Sky High (Three Contemporary Novella's) (3 page)

“You don’t want to hear all that.”

He gestured around them with one hand. “We’re not going anywhere and we have nothing but time. Yes, I do, actually.”

She sighed and slumped back in her seat, eating the strawberry to buy herself a moment. “I’m going to skip high school, because those don’t count. None of mine counted, anyway. So…college. Again, nothing remarkable until junior year. Chad. I was crazy about him. He was crazy about me. We were supposed to move to New York together after graduation.”

“What happened?”

“He applied for a senior semester abroad without telling me. Then he went to Spain and found a new girlfriend, also without telling me.”

“Ouch.”

“Oh, he wasn’t the worst.”

“Who was?”

“Let’s see… Once I moved to New York, there was Clint, who was commitment-phobic. I can hardly blame him. We were twenty-five and in New York, and he wanted to enjoy that. Then there was Robert, who’d seemed perfect until we’d start making out, and then he couldn’t stop talking about his mother.”

“Good God,” Simon groaned.

“In his defense, he seemed to be in it for the long haul. He wanted me to
meet
the mother, but I thought better of it, all things considered.”

“Wise woman.”

“I’ve always thought so.”

“And then?”

She stretched, getting into her narration a bit. “Then there was Alec, who seemed great until he told me he needed a chance to date a model and I was holding him back.”

“Pardon?”

“That’s exactly what he said. He sat me down and was very logical about the whole thing. He pointed out that he wasn’t even thirty yet, and he was living in New York where there were models everywhere. He said it was probably the only chance he’d have in his life to date one and he didn’t want to look back when he was old and feel like he’d missed out. He did say that maybe he’d call me down the line if the model thing didn’t work out and we could start dating again.”

“I hope you told him not to bother.”

“I threw my drink in his lap and walked out.”

“Well done.” Simon mimed applauding for her and she laughed.

“So then there was Peter, who I worked with. He took a job at a competing company and promptly dumped me out of loyalty…to
them
. And then there was Mitchell.”

Simon stared at her and arched an eyebrow expectantly. “Well? I’m waiting. What was the story with Mitchell? Unsavory sexual proclivities? Dated you so he could steal company secrets? A member of the mafia?”

“No, none of that. He was…” She paused, looking for the right words to describe him and allowing herself to think back on Mitchell in a way she rarely did anymore. He belonged in the deepest recesses of her memory. She couldn’t believe she’d even mentioned him at all. Mitchell had been relegated to her past but the pain he’d caused her hadn’t been. Not entirely, anyway. “Mitchell was nearly perfect.”

Simon’s lovely eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Perfect?”

“For me, anyway. I met him through work. He was at a bank that used our services. I was moving over into management at that point, but I still handled travel bookings for a few important clients. He was one. We got to know each other pretty well over the phone and through email.”

“And eventually you took it to real life, I assume?”

She thought about that year with Mitchell, how sure she’d been that she’d found the one. They’d even been looking at apartments together. The word “marriage” had remained unspoken but was implied daily, as they slowly wove their two lives into one.

Something must have happened to her face because that teasing smile on Simon’s face faded. “I’m sorry to pry. You don’t have to tell me.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” she said, inhaling deeply and willing it not to matter anymore. “I found out that he only considered himself with me when he was
with
me. Whenever he traveled, or whenever I did, there were apparently other rules. And other women.”

“And you found out…”

She laughed. “Canceled flight, actually. Like today, I ended up back home unexpectedly. And there she was.”

Simon didn’t say anything, he just refilled her glass, which she’d drained at some point. “And today? No chance of that happening anymore?”

She supposed that was his way of asking if there was anyone post-Mitchell, another man waiting back in New York for her. “Nope,” she said with a tight smile. “No chance of that happening again.” Her answer meant more than that, though. She wasn’t leaving herself open for it to happen again. “So what about you? Surely you have your own sordid tales to tell.”

“I can assure you, Mitchell and I were never involved.”

His unexpected, deadpan delivery made her burst out laughing, which was exactly what she needed after revisiting the Ghosts of Bad Boyfriends Past. “You’re not his type. Although…” She cocked her head to the side and considered him. “He always did have a thing for blonds.”

Simon’s eyes skated over her hair, long, straight, and dark brown. “He had no taste.”

Well, then.

She cleared her throat. “Then I can assume that all your stories will feature brunettes?”

He chuckled. “Not quite. Penny’s a ginger.”

Penny
. Dammit. Simon had so thoroughly disarmed her that for a moment, she’d almost forgotten to be wary. She braced herself to hear that Penny was the ex-wife, or perhaps even the
current
wife. Maybe he’d start spinning his sad tale of woe, telling her they were separated, or she didn’t understand him anymore. “Penny was six.”

“Excuse me?”

“She was six. I thought we were sharing our pasts. Mine starts with Penny Millbank, who lived down the lane from us in Abington when I was growing up. She’s a ginger, although in the last family photo she sent me, she looks as if she’s taken to dyeing it darker. Shame. It went well with her freckles.”

“Be serious. I told you mine.”

“And I’m telling you mine. I harbored very strong feelings for Penny until she told me she didn’t like Batman.”

“She’s
the one with terrible taste.”

“I agree. You should see her husband.” He gave shudder and she laughed.

“Okay, enough about no-taste Penny. When did you move on to grownups?”

He gave an exaggerated sigh and looked heavenward. “Let’s see. The teens don’t much count for me, either. And university was…university.” For a moment, he looked almost sheepish.

“Ah, I see. You were a player.”

“Well…not exactly.”

Now Cassie was the one to refill their glasses, because this was getting good. Smooth, urbane Simon was starting to look a little flustered. “Hey, who can blame you? You were young.”

“Precisely.”

“And with that face, I’m sure you were a force to be reckoned with.”

“What do you mean?” The smirk taking over his face made her think the cocky bastard knew exactly what she meant. It certainly couldn’t be the first time he’d heard he was beautiful.

She pushed his champagne into his hand. “Oh, please. Don’t be modest on my account. So there you were in university, looking like you do, and enjoying…whatever life sent your way.”

“And for a few years after university.”

“Pardon?”

“If you want the whole story. I was—how did you put it?—‘enjoying whatever life sent my way?’ Right. I did that for a few years after university as well. After all, I was still young and—”

She waved a hand to stop him. “Yeah, I got it. You did a lot of enjoying. And then?”

Simon shrugged. “And then there was Nicola.”

From the way he said her name, quietly and without humor, she knew Nicola was serious. Like, Nicola was probably his wife’s name kind of serious. She said nothing. She just watched him as he thought about this ‘Nicola.’

“We met through friends from university. My old flatmate was dating her old flatmate.”

“And then?”

He glanced up at her. “And…we had three great years before I was recruited by my current company.”

“She’s not…” She almost blurted out “she’s not your wife?” but caught herself at the last second. “She didn’t come to New York with you?”

“She didn’t think she’d like it here.”

“So you broke up.”

“Not right away. We gave the long distance thing a go.”

“Wow. Long distance to London is tough.”

“I was working beastly hours getting my feet under me here, so it’s not as if I was missing out on a relationship. I thought by the time I’d gotten myself settled, she’d have made up her mind and moved here, too.”

“And then?”

“She made up her mind to marry my old flatmate instead.”

“Oh, God.” Without thinking, she reached out and touched his arm in sympathy. Then she realized what she was doing and snatched her hand back. “I’m so sorry.”

“It wasn’t quite that dramatic. It’s not as if she sent me a wedding invitation to let me know she was breaking things off. But yes, it looked as if, while I was putting in all those hours getting established in a new industry, she was establishing something new for herself as well. She couldn’t see a future for herself with me here and she could see one there with him. They seem very happy. They’ve just had a little boy. No hard feelings.”

“And no one since then?”

“Well, there
were
some hard feelings for a time.”

She sighed in sympathy, remembering that first year after Mitchell, when she couldn’t even bear to think about men and dating.

Simon inhaled and ran a hand through his hair. “And you see what my travel schedule is like. There have been some casual things but…it just hasn’t happened.”

They were quiet for a minute as the story settled. She suspected it hadn’t “happened” for Simon because he wasn’t looking for it to happen. Those causal things were probably more than enough for him. Why should he even look for something more? Like Mitchell, maybe it was more fun keeping every option open. Simon seemed like a decent guy, but Mitchell had, too. And really, he could be nice and still run screaming from commitment. The two weren’t mutually exclusive.

Marianne arrived at her side, breaking the tense silence. “Another round?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Simon said, shaking off his momentarily somber mood. “Especially now.”

“You got it,” Marianne grinned, turning away and retrieving two more mini bottles from the galley.

After Simon had popped another cork, he leaned across her again to refill her glass. “Take a look at your former seat mate,” he whispered, close to her ear. She could feel his warm breath tickle her hair and skate down her neck. Goosebumps raced in its wake. She glanced at 6A across the aisle. He was still out cold. The drool on his chin had dried crusty and white. “Do you think he even knows we’ve turned around?” Simon mused.

She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a snort of laughter. “Can you imagine if he doesn’t? When we land at JFK he’s going to think it’s Mexico City and go looking for his connecting flight to Acapulco.”

“Is that where he was headed?”

“Mm-hmm. For his wedding to Krystal. I got to hear all about it before he passed out.”

“Poor you. That’s going to make for an interesting wedding story, though.”

“Those are the best kind, don’t you think? Tons of weddings turn out storybook perfect. The ones you remember are the ones that go really wrong. Although I’m not sure I’d want mine to go wrong the way his is about to go wrong.”

He laughed, thank God, because Cassie was kicking herself in horror. She did
not
just bring up weddings as a conversational topic with him, not after everything they’d shared today. She may have even spoken tangentially about her
own
wedding, even if it was hypothetical and likely never taking place. Still, there was no surer way to send the signal that you were desperate and clingy than to bring up weddings.

Surprisingly, Simon took it in stride. Not so much as a hint of panic crossed his features. He just started in on his own tale. “I suppose you’re right. My sister’s wedding was a bit of a disaster. The caretaker of the chapel got the dates mixed up and went on holiday that week. The rector and the wedding party showed up and it was locked up tight.”

“Oh no! What did you do?”

“Well, after a fruitless hour of frantic phone calls, the guests showed up and she went ahead and had the wedding right there in the churchyard. It was rather lovely, actually. It was springtime, with flowers everywhere. Sybil was mortified at the time but even she laughs about it now.”

And now
he
was talking about weddings. Why did they keep wandering into these conversations that were far too intimate for two strangers chatting on a long flight? She kept forgetting the rules for this kind of thing, and somehow he was forgetting them, too. You weren’t supposed to share childhoods and broken hearts. You weren’t supposed to confide fears and dreams. And you certainly weren’t supposed to chat about perfectly imperfect wedding days. But hadn’t they both been doing that all afternoon? She didn’t know what to make of this day or this man.