Cure for the Common Breakup Read Free

point.”
    â€œ
Pfft.
I know an engagement ring when I see one.” Kim pursed her lips in a little pout. “One less tall, dark, and handsome man for the rest of us.” She sighed, then frowned at Summer. “Wait. Why are you freaking out?”
    â€œI’m not freaking out.” Summer straightened up and cleared her throat. “But, you know, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. He hasn’t actually asked. I haven’t said yes.”
    Kim laughed. “Come on. You wouldn’t say no to Aaron Marchand.” Her eyes widened. “Would you?”
    Summer ducked her head and let her hair fall over her eyes. “Well . . .”
    Kim wrapped her fingers around Summer’s arm again and demanded, “How old are you?”
    â€œUm. Thirty-two.”
    â€œThirty-two,” Kim repeated. “And you’ve done your share of partying, yes?”
    Summer nodded. “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors. They’re all true.”
    â€œOkay, so you’ve had your fun. But, let’s face it, you’re not twenty-five anymore.”
    â€œTwenty-five is a state of mind.” Summer tried and failed to free herself from Kim’s grasp.
    â€œYou’re never going to do better than Aaron Marchand. You know that, right?”
    Summer stared down at her shiny patent shoes.
    â€œWhat are you waiting for? Why on earth would you say no?” Kim threw up both hands in exasperation.
    Summer darted around her fellow flight attendant and escaped into the first-class cabin. “Hold that thought. I have to go do the dog and pony show.” She took her place beneath the TV monitor while the safety demonstration video played. While she pointed out the emergency exits, she scanned the sea of faces, looking for any sign of potential troublemakers.
    But tonight the passengers looked docile and weary, most of them ignoring her as the video droned on about inflatable slides and oxygen masks. An elderly couple was already sleeping in the third row, the wife resting her head on her husband’s shoulder.
    Summer found a thin navy blanket and draped it across the couple’s armrests. Then, she dashed to the bulkhead and dialed her best friend, Emily’s, number.
    When Emily’s voice mail picked up, Summer started raving into the receiver: “Hey, I know you’re in Vancouver and you probably have thirty thousand things going on right now, but I need a consult. I’m about to take off for Paris with Aaron. The pilot, remember? The one who’s all perfect and dreamy and nice? Well, he’s about to ask me to marry him.
Marry him.
Out of nowhere! Like an ambush! What should I say? What should I do? Call me back, Em. I’m scared.”
    She hung up, rested her forehead against the cool, curved plastic walls of the cabin, and forced herself to arrange a smile on her lips before she turned back to the passengers. As she walked through the cabin to do her final safety compliance check (“Fasten your seat belt, please. . . . Here, let me help you with that tray table”), she was waylaid by a passenger with an English accent and a red soccer jersey. He exuded entitlement and the smell of stale beer, and she guessed he was either a professional athlete or a professional musician.
    â€œCould you take this, doll?” He handed her a magazine that had been left in his seat pocket.
    â€œOf course.” When Summer took the magazine from him, he brushed his fingers against hers.
    â€œYou’re gorgeous. Has anyone ever written a song about you?” He met her gaze, then gave her a thorough once-over. Charming, cocky, and incorrigible. A year ago, she would have been all over him.
    But she had finally outgrown bad boys. She had finally moved on to a good man. The kind of man she should marry.
    â€œTwice, actually.” Summer laughed at the passenger’s expression. “What, you think you’re the only