It’s December 24th and I’m running late. Way late. So late, I don’t even stop to retrieve the bag of Skittles that tumbles out of my purse as I bounce through the Departures terminal at LAX, trying to hang on to my coat and magazines and my stupid wheel-on overnight luggage that’s picked today of all days to bust a wheel.

“Sorry, buddies,” I huff under my breathe, looking back to see the bag of candy trampled under the feet of five hundred other last-minute holiday travelers. “Can’t stop! It’s every sucker for himself.”

I slow to a jog as I reach the board. Atlanta … Atlanta … I let out a groan as I see the gate flash up. Forty-two. As in, forty-two ways for me to miss my flight as I get all the way across the building in the next ten minutes flat.

My phone buzzes as I take off down the hallway. I shift my purse to my other arm and pick up in time to hear my best friend, Juliet, wail, “Where are you?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” I tell her, trying to duck around a ground of super-slow tourists with their backpacks hiked up high. “Hello!” I glare at them. “What’s German for ‘get the hell out of my way?’ Gee, thanks!” I push through and keep running.

“Lacey, Lacey?” Juliet is still wailing. “You said you’d be here already, and the yard is a mess, and Brit hasn’t finished my dress, and everything’s a disaster!”

Another voice comes in the background: Brit, sounding annoyed. “I’d be finished sewing if you didn’t keep changing your mind about the lace.”

“I didn’t change my mind.” Juliet protests. “You said it would be better longer. Or do you think I should leave it? I don’t know anymore.” Her voice comes back to me, stronger again. “You see? I can’t do this without you.”

“Since when did you turn into such a Bridezilla?” I catch my breath, wheezing. “Man, I should’ve run cross-country in college. Or, you know, walked up to our apartment even one time instead of taking the elevator.”

“Elevator?” Juliet interrupts. “Lacey, what are you talking about? This is my wedding. Mine and Emerson’s. It’s the only one I’m ever going to have, and I need it to be perfect!”

“Relax,” I order her. I stop moving for a moment, and step back out of the flow of traffic into an alcove. I’ve no idea why Juliet has lost her mind, but it’s my job as her BFF and maid of honor to talk her down from whatever ledge she’s clambered up on.

“Everything will be fine,” I tell her in a soothing voice. “I’ll be there in a few hours, we’ll have a crazy bachelorette night, and tomorrow we’ll set up the yard like a winter frosted wonderland. Brit will be done with the dress, just like she says. I promise, it is going to be perfect.”

Juliet catches her breath. “Promise?” she asks in a hopeful voice.

“I promise, babe.” I smile. “Like a picture postcard. White ribbons and baby’s breath and all the lace you need. If I could order you up a gentle dusting of snow, I would.”

“Don’t say that!” Juliet yelps. “A blizzard will wreck my hair!”

I laugh. “Chill, Jules. Go work out some of this stress on your hunk of a fiancé, OK? You’re probably driving him crazy with all this panicking.”

“He went to go hang out with Garrett and Hunter,” Juliet sounds sheepish. “Said to call when I stopped acting like a crazy person.”

“There you go.” I laugh again at the thought of stoic, silent Emerson trying to deal with Juliet in this state. “Seriously, go find him, lock the door, and don’t come up for air until I get there. Everything’s going to be fine.”

“OK,” Juliet sighs, but she sounds calmer already. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” I hang up, sending a silent prayer to the Gods of Winter Weddings that everything I’ve promised does actually come true.

This weekend was supposed to be a slice of (vanilla raspberry frosted) cake, and up until this morning, it was. An intimate, small-town ceremony in Beachwood Bay: just Emerson, Juliet, and their closest friends and family in the back-yard of the beach house where it all began. Simple. Except the only flight I could afford back from LA was this last-minute stand-by that would get me over on the East Coast with barely any time to spare. I’ve planned everything long-distance, right down to the (sexy yet flattering) bridesmaid outfit currently getting crushed in my bag, but I know, about a million things can go wrong before I get there. And with Juliet in this state, nothing can go wrong.

I check the time again. Six minutes. Oh crap!

I lurch out of the alcove at full-speed—and barrel straight into someone heading past.

“Oof!” The breath is knocked clean out of me, and I stumble, about to fall flat on my face, until a pair of strong arms grab me, hoisting me back to my feet.

“Lacey?”

I blink, staring up into a very familiar pair of brown eyes: the color of dark caramel, thickly-lashed, and full of surprise, but just as devastating as they ever were.

“Daniel,” I gulp, feeling my face flush bright red. Of course, of all the times to run into him again, it’s now, when I’m wheezing and scatter-brained and have trashy tabloid magazines spilling out of my purse. “Umm, hey! How are you! I haven’t seen you since …” I stop, the words dying in my throat as I remember what happened over the summer, when Juliet brutally dumped Daniel for the love of her life, Emerson.

Yes, that Emerson. The guy she’s marrying in approximately thirty-two hours.

Daniel clearly remembers it all too well, but he gives me a polite smile all the same. “How have you been?” he asks. “I heard you moved out here after graduation.”

“Yup, LA. I came to make it in Hollywood! Event planner to the stars!” I make jazz hands, then immediately wish the ground would swallow me up.

Jazz hands? Way to play it cool, Lacey.

“That’s great,” Daniel smiles, “I was just out here for some depositions. I’ll have to look you up the next time I’m in town.”

“Sure, sounds good.” I try to think of something to say that won’t make me sound like a total idiot—an idiot who can’t take her eyes off his dark stubble and well-fitted navy coat. I always thought Daniel was cute, but in the six months since I saw him last, his whole preppy lawyer look has gotten a new polish.

Dangerously attractive.

And your best friend’s ex. Totally off-limits.

I drag my eyes away from the line of his lean physique. “You heading home for the holidays?” I yelp.

Daniel nods. “Back to New York. What about you?”

“I’m, umm, heading East.” I say carefully.

But not carefully enough. Daniel gets a look of realization. “Oh, right. That’s this weekend.”

I stay silent, feeling like the worst human being in the world.

“It’s OK,” Daniel must see my discomfort, because he gives me a quiet smile. “He proposed. I knew it would happen.”

“Right.” My heart twists with sympathy. He’s still in love with her—he has to be. They were together for a year, even engaged by the end of it. They were planning a whole life together, right up until Juliet went back to Beachwood Bay and discovered that her old life, and love, was where her heart really lay. “I better get going,” I say quickly. “I’m going to miss my flight.”

“Me too,” Daniel jolts back to attention, checking his watch. “Say hi to everyone for me. I wish them the best,” he adds, and I can see, he really means it.

Hot and noble. Damn but he’s got it down.

“I will,” I grab my stuff, and back away. “Happy holidays!”

* * *

I make it to the gate with seconds to spare, and a whole new resolve to take up one of those trendy cardio ballet classes when I get back to LA. If there’s even a place here for me to get back to, but I’ll worry about that later. For now, I’m just relieved I’ve made it on the flight.

“Thank you, thank you!” I practically hug the hostess as she swipes my boarding pass and ushers me into the boarding tunnel. It’s crammed full of people, but nobody’s moving, so I take a chance to catch my breath and process the unexpected encounter that’s still got me reeling.

Daniel.

Damn, but he looked good. Then again, he always did. That was the problem. From the very first day Juliet brought him by the coffee shop after class to introduce him, I knew I was doomed. It wasn’t just his gorgeous caramel-colored eyes, or the way he laughed, or how he always acted like he couldn’t wait to talk to you. It was the way he looked at her: like she was a precious gemstone, delicate and rare, and he’d do anything to protect her.

Nobody has looked at me that way, and I doubt they ever will. I’m not that girl: the girlfriend, the good one, the kind they adore. I’m the ‘wild party ‘til two AM/wake up forgetting where her pants are/ sneak out to avoid awkward morning-after conversation’ girl. I’ve had some fun times for sure, but no guy has ever showed up with chicken soup when I cancelled our date, sick, or found a first edition copy of my favorite childhood book just because I mentioned it that one time.

Most of the time, they never even remembered my name.

I know, it’s the cardinal sin to lust after your best friend’s boyfriend, and I swear, I did my best to stop. I cleared out whenever he came around, I hooked up with any other guy I could find, I told myself that I would get bored of Daniel’s perfect gentleman routine in like, five seconds flat if, in some alternate universe, he’d looked my way instead of Juliet’s.

It wasn’t like I had some epic crush. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself. I just … noticed him, that’s all. I wondered what it would be like, if the situation was reversed, and I had a man who loved me that much, and treated me so well.

So when Juliet went back to Beachwood Bay six months ago and fell headlong back in crazy, passionate love with Emerson, her bad-boy ex, I couldn’t understand it. She was throwing away the perfect man: hurting Daniel when he’d done nothing wrong at all. Of course, I managed to stay mad at Juliet for about five minutes, until I realized just how torn she was about the whole situation—and how much she and Emerson clearly belonged together. They have that epic, soul-mates, meant-to-be thing going on, and poor Daniel was just an inevitable casualty of their happily-ever-after. He even took it like a man, too: nobly bowing out and wishing her the best once he realized there was no messing with fate. How strong and decent is that?

Except strong and decent still winds up alone. I feel a rush of sympathy, remembering the look on his face when I brought up the wedding. Trust me to kick him when he’s down. He’s probably still nursing a broken heart.

Or moved on to some other perfect, sweet, nice girl. The kind who doesn’t hook up on the first date, and bakes pie instead of using her oven as an underwear drawer …

The thought sends an unexpected pang of jealousy through me, but I shake it off. The line is finally moving up ahead, so I grab my bags, and slowly shuffle onto the plane.

“Excuse me, sorry, coming through!”

On board, it’s like a holiday apocalypse: every man for himself. I manage to squeeze through to my row number, and then try to hoist my bag up into the overhead lockers, struggling to lift it above my head.

Oh boy. Maybe I shouldn’t have packed three different pairs of pumps.

“I’ve got it.” Someone grabs the bag from behind me and swings it up into the locker with zero effort. I turn just as his shirt rides up, and I find myself staring at a set of taut, chiseled abs, and the navy line of his underwear below.

Hello!

“I guess you’re connecting through Atlanta too.”

The familiar voice makes me snap my head up. It can’t be!

But it is.

Daniel gives me an awkward smile, crammed up against me in the narrow aisle. “Twenty-two B?”

I blink, my mind reeling from seeing him again. And his abs … “What?” I stutter.

“Your seat.” He nods behind me. “I’m twenty-two A.”

“Oh. Right.” I take a step back, thrown by his closeness, and immediately crash into the seat arm. I yelp, and tumble back over the top, so I’m sprawled across the seats with my legs in the air.

Oh. My. God.

Kill me now.

Daniel tries not to laugh. “Do you need a hand?” he reaches to help me, but I quickly scramble to right myself, sliding over and sitting in the window seat.

“I’m fine!” My cheeks burn. I buckle myself in and pray there’s nothing else for me to trip on, bump into, or otherwise humiliate myself over now.

“Lucky we made it, huh?” Daniel lifts his own bag up into the overhead locker, his shirt riding up all over again. “I was sure I’d miss the flight.”

Don’t look, don’t look, don’t—

Oh, who am I kidding? I sneak a glance, relishing the pale golden band of skin on display, and the trail of caramel hair leading lower …

Daniel turns back to me and slides into the seat, his whole right side of his body pressing up against me in a sudden rush of heat. “I, umm …” he gestures between us, and I quickly lean away while he fishes out his belt, his hand accidentally grazing my hip. He snatches it away like he’s been burned, but I feel his touch spiral through me in a shock of electricity.

“So …” Daniel swallows. “Do you know how long this flight is?”

“About four hours,” I reply, and the thought of spending the next four hours pressed up against him makes me feel sick and giddy all at the same time.

“I guess we’ve got plenty of time to catch up.” Daniel grins at me, that devastating smile that always reduced me to putty. A flush spreads through my body, pure golden heat, and I manage a vague murmur in response.

Dear Lord. This is going to be the best, and worst flight of my entire life, all rolled into one.