A Shot at Love

A Ticket to Truth

"Noah," I gasp, the warmth of his body pressing against mine in the cramped corridor.

"You really should eat before you drink next time," he replies, his peppermint breath mingling with mine.

My cheeks flush as I look up at him, a shy smile tugging at my lips. "Rookie mistake," I respond, my voice barely above a whisper.

A flight attendant approaches, her voice cutting through our intimate moment, "Good morning, please take your seats. We are preparing for takeoff." She shuts the overhead compartment with a decisive snap, the sound pulling us back to reality.

"After you, Miss Hart," Noah says, extending his arm. I glide past him and slide into the window seat. He takes the middle and lifts the armrest of the empty aisle seat beside him. The plane begins its low, reassuring hum as it prepares for departure.

I glance at Noah curiously, "What are you doing here?" I ask in disbelief.

Noah's brows furrow as he gives me his trademark intense gaze, "You don't remember what happened last night?"

I hesitate, slightly embarrassed but also eager to piece together how this man ended up on a commercial flight in economy, no less, and in the very last row. "I, uh, remember bits and pieces..." I laugh nervously.

Noah exhales sharply. "I knew we should've taken the private jet."

A friendly Southern accent crackles over the intercom. "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome aboard flight 1333. This is Captain Smith, and it's our great pleasure to serve you on today's flight. Our journey to Los Angeles will take approximately 1 hour and 30 minutes. We're expecting clear skies on this beautiful day. Cabin crew, please take your seats and prepare for departure."

"Buckle up," Noah instructs, gesturing to my seatbelt.

As I buckle my seatbelt, I push my sunglasses onto my head and meet Noah's eyes. What happened last night? Do I really want to find out?

Noah shifts in the cramped last row of the airplane, his tall frame struggling to fit into the narrow seat. His suit-clad figure barely accommodates the tight space, and he adjusts his posture with growing irritation. Noah scans me up and down, "Tell me what you remember."

"Well, you pulled over to the side of the road, and..." I start, a smile tugging at my lips as the memory flickers in my mind.

"And...?" Noah prompts, his tone a blend of intrigue and frustration.

"We were making out," I shyly murmur.

"Is that all?" Noah asks, raising an eyebrow.

"I had the wildest dream last night but now I'm not sure if it actually happened. Please, just tell me."

"Things were heating up, and I put a stop to it. I know things are complicated right now, and I wanted to ensure you were confident in every choice you were making," Noah says, I can sense he is upset. "However, you weren't exactly pleased with that..."

My stomach knots. "Oh no, please continue," I wince.

"You said if I wasn't on today's flight to explain everything, you would walk away from Sports Digest and—well, me. You refused to take the company plane and insisted that this grand gesture would prove my feelings were genuine."

Oh my gosh. I've been reading too many romance novels.

The plane's wheels pick up speed, and the aircraft begins to jolt and shake while we take off. As the aircraft lifts, the rumble of the engine vibrates through the cabin. I feel my stomach drop and instinctively reach for Noah's hand. Despite the uncertainty of our relationship, Noah protectively laces his fingers with mine, his hand warm and steady—offering an unexpected sense of comfort amidst the rattling cabin.