I was halfway through a movie when I felt it again—that familiar weight of him staring.
I glanced to my side and caught him but he didn't look away. We ended up locked in this ridiculous, silent standoff.
"Seriously," he said at last, turning fully toward me. "You're just going to ignore me like I'm not sitting right here?"
"I can't hear you," I replied flatly.
"Of course you can," he smirked. "Even with those giant headphones."
I sighed and slid them off.
"Listen," I said firmly, "we're strangers."
"No, we're not," he replied easily. "I know you're an author. And you know I'm a crisis consultant. So…?"
"So what?" I said. "I'm not interested."
"In talking?" he asked.
"No," I said and before I could stop myself. "In being with you."
The words hung there—too honest, too fast.
Great.
"What?!" he asked, clearly stunned.
"I mean—this all feels like a story," I rushed on, even though I wasn't making much sense. "A plane meet-cute. Sleeping. Drooling. You. And… I have a feeling that talking to you might lead to something more."
"Wow," he said slowly.
"Just… wow."
"What?" I snapped.
"I'm just surprised," he said. "Is this an author thing, or is it just you?"
"What do you mean?" I asked, already annoyed.
"I mean, do you all live inside the fictional worlds you create?" he said.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Crisis Consultant," I said sweetly. "But we wouldn't want a generalization crisis now, would we?"
He shrugged. "So that means you're the only one living in a fictional world. Good for you."
That did it.
"You know what?" I said sharply, causing people to start staring at our direction. "I'm done with this. I'm changing seats."
I unbuckled my seatbelt, and almost immediately, a flight attendant appeared at my side, as if she'd been waiting for this moment.
"Ma'am, is there a problem?" she asked politely.
"Yes," I said without hesitation. "My seatmate is a complete douchebag, I'm moving."
"I'm sorry, ma'am," she said gently. "You can't change seats while the plane is in motion. It's a policy."
"Why?" I asked sarcastically. "Is this seat my personal throne, or do I get an award when we land for staying put?"
"Please, ma'am—"
"I don't care about your policies"
And just when I was about to rise, I felt his muscular arm stretched across me, pinning me in my seat.
"No emergencies on my watch," Jake said evenly "Thank you for the information."
And with that the flight attendant left leaving me stunned, I put my belt back on.
"Who do you think you are?" I snapped. "First you annoy me, then you decide for me?"
He didn't look offended. If anything, he looked amused.
"Someone interested in knowing you," he said lightly. "Even though you are… difficult."
I scoffed. "You don't know me."
"No," he agreed. "But I will."
That made my stomach twist—for reasons I didn't want to unpack.
Just then, the captain's voice crackled over the speakers, announcing our descent into Las Vegas.
The cabin stirred. Seatbelts clicked. The moment fractured.
Jake leaned back, suddenly casual again.
"I suppose this is where I step out… but I have a feeling our story isn't finished yet," he said, voice low and teasing.
I turned to respond—but he was already standing.
And just like that, he was gone.
I stared at the empty seat beside me, unsettled by one undeniable truth:
He felt less like a stranger—
and more like a character who had exited too early.