To See You Read Free Page B

Layton pointed at the empty champagne flute in my hand, the one I hadn’t noticed I was still holding.
    “Sure.”
    He pressed the button for Ms. Perky, and she appeared with a notepad in hand.
    “Two more.” Layton pointed at my barren glass and added, “Whatever she was having and a merrrry . . . me—” A sudden jolt shook us in our seats, and then he finished, “Mary for me, of course.”
    The turbulence jolted me back to reality, or maybe it was the last part of what he said. I wasn’t sure I’d heard him correctly, but it was a dose of reality either way.
    “Merry me?” Confused, I repeated what I’d heard, emphasizing the rolling r ’s.
    “Mary, as in Bloody Mary,” he said, correcting me.
    “Oh, ugh. I’m so tired. I heard merry me and I thought you meant . . . I don’t know . . . me or something. Never mind.” I let out a nervous giggle.
    What was happening to me? It was as if cheerleaders had taken over my mind and body like the aliens did in that one movie.
    “Merry as in this is the best plane ride I’ve had in a long time? Absolutely, it is. And I may have been insinuating my being very lucky to have a cocktail with you, but no marriage necessary.”
    He set his hand lightly on my arm, capturing my attention and sending spirals of friction through my sleeve, and my eyes widened.
    “Oh,” he said quickly. “This was a merry moment until a second ago. I’m sorry if I offended you.”
    A blush swept up my neck, thankfully hidden by my turtleneck. This was all getting to be too much . . . the want, need, and disgust all rolled up in one big wad of no thank you . I didn’t do emotions like this. I was practical, matter-of-fact, lived my life in absolutes. Black and white was always more comfortable for me.
    At the end of the day, that was why I was an editor. I lived by the rules—in life, work, friendships, and relationships. There were certain dictates to live by and I followed them. Never mind that I didn’t know who the hell came up with those rules; I still followed them like they were a doctrine.
    “Don’t answer,” he said kindly, letting me off the hook. “I am lucky. Anybody would be lucky sitting next to you. So what if we’re stuck sitting next to each other on a plane? I’m still lucky.”
    My cheeks burned. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
    “It’s cool, Charli, New York’s a big place. When we get off this flying piece of metal, you never have to see me again.”
    I didn’t respond. The words got all tangled up in my vocal cords, and shame covered me like snow falling on the skating rink at Rockefeller Center.
    “Here you go.” The attendant set our drinks down in front of us.
    Not knowing what else to say, I went back to Lucy, and Layton returned his gaze to Katie What’s-her-name and her big happy-go-lucky smile.

 
    Two Days Later
     
    I handed the woman at the gate my ticket and headed down the Jetway to the airplane that would take me back to LA. Seven o’clock in the morning felt like the middle of the night to me since I hadn’t adjusted to East Coast time. I cursed myself for not grabbing a decent cup of coffee and for not waiting to take a later flight. Maybe I would have been able to get a first-class seat on it.
    Finally, I stepped onto the plane and shuffled to my row. To make matters worse, I was in a middle seat. Locating 14B, I shoved my bag in the overhead bin and said, “Excuse me,” to the slim grandmotherly woman already seated in the aisle seat.
    “Of course,” she said, and smiled as she stood to let me through.
    Unfortunately, the dude in 14A didn’t look as nice or as happy.
    I couldn’t help but think of Charli and her initial reaction to sitting next to me. Quickly shoving thoughts of the mysterious attractive woman to the back of my mind, I wedged myself into the middle seat.
    Of course, the fucking cowhand in the window seat piped up, wearing a smug look along with his tight jeans, flannel shirt, cowboy hat, and