Airports at six in the morning should be illegal. Everything feels too bright, too loud, too cold — and my brain hasn't caught up with my body. I'm running on three hours of sleep and the leftover adrenaline of seeing Ryder Gonzales for the second time in my life.
And failing, again, to say a single coherent thing to him.
I drop into my window seat on the plane, exhale, and immediately reach for my phone. His email notification sits at the top of the screen like a glowing dare.
From: Ryder Gonzales
Subject: About last night
I don't open it. I can't. I absolutely will, but not now. If I open it now, I'll spiral, and if I spiral, I'll end up... I don't know? Asking the pilot to turn the plane around and fly me straight into the ocean.
The flight attendant gives the safety spiel. I strap in. The plane hums to life.
I open the email.
Bad idea. Terrible, catastrophic idea.
His message is short, casual in a way that makes it worse.
Hey, Amelia. Sorry if I startled you yesterday. I didn't expect to see you there either.Hope the rest of your night went better than it started.— Ryder
That's it. No pressure, no expectation. It reads like something someone writes when they genuinely want to talk to you but doesn't want to worry you.
Which somehow worries me more.
I type a reply.
Hi Ryder, thanks for—
I delete it.
New attempt.
Hey! Great seeing you again! Sorry for running away like a—
Delete.
Third attempt.
Hiiiiiii—
Delete. Oh God.
The plane takes off. My stomach lifts into my ribs. I turn off my screen and shove the phone into my hoodie pocket.
I don't reply. I can't trust myself not to sound unhinged.
Instead, I close my eyes and let the engine's vibration pull me into a half-sleep.
By the time we land, my nerves are stretched thin like overcooked spaghetti. My phone buzzes with Lila's face flashing across the screen before the wheels even finish rolling.
I groan and answer. "What?"
"Oh my GOD," she squeals, loud enough that the businessman next to me winces. "Did you reply? Don't lie. I can hear your lying voice."
"I didn't even speak yet."
"That's the lying voice!"
I drag my suitcase out of the overhead, nearly clocking myself with it. "Lil, please, I've been awake since four and my soul has evaporated."
"Did. You. Reply."
The capitulation is already rising in my throat. "No. Not yet."
Lila gasps so dramatically it could win awards. "Amelia Quinn. You did not let that man, who is basically the human version of a cliffhanger, email you and get NOTHING in return. Babe. Honey. Angel. Fix this."
"I will," I say, stepping off the plane. The airport air-conditioning hits me like a slap. "Just… later."
"You said that in college about a guy who asked for your number and you answered him four years later."
"It was two."
"Still."
I sigh, switching the phone to my other hand as I march toward an empty gate and drop into the nearest chair.
Lila softens. "You okay? For real."
No. "Yeah. Just tired."
"You sure it's not a little bit because Ryder Gonzales looked at you like you were sunlight given human form?"
"Lila."
"I'm hanging up so you can reply before you combust. You better text me after."
She hangs up before I can protest.
The silence feels too loud.
I pull out my phone again. Ryder's email sits patiently in my inbox, completely unaware of the existential meltdown it caused.
I tap it open and exhale slowly.
Stop overthinking, Amelia. Just… be normal.
I start typing.
Hi Ryder, sorry I didn't reply earliermy flight was early and I was half unconscious.Thank you for your message. Yesterday was… a lot, but seeing you wasn't the bad part.Hope you're doing well.— Amelia
I reread it five times. It sounds like me. Not too cold, not too revealing. It's safe. Safe is good. Safe doesn't mean anything.
Which is why my finger still trembles before I hit Send.
The moment the message whooshes away, I slap my phone down on my lap and cover my face with both hands.
"Oh no. Oh no no no."
I force myself to inhale. Then exhale. Okay. It's fine. It's normal human communication. No one died.
I grab my suitcase and head toward baggage claim, walking quickly so I don't have to think. The airport is bustling. Rolling suitcases, overhead announcements, the faint smell of coffee and tiredness.
I'm halfway down the escalator when my phone buzzes again.
A reply?
I freeze, heart in my throat, but it's just Lila sending twenty-seven unhelpful emojis.
I text her one back: a tombstone.
I reach the bottom, step off, and...
"Amelia?"
The voice hits me from just behind my left shoulder. Familiar enough to jolt something low in my spine.
No. Absolutely not. He can't be here. Not in this state, not in this airport, not seconds after I sent that email. Statistically impossible. Cosmically unfair.
I turn slowly.
Ryder stands a few feet away, tall and warm and very, very real. Black hair a little messy like he ran a hand through it on the way over. Green eyes focused right on me.
His phone is in his hand. My email is open on the screen.
He lifts it slightly, almost sheepish. "I'm really glad you replied."
My mouth goes dry. My heart forgets every life skill it's ever had.
"You— you're here?"
He smiles, the soft, crooked one that tugged at my sanity last night. "Book signing. Same one as you, apparently." He shrugs. "Didn't plan it. Or maybe I did. Hard to tell."
I can't breathe. I also can't look away.
He steps closer, slow and non-threatening, like approaching a skittish forest creature. Which, fair.
"I was hoping," he says carefully, "that this time, you wouldn't run."
The world blurs a little at the edges. My voice, when it finally works, is embarrassingly small.
"I… I didn't plan on running."
"Good." His smile widens. "Because I've been wanting to actually talk to you."
And as he says it — as the noise of the airport softens behind him — something warm settles under my ribs. Not panic. Not nerves.
Recognition.
Like my life has been circling something without knowing it was him.
He holds my gaze. "Can I walk you out?"
I nod before my brain catches up.
He falls into step beside me, and for the first time since last night, I feel steady.
Maybe even brave.