The plane hadn’t even left the gate, and already Elle’s stomach was a mess. She smoothed down her silk blouse, which clung to her body thanks to the fine sheen of sweat she was sporting.

A voice came over the speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve been asked to hold by Air Traffic Control. Sit back, relax.” The voice paused. “We might be here awhile.”

People on the plane groaned.

“You may leave your seats if necessary, but otherwise please remain seated.”

Next to her, Carter flipped through a magazine he'd brought with him. He looked up and craned his neck to see the front of the plane.

"I hate flying coach,” he complained. “We’ll be stuck here for who knows how long.”

“This plane doesn’t even have first class,” she said.

“Exactly,” he shot back.

Elle prayed for patience, and reminded herself of the delighted look she would see on her mother's face once Elle was-finally!-engaged.

Oh, Elle. We're so proud. I take back all the things I said about you being a blight on this family.

Elle's mother met Carter's parents at a fundraiser in North Carolina and had decided their son—who she'd never laid eyes on—would be a perfect match for Elle. Elle was certain it had nothing to do with what would be good for her, and everything to do with his family's "good southern name" and income.

Like the dutiful daughter she tried to be, Elle met Carter for drinks, and laughed about how awkward it was to be set up by their parents. He was courteous and had excellent manners; a complete gentleman.

After six months, Elle was ready for him to take the next step. She'd paid her dues. She'd sat quietly while he flirted with strangers, listened to him drone on and on about his job, and even put up with his quirks—like speaking about himself in the third person. According to her mother, this is where a true gentleman would take their relationship to the next level.

But wanting the man to propose didn’t make her a complete pushover.

“This flight was the only option when I booked,” she told him. Thinking, so deal with it, buddy.

He flipped through the magazine. "You could have told me. I would have bought better tickets. I'm sure I could have found something.”

She had told him. Via text, email, then in person.

Not that she was keeping track.

Since she was paying for the tickets, there truly hadn't been other options. Although she wasn't "as poor as a church mouse" as Caroline liked to say, her paycheck certainly didn't cover first class seats.

"At least we're close to the front of the plane," she offered.

He grunted and flipped pages in his magazine.

Elle took another slow breath. This wasn't going the way she planned. She thought they'd be gazing into each other's eyes, talking about plans, not bickering about their seats.

She had to try harder. Otherwise, she could kiss Carter's proposal—which surely she wasn't mistaken about—goodbye. Or, worse, he'd want nothing to do with her by the time the wedding rolled around, and Caroline would blame Elle for being complete crap at keeping a man and remind her of all the blind dates with perfectly suitable gentlemen Elle had ruined.

It wasn’t just her mother, either. Elle was ready to be married. Not dating or looking, but set for life.

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 realization set in.

She knew that man, from his blond, gelled hair to his Italian loafers.

"Carter?" Elle asked.