She took it and noticed her hands shaking.
He twisted the air nozzle, let the air blow over her. She gulped it in, then took a sip of water.
“I’m so sorry. It’s . . . I guess I’m nervous. It’s not just the flying. Or the fact that I know I’m going to have a terrible time. I’m supposed to meet someone in Hawaii. My sister set me up, and the more I think about it, the worse I feel.”
“You have a blind date in Hawaii?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know.” She pressed the bottle to her forehead and wished it were cold. “I should have said no to the entire thing. But I can’t seem to say the word. It’s like it’s right there on my lips, and yet—nope, it doesn’t come out.” She shook her head. “And then there’s my mom, with her green smoothies and ‘live outside the box’ encouragement. What if I like the box? She can’t accept that. I mean, from the time I was a little kid, I was telling her, ‘Mom, I like living at home.’ But she couldn’t believe me. There I am, ten years old, and she’s signing me up for camp, hoping I might love it.”