“Sweetheart, I think that if we don’t talk, you’ll make yourself crazy with reliving every Lost episode you ever saw.”

“I wasn’t even thinking about that until now!”

“Where did you go to high school?”

“I was homeschooled,” I reply. “Graduated at sixteen, then went to college. Now I run a bar. That’s pretty much it.”

“I think there’s probably more to you than that, but okay.”

“Why is the flight attendant walking around? Shouldn’t she have her seat belt on?”

“She’s going to serve us refreshments,” he says. “She’s used to this. Trust me.”

I don’t know why I trust him, but I do. He’s nice. I also don’t know why I’m on this freaking plane. This was a very bad idea.

“Damn them for dangling a sexcation in my face.”

“Excuse me?” Mac grins, but I just shake my head.

“Nothing.”

“What can I get you to drink?” the flight attendant asks, and sets a napkin on the armrest between Mac and me.

“More water, please,” I reply, proud of myself for having enough wits about me to answer her question. She delivers the water, and a snack, and I sit back, relieved to find that Mac’s right: it really does feel like a loud train ride.

“You’re doing great,” he says a few minutes later as he munches on a bag of chips. “How do you feel?”

“Better,” I reply. “I don’t love it, but I think I’m going to survive it.”

“Good.”

Just as I’m beginning to think that I’m a pro at this flying gig, the plane starts to shake and dip. The pilot comes over the speakers and tells us all to buckle up and the flight attendants to return to their seats.

And I look at Mac in blind panic.

“It’s just rough air,” he says gently.

“Seriously? We have to fly through rough air on my first flight?”

“I’m quite sure it’s a conspiracy,” Mac replies, his face dead sober. “We should write a letter to our congressman.”

“Shut up,” I snap, and wince when the plane shakes some more. The flight attendants hurry to stow their carts and get in their belts, and for the rest of the remaining hour to California, we are restricted to our seats while the plane takes us on the ride of terror.

“I’m sweating again,” I mutter, and wipe my forehead with the back of my hand.

“Here,” Mac says, and passes me the napkin from under his drink. “It’s cold.”

“Thanks.” It feels good on my head. I shudder to think what my makeup must look like, but then again, I don’t give a shit. If we die in this tin can, it won’t matter what my makeup looks like.

“We’re not going to die,” Mac says.

“Stop reading my mind,” I reply.

“You said it out loud,” he says with a laugh. “I’m sorry this flight is so bumpy. It isn’t usually this bad.”

“I need to get on the ground.” I turn to him and grip his hand tightly. “I can’t do this anymore. I need to be on the ground.”

“Okay, sweetheart, take another deep breath.”

I do, and turn away, but he pulls me back to look him in the eyes. “No, you stay with me. Deep breaths. Listen to my voice.”

“You have a good voice.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you a doctor?”

“No.” He grins and drags his knuckle down my cheek. If I wasn’t so terrified, I’d climb him.

“What do you do?”

“I own a business,” he says. “Has anyone ever told you you have gorgeous eyes?”

“I don’t know.” And I don’t. I can barely remember my name right now. Between being scared and looking at the sexiest man I think I’ve ever seen, I’m a mess.

“Well, you do.”

“Thank you.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are beginning our descent into Santa Rosa. We should be on the ground in about fifteen minutes, but it’s going to be bumpy. Seems we have a lot of wind coming in off the ocean. Hang tight, we’ll have you on the ground in just a few minutes.”

“Oh God.”

“You’re doing so great,” Mac says, and I can’t help but laugh. “You really are. We’re almost there.”

I nod and hold his hand tightly as we descend. I hate the way it makes my stomach roll. I’ve never been good at amusement park rides or long road trips.

Motion sickness is a real thing.

Finally—finally—we’re on the ground. I’ve never been so happy in my life.

“You did it. You survived your first plane ride.” Mac smiles proudly, and I smile back.

“I did it.”

I’m going to throw up.

We’re soon parked at the gate, and the doors open. I stand, grab my suitcase, and make a run for the Jetway. I need a bathroom.

Now.

I’m sweaty. My heart is pounding. Of course, leave it to me to have a panic attack after the fact.

Thankfully, there’s a bathroom near the gate. I rush inside, find a stall, and heave until my body aches and I’m drenched in more sweat.

Sweet baby Jesus, I need to get to the hotel.

But I survived, and that’s all that matters.

It’s amazing what a hot shower, a thirty-minute nap, and room service can do.