His expression seems far away for a moment. "You always had the prettiest laugh, Sarah."
Clear as day, I suddenly remember the time he made me snort root beer through my nose. I roll my eyes at him. Prettiest laugh? Yeah right.
"What?" He looks confused.
"Seriously? You don’t remember?"
He shakes his head.
"God." I cover my face. Why am I reminding him of this? I look up. "Does our field trip to the Georgia Aquarium ring any bells?"
His mouth forms an O right before he throws back his head and laughs, soliciting stares from the passengers around us. His eyes are dancing as he struggles to stifle his laughter, chuckling instead. "You snorted and root beer came out your nose."
"You gave me crap for that forever. It was all your fault too."
"How was it my fault? I can't even remember what made you laugh."
"Really?" He shrugs. I make a face. “It was because of the way Mrs. Allen was eating her chips."
He interrupts me, grabbing my hand and squeezing it. "She looked like a chipmunk!"
I laugh, nodding. "I had just taken the biggest gulp when you had to point that out to me."
"Her cheeks. I can't believe I forgot about that." He notices then that my hand is in his and slowly releases it, folding his arms across his chest. "So what kind of work do you do?"
"It's super boring." I cringe, looking up at him before going on. "My company manages retirement plans for small businesses. I get them all set up. Once a business has contracted with us, I fly out to handle all of the initial paperwork."
"Where are you based?"
"Denver."
He chews on the side of his bottom lip. "So what brings you out this way? Work?"
"Nope. Brian is getting married."
"No shit."
I can hardly believe it myself. My big brother had been somewhat of a legend. It was a bit of a shock he was settling down. I have not even met his fiancé, Christine.
"I know, right. I'm looking forward to meeting his fiancé."
"You haven’t met her yet?" He looks surprised.
"My work schedule sucks," I say lamely, unable to admit I avoid going home on the chance that I might run into him. The universe has a funny way of punishing me for that by putting us on the same flight. "My mom seems to be taking it well. She can't stop raving about Christine. That’s his fiancé's name," I continue.
"Not going crazy over the idea of losing her baby boy."
I nod. "I've heard moms can get a bit crazy over that idea."
He chewed his lip. Growing up, his mother had issues. She went back and forth between being over protective to not even noticing Will, but she had had a good reason for it.
His blue eyes meet mine, and he clears his throat. "My dad passed a couple years ago."
I put my hand on his arm. He glances down at it. "I'm so sorry, Will. I didn’t know." Once I had moved away, I made a point to avoid news from home.
"He had a heart attack."
My hand was still on his arm. "How is your mom doing?"
"Not good, you know, but better. I moved in with her after it happened."
"You're a good son."
He shrugs. I slowly pull my hand back, putting it in my lap.
"Can I get you something to drink?"
We both look up at the attendant now next to us.
I ask for a ginger ale, and he gets a cola.
Before taking my first sip, I raise a brow at him. "No making me laugh this time. Deal?"
He smiles, eyes crinkling in the corners. "You still ticklish?"
Back when we were in school, he used to come over all the time. We would watch TV, and he would eat everything in our house. For some reason, he used to always tickle me until I was lying on the floor panting, and then he would sit back down on the sofa like nothing had happened.
I gape at him. "You wouldn’t."
He chews his lip like he's thinking it over and reaches out suddenly. I cringe, setting down my drink and bringing my arms up to block him. He chuckles and taps my nose. "Maybe another time."
I exhale, catching his amused look, and roll my eyes.
He looks at my drink. "I only drink ginger ale when I'm sick."
I shrug. "Helps my stomach when I'm flying."
"Motion sickness?"
"Sometimes, a little bit."
He nods. God, this is surreal. I am sitting here, on a plane, talking to him. What are the odds? When he sat next to me in English class, I had felt like the world had shifted on its axis. It was like he had stepped out of one of my dreams. Our teacher, Mrs. Hall started calling out the roll. I remember going stock still, paying attention. I had to know his name. Name after name was called, alphabetically by last name. When my name was called, he looked at me when I said here. I still remember the two names called between mine and his, Kyle Nelson and Mariah Osborne. Then there was his name, William Price.
"Will, here," he had said.
Will.
I blink away the memory. "I'm sorry. What?"
His finger smoothes away a bead of condensation from his glass. "I asked how long you would be in town for?"
I catch myself mimicking his movement on my own glass, pausing when I see him notice. I gulp. "Not long. Just one week."
"Why Denver?"
"Huh?"
He chews on the corner of his lip. "What took you out to Denver?"
Him. I can’t say that, but after that night, I did what any self-respecting wuss would do. I ran. "I've only lived there two years. I
