Elle cornered Carter once they were off the plane—a good forty-five minutes after they’d landed. The fact that she could have driven to Asheville from Raleigh in the same amount of time they’d flown—thanks to all of the delays—didn’t escape her. It was one more annoyance added to the top of a truly wretched day.

Justin hadn't spoken to her again. He'd even pulled down her bag in silence. Which was annoying for two reasons. First, he was well-mannered in a way that made her heart buzz. Second, it reminded her that Carter never helped her with her bag.

She'd made her bed, and now she had to make it look like something Martha Stewart had made up. Frilly shams and matching pillows included. She’d had enough time to reconsider her options while she sat, fuming, after her conversation with Justin.

Faults aside, Elle had decided that she needed Carter to go to Lucy's wedding with her. She’d break up with him, of course. But did that have to mean she couldn’t take him to the wedding?

Elle simply could not show up alone. Her mother would never let Elle hear the end of it. She would just have to suck up her feelings and act like Carter was her knight in tailored Lanvin.

But it didn't mean she wasn't still pissed at him.

"There should be a car waiting for us outside," she said to Carter now, her voice cool. They were walking through Asheville's tiny airport, following signs to the exit.

"Elle," he said. "We need to talk."

Elle turned on him, spinning her rolling bag behind her.

"Look, Carter. I am hanging on to a thread here. All I want right now is to get to the inn and forget this ever happened. Do you think you can do that? Do you think you can keep it in your pants for that long?"

Elle's eyebrow twitched like a possessed caterpillar.

"No," he said.

"No?"

Was she screeching? She was screeching.

"You know what?" she said. "I forgot. You don't get a say in this conversation. You gave up that right when you joined the mile-high club.”

She spun around, not waiting for him to follow her, and stalked off to an empty seat in the airport lobby. After the first delay, Elle had texted their inn to let them know she’d be late, and again after they landed. Both times, she received a polite text telling her it was no problem, and that their driver would pick them up outside the airport lobby. It was a small win in an otherwise crap day, but Elle would take it.

While she waited, she texted her closest friends, Theo and Isabelle. Of course, she first debated whether or not to share everything—privacy was ingrained in her as much as going to church on Sundays—but brushed her concerns aside. The girls had been there for each other during a lot of ups and downs since college. Besides, if she didn't tell someone she might explode. Or tear Carter apart with her freshly manicured fingers.

One or the other.

You'll never guess what happened ... she texted.

Tell us quick, Theo texted back. Boys are in the bath.

Isabelle sent an inquisitive panda sticker.

Elle's thumb flew over the screen as she typed. Carter screwed some stranger ON THE PLANE. They fell out of the bathroom and everyone saw.

She included a few horrified-face emoji for good measure. Just to cover the full gamut of emotions she'd experienced.

Who does that?! Isabelle texted. I don't even like to pee in those bathrooms! GROSS.

Theo used much stronger language, of course.

I hope you kicked him to the curb, she texted.

Do NOT tell me you're still with him.

The last was from Isabelle again.

I have to take him to the wedding, Elle texted. Caroline wouldn’t let me in the church without a date. And you know what else - I found a ring in his bag. A ring!!!

She waited.

There were no texts. No emoji. No stickers. It was the text version of a blank wall of silence.

She could practically feel their disappointment.

Don’t get your knickers in a knot. He hasn’t asked, and I haven’t said yes.

Still, nothing.

Elle sighed.

Fine. Be like that.

She tried to think of how to bring back the support of her two closest friends.

Y’all might like this,” she texted. I was re-seated next to …

She tapped to add a photo, but her finger hovered over "send." She studied the image. During their last forty-five minute delay, Justin had fallen asleep, or perhaps only closed his eyes, and she'd snapped a quick photo. Okay, yes. It was creepy and juvenile of her, but hey, she’d seen her boyfriend—almost-fiancé, really—with another woman wrapped around his private parts. She decided to cut herself a break. She wasn't going to see him again, and a small, stubborn, part of her didn't want to forget.

In the photo, Justin's baseball hat was pulled down low and his dark brown hair stuck out every which way. His flannel shirt was pulled tight, making his tattoos stand out like street signs. He'd left his glasses on, but they had slid down his nose.

Elle sighed.

The man looked hot, dangerous, and just nerdy enough to make her drool. She knew her friends would love it.

She hit send.

A second later her phone buzzed and dinged enough to make her laugh.

Carter gave her a look, which she pointedly ignored.

Omggggggg! Isabelle texted.

Who is that? Theo followed. He looks familiar …

Isabelle's texts came rapid-fire, filling the screen.

YUM

wannnnnt

He looks like James Bond's nerdy-yet-country friend who happens to like working with his hands. OMGGGGGG.

Is he single?

If not, does he have a brother?

Or a cousin?

Or maybe a really tall sister?

Elle grinned as she tried to keep up. Once she'd sated Isabelle's curiosity (no, she didn't know if he were single, yes, he was real), she told her friends she needed to go and exited the group text. She put away her phone, still smiling.

Two seats down, Carter huffed.

"We really need to talk about this," he said. "You can't just pretend it never happened."

Her happy bubble burst.

"I don't want to talk about this right now. We can talk about it ..." Never. Or at least not until after Lucy's wedding. "Tomorrow. Okay?"

She'd booked separate rooms, which would give her space she desperately needed. At the time it had seemed prudish, but now Elle was grateful for her deeply instilled sense of propriety. (Well, technically it was the fear of her mother finding out she’d shared a room with Carter, but still.) The idea of being enclosed in a small space with Carter made her eyebrow start twitching again.

Elle needed to get a hold of her temper if this was going to work. And Carter needed to stop being so damn aggravating.

"Fine," he said. Then, in a mumble, "It's not like we were exclusive."

Elle made a noise between a squeak and a scream.

"Not exclusive?” she said, trying to keep her voice low. "First off, we've been dating for six months! And there's not being exclusive and there's fucking a stranger on an airplane.”

The other travelers were looking. Everyone was looking. She never lost her poise like this, not in public.

Elle fanned herself.

"Carter didn't get the memo," Carter was saying.

"Do you think that's funny? Because it's not. Not even a little. And who talks about themselves in third person? Unless you're Bob Dole, you're not gonna get away with it. In fact, I don't even know if Bob Dole got away with it."

Carter ignored her. "If you'd asked for exclusivity, I wouldn't be here."

Elle's blood pressure rose. She was hot from her head to her toes.

"I cannot believe you!" she hissed.

Carter stepped back. Everyone nearby swiveled their heads to watch. It was the plane all over again. In fact, there was at least one person she recognized from their flight. The old man who'd caught her thong with his face waved his fingers at Elle. His wife smacked him on the arm.

She ignored the crowd and poked Carter in the chest.

"I can't believe I thought this could work." She punctuated each word with a poke. "You. Sorry. Excuse. For. A. Man."

"Keep it down," he said. "You're embarrassing me."

"Embarrassing you?" She laughed. "You know what, mister? You embarrass me every time we're out at a restaurant and you flirt with the waitress. Or when we walk down the street and you turn around to check someone out."

He reared back, blinking.

"God, I can’t believe I dealt with it. With you! I am such an idiot!"

"I don't need to put up with this," he said. "You should have told me how you felt. I assumed you didn't have a problem with it.”

"Why the hell would you think that?"

"You never told me otherwise."

Their audience leaned in a little closer at that.

"Oh!" She scrambled for a word that might be scathing enough for him. "You—you dirty, cheating, good-for-nothing egotistical asshat! I really thought you were a southern gentleman. But you’re not. Not even close. Besides, you like yourself far more than I ever could." She spun toward the door, then back. "You can find your own damn place to stay tonight. One that's up to your refined tastes. Might I suggest the local dump?"

A few people watching whistled. Someone said, "You tell 'im, honey!"

Elle huffed out of the airport, her chin held high.