Page 22 of Tempted To Be Mine

He grinned. “Just think about it. No pressure. But the offer stands.”

“I might take you up on that.”

“I hope you do.”

I fluffed my pillow and reclined just enough. Jeremy pulled a blanket from the overhead compartment and tucked it around me.

“Get some sleep,” Jeremy said. “I’ll wake you when we land.”

I didn’t argue.

The next thing I knew, Jeremy was shaking my shoulder gently. “Lucy. We’re here.”

I blinked awake, groggy and disoriented. Through the window, I could see gray tarmac and a terminal building. We’d made it. The flight was over.

I stretched in my seat. “That wasn’t so bad.”

“See? Nothing to worry about.” He was already on his feet, grabbing our carry-ons from the overhead bin. “Come on, let’s get our bags and head to the next flight.”

I froze mid-stretch. “The what?”

“The next flight.” He said it so casually, like he was talking about grabbing coffee. “The lodge is pretty remote. Only accessible by plane. We’ve got a bush plane waiting to take us the rest of the way.”

“A bush plane.”

“Yeah. One of those little ones. It’ll be fun.”

I stared at him, waiting for the punchline. It didn’t come. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not joking.” He finally seemed to register my expression. “Lucy? You okay?”

I was not okay. A bush plane. A tiny, rickety, probably-held-together-by-duct-tape bush plane flying over mountains in the middle of nowhere Alaska. This was not what I signed up for. This was not anywhere close to what I signed up for.

“You didn’t tell me about this,” I said, my voice coming out strangled.

“I thought you knew. It was in the itinerary.”

“I clearly didn’t read the itinerary closely enough.”

“It’s how people get around up here,” he said with a shrug. “There isn’t a real airport to land a big jetliner.”

“I can’t do this.” I shook my head, panic rising in my chest. “Jeremy, I can’t. A bush plane? Those things crash. They crash all the time. I’ve seen the news stories.”

“Look at me. Lucy. Look at me.”

I met his eyes. Green and steady and completely calm.

“Breathe,” he said. “In through your nose, out through your mouth. Come on, do it with me.”

I tried. The air felt thick, like I was breathing through cotton, but I forced myself to inhale. Hold. Exhale.

“Good. Again.”

We breathed together, in and out, until the vise around my lungs relaxed. The panic didn’t disappear entirely, but it receded enough that I could think clearly.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m being ridiculous.”

“You’re not being ridiculous. You’re scared. There’s a difference.” He reached for my hand to help me up. “I promise you, it’s going to be fine. These pilots do this route all the time. It’s their job. They know what they’re doing.”