And finding a man who wanted a future just as she pictured it was harder than she expected. More, working as a research librarian—as much as she hated to agree with her mother—hadn’t panned out in the dating department. Not that she’d chosen the job based on man-hunting, of course. Elle’s love of books, research, and organization had led her to library science. But would it be so terrible if her career also came with a helping of attractive single men? The most romantic excitement she’d had before Carter came along was a month-long relationship with a guy she'd help research communicable diseases. It didn't work out. (The man asked her for cheek swab samples one too many times.)
Elle was tired of being alone. And tired of finding men who didn’t have the same values.
Like the man who’d caught her on the jetway. The one with strong, tattooed arms, a five-o-clock shadow, and gritty voice.
That one.
She had no doubt he was one of those men who were allergic to commitment, but a small voice in her head suggested a little time with him might be entirely worth it. She was tempted to twist in her seat to see if she could spot him on the crowded plane. Which, for being completely ridiculous and immature, was surprisingly tempting.
The man was a stranger. Carter was her almost-fiancé. End of story.
Besides, Mr. Tattoos and Flannel Shirt might tempt Elle to throw her plans for a solid, dependable future out the window for a taste of something … exciting. But a single woman nearing thirty who wanted a ring, wedding, and house in the city didn’t waste time with men like that. Period.
Elle turned to Carter with a determined smile.
"How's work going?" she asked him.
Carter didn't look up from his magazine. "Fine. Busy."
"Well, I sure appreciate you coming to this wedding with me."
He flipped a page.
"The wedding should be lovely. And big. But you know that." She was rambling. She could identify the problem, but stopping was another matter entirely. "It’s all so romantic. I've been thinking about weddings quite a bit lately …” She tried to gauge his expression, but Carter merely looked bored. "I would love to get married in the country. Perhaps a smaller wedding than Lucy's, but that shouldn't be hard."
Carter shifted in his seat. She cut him a glance and noticed a muscle flexing in his cheek.
"Or bigger. Bigger could be good. My mother would love to have another big wedding. Did I tell you she asked about grand babies the other day? She already has names for them." She said it with a light laugh.
Carter eyed her. He put down his magazine. "You should take one of those relaxation pills I bought you," he said. His voice was all sweetness and charm.
“The plane hasn’t even left the gate,” she objected. “Besides, it might put me right to sleep. Don't you want to chat?"
From the expression on his face, she thought the answer might be Hell, no.
But instead of that, he said, “If you have one now, you’ll be sure to be relaxed for takeoff. I’m only trying to look out for you," he added, ever the gentleman.
"Of course," Elle murmured. She pulled out her pocketbook and dug around until she found the herbal relaxation tablets. "It was so thoughtful of you to get these for me," she said. She popped one in her mouth. Once she swallowed, she asked, “So have you thought about what you’d want for your wedding?"
"Jesus, Elle,” Carter groaned. “Enough about weddings already."
And here she was thinking she was being so subtle and smooth.
"I didn't mean to upset you,” she said.
"I'm not upset.” He stood, curving his shoulders to keep from smacking his head on the overhead bins. "I need a drink. Do you mind?"
She moved aside to let him pass. Carter strode to the front of the plane, shoulders drawn. She checked to make sure he wasn’t looking, then reached over and grabbed his carry-on bag. Elle glanced from side to side before unzipping the leather satchel and pawing around inside. Only when her fingers closed around a small jewelry box did she smile. She did a little happy dance in her seat, zipped the bag and put it back on his side.
Debating for only a minute, Elle slid over to the window seat. She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes, not fighting a wide, smug grin.
Elle startled awake. She glanced at the seat next to her. Empty. The view of the tarmac outside her window meant she hadn’t missed takeoff, and a quick glance at her phone told her she’d been snoozing for over twenty minutes. The herbalist hadn't been kidding about those tablets.
Telling herself Carter would show up eventually—he couldn't have gone far—she got up to get a bottle of water from the flight staff.
Elle made her way up the aisle to the over-made flight attendant for water.
When the attendant turned to help, Elle asked, “Any idea how much longer we’ll be delayed?”
“No, ma’am,” the woman said. “Wish I knew. I’ve had back to back flights today.”
Elle gave the woman a sympathetic smile before requesting a bottle of water.
The head of the plane was cramped, but Elle took advantage of the area between the seats and the cockpit to stretch her legs. Her mother told her about varicose veins being caused by sitting for too long, and Elle didn't want to chance it. She paced a few steps back and forth, trying to get her blood moving.
While she paced, Elle thought about Carter's strange reaction to their conversation.
He had a ring—her heart skittered at the thought—and yet any mention of marriage sent the man into a panic. Was she doing something wrong?
The bathroom door thumped.
Elle and the flight attendant exchanged a look.
"Sounds like someone's having a party in there," Elle said.
The bathroom door thumped again. Elle raised her eyebrows.
The flight attendant waved Elle closer. "A couple is in there," she confided in a low voice.
"No," Elle said, not having to pretend she was horrified. The downside to being a research librarian at a prominent medical university was that she’d read one too many papers about the wide variety of bacteria, viruses, and other unmentionable microorganisms one could contract via real-life Petri dishes like airplane bathrooms.
The flight attendant's Tammy Faye Baker eyes went wide. "You'd be surprised how often it happens," she whispered in a deep drawl. "I bet some celebrity did it and shared a photo on the Twitter, and now everyone wants to tick mile-high club off their bucket list." The bathroom door bowed out for a moment. "And guess who has to clean up in there," the woman added with a shake of her head.
Elle made a delicate shudder. “Wear gloves, okay?” She had an internal battle over whether or not to cite medical research for reasons why gloves were a must. She’d learned that most people didn’t want to know about the invisible monsters they waded through on a daily basis.
The flight attendant stared at the door like it was the gateway to Hades. "Duty calls," she said, sounding anything but thrilled.
Elle gave her a reassuring smile.
The flight attendant straightened her shoulders and tugged down her regulation blazer. She stepped up to the bathroom door and gave it a quick tap. "Excuse me?" Then another tap, louder this time. "Y'all need to exit the lavatory, please." Muffled voices—was that moaning?—answered her.
Now that Elle had an idea of what was coming, she decided to hightail it out of there. She imagined telling Carter and having a good giggle over it. But before she could take a single step, the bathroom door busted open.
A couple stumbled out in a flurry of naked parts and half-removed clothes. She didn't want to see naked bits, so it took her a full minute to make sense of the scene. She blinked, taking in the details in rapid succession.
A tanned male body.
A woman with red hair. Her legs wrapped around the guy's hips like a lanky barnacle.
His hands on her butt.
Lipstick smeared across his face.
His familiar face.
Elle's stomach sank as r
ealization set in.
She knew that man, from his blond, gelled hair to his Italian loafers.
"Carter?" Elle asked.
Chapter 3
Elle faced Carter. The moment she'd seen him, it was as though a wave of ice slapped into her. She saw the scene from far away. Saw Carter's jaw drop, his new friend scramble to cover herself. They slipped back into the bathroom with a slam of the flimsy door.
She knew Carter had a wandering eye. But this?
Elle struggled to breathe.
Carter was having sex. Sex! With a stranger. On their flight to her sister's wedding. While an engagement ring sat in his carry-on bag.
It was the opposite of gentlemanly.
Worse, it hurt.
She couldn't stop playing the instant she saw them, running through the images in flashes as though each moment was a part of a puzzle she didn't understand.
The flight attendant was saying something. Her lipstick-coated smile wobbled and she placed a hand on Elle's arm. Elle had the idle thought that she should ask about the brand of lipstick. It was a lovely color.
"Are you okay?" the flight attendant asked.
Elle read the woman's name tag. Tanya.
Years of training—as a good southern girl, as a debutante, as her mother’s daughter—made Elle stand up straight and give Tanya a practiced smile.
A lady cries at home, not in public.
She was fine. Of course she was. Say it enough and it will be true.
I’m fine.
Her hands were shaking. But dammit, she was fine.
The bathroom door opened. Carter's pants were up, and the redhead slunk to her seat after straightening her clothing and hair. She offered Elle a sad smile as she passed, but Elle barely heard the woman's mumbled apology. She was too busy holding herself together.
Carter didn't look as though he'd just had a tumble in an airplane bathroom. He was tidy. He looked like a gentleman, damn him.
Her mind clung to the disgusting reality of having sex in a bathroom. Did they wash their hands? How was it even physically possible?
And that thought brought her back to replaying the scene. Over, and over.
Nausea roiled in her belly.
People were staring. Elle had no doubt everyone at the front of the plane had seen what had happened.
Carter looked anywhere but at her.
She wanted to tear into him. Really let him have it, but years of keeping her emotions in check made her bite her tongue.
"We can re-seat you if you like," the flight attendant said to Elle. "But you need to return to your seats—any seats. It’s regulation," she added, giving Elle an apologetic shrug.
"Yes, ma'am. I understand," Elle said. The words were automatic. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience."
She turned on her heel and walked down the aisle, not checking to see if Carter followed.
Unfortunately, this gave the passengers of flight two-seventy-nine, direct from Raleigh to Asheville, North Carolina, ample opportunity to voice their opinions on her love life.
"Leave him, honey," said a woman with orange-tinted skin and a banana clip.
"You're too good for him," another woman said to Elle, shaking her head. The teen next to her added a mumbled, “Like, ew. Gross,” which Elle found rather fitting.
She kept moving down the aisle, nodding and smiling at the unwanted advice. Trying to make appropriate facial expressions, but feeling like her face was broken. She hated people knowing about her private life. She hated even thinking about what they had seen. Elle had failed again. Whatever happened, however it happened, it was her fault—or it would be when her mother heard about it.
She stopped at their aisle and grabbed her pocketbook. She pulled down her rolling bag from the overhead luggage compartment, not even bothering to ask Carter for help. He waited behind her, and when she turned, he didn't meet her eyes.
"We'll talk about this when we land," she said.
I sound like my mother, she thought.
Carter still wouldn't meet her eyes. Elle bit back the words of hurt and blame that crowded her throat. Now wasn't the time for rash actions. She needed to think.
She clutched her pocketbook to her chest and turned to regard the front of the plane. No open seats, and far too many passengers looking at her like she was either a charity case or a lost cause. She swung her gaze to the back of the plane, her heart sinking with the realization that it truly was a packed flight.
Tanya came up the aisle, her helpful smile on high.
"There's only one other seat open," she said.
"I'm sure it will be fine," Elle said. Code for: get me away from this man before I kill him.
The flight attendant nodded and led Elle to the back of the plane. When Tanya stopped, a pearl of dread wiggled its way down Elle's throat.
Not him. Please. Just. Not. Him.
"Last open seat!" Tanya said in her chipper voice.
“Couldn’t I stay up with you?” Elle asked. “At least for a little while?”
The flight attendant hesitated.
Then a voice came over the speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve been cleared for takeoff.”
Now the flight attendant was all business. “I’m sorry, you really do need to take a seat now.” She gestured to the seat.
Elle glanced at her new seatmate, taking in his flannel shirt and baseball hat. His tattoos. She lifted her gaze to his face. Which hadn’t been transformed into something out of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein.
He smiled.
Elle had a distinct feeling that her life was about to get much more complicated.
Chapter 4
Justin eyed the straight-laced blonde as she put her bag in the overhead bin. She'd introduced herself when he'd caught her on the jetway, but it took him a minute to remember her name. When he did, he decided it suited her.
Elle.
She wore fancy clothes and an expression that made him think of the debutante-types who ruled the halls of his high school. Women he spent no time with now that he had a choice.
He gave the quivering flight attendant a reassuring smile. She waited until the blonde was settled then scurried back to the front of the plane for takeoff.
Justin eased back into his seat, stretching out his legs into the aisle. He hadn't minded the excuse to stand. There was never enough leg room on planes, and he had to contort his body to fit. Next to him, the blonde stared out the window. Not much of a talker, he guessed.
Then again, Justin didn't think he'd want to talk if he were her.
He hadn't caught the entire exchange. Enough passengers made a fuss about the naked couple to catch his attention. Then he saw her, the woman he’d caught on the jetway, standing at the front of the plane, looking like she’d been kicked in the gut. People buzzed about the jerk being her boyfriend. It stirred something in his chest.
Apparently, she hadn't seen it coming.
Or didn't want to.
In his opinion, a guy who was ballsy enough to have a quickie with a stranger on a plane while his girlfriend sat less than a hundred feet away wasn't the kind of guy who became an asshole overnight. No. Either he hid it well, or she didn't want to see it.
The plane moved down the runway, picking up speed until they were airborne. His new seatmate gripped the armrest.
“Nervous flier?” he guessed.
She pursed her lips.
Friendly, too.
She smelled like flowers. He'd noticed that when he caught her on the jetway. She didn't smell in a way that made you gag—like old ladies and funeral parlors—but in a nice way. Even though she dressed like she was going to a business meeting, he liked the way she looked, too.
Not that it mattered. Justin wasn't looking. And he definitely wasn't looking for a woman like her. He bet she liked relationships, the long, binding kind that ended with your balls being held in a glass jar she kept in her purse.
The thought made him shift in his seat.
No, he wasn't in
terested. Period. But that didn't mean he was blind.
Justin leaned back his seat and tried to get comfortable. The truth of it was that he would have welcomed any distraction. The plane had barely left the tarmac, and he’d already driven himself crazy thinking about Evan’s offer. It would mean a steady, generous paycheck, at the small price of leaving the inn—and his mom’s dreams—behind.
He played the last conversation he’d had with his older brother over in his mind.
"Take the job," Evan had said. "You'll earn enough to buy land and build your own place. I know that's what you want."
"I want to buy Oak Bramble, not move to the city."
Evan sighed. "Vanhelt is never going to sell to you. He's keeping that place 'till he dies."
Justin shook his head. "He will sell,” he said. “I know it."
"Are you doing this for Mom, Jus? Because you know she doesn't care who owns the place."
He didn't reply.
Evan didn't understand.
Justin had left Woodbine Valley for college, just like Evan, but unlike his older brother, Justin had returned. He'd had a taste of life in the big city, and he wanted nothing to do with it.
"We'd make bank on this project," Evan had said then. "Tell me you'll at least think about it."
"Why don't you come home?” Justin returned. “You could help make Oak Bramble better. I know Vanhelt would take me more seriously if I doubled his income. Mom would love it."
Evan had shaken his head. "You don't get it. I'm not going back. You act like it's different. Like those people don't still look at us like Jess's snot-nosed boys, poor kids of a single mother and all that crap."
"It's not like that anymore. People change."
But Evan wouldn't hear it.
The blonde—Elle—huffed, bringing his attention back to the present. Her puff of air made a loose strand of her hair lift and fall.
The interruption reminded him to stop thinking about Evan. His brother wasn't going to help him buy Oak Bramble, and Justin wasn't going to leave the peace, quiet, and solitude of the mountains.
Love At First Ink: A Woodbine Valley Romance (Tate Family Book 1) Page 2
