Chapter 1
“I want tacos.” Ingrid attempted to stretch her legs out, but she couldn’t. They’d been mis-booked. Or she’d messed up. Something. The airplanes seats in the row ahead were mere inches from her knees, and she was pretty sure that the universe was twisting, bringing those seats ever closer. Eventually she would be smothered by the seat.
Maybe. Maybe she’d not been paying attention when she’d clicked purchase.
Maybe. Maybe, this was all her fault.
But. Look. She couldn’t be held accountable for everything.
That being said, crossing the Atlantic in coach was not for doves who were rolling in inheritance dough. Especially old, tired doves. Who’d been productive for days. Practically a week. And then followed up that productivity by an epic shopping and eating tour of New York City.
Also, she missed her Gabe.
Therefore, she shouldn’t have even been saddled with buying flights. She turned to look at her best dove, who should have been the one to buy these tickets and hadn’t been. And she hadn’t thought to bring tacos on the flight. And she hadn’t even figured out where Prague was yet. Where were they going? Ingrid was not sure.
“Do not ever mention food again,” Emily said. “If you do, I’ll punch you so hard that…”
Ingrid waited, but Emmy-dove had her hand over her mouth and seemed to be literally holding in her last round of tacos.
“I don’t know how you have anything to puke up,” Ingrid commented and took a sip of seltzer water. “I’m starving.”
Maybe she’d also forgotten to order a meal for the flight. Certainly, the leftover offerings made her willing to wait. She hadn’t been feeling that great for the last few days. She assumed it was travel fatigue. They’d spent the last two weeks in New York City, shopping, eating, and sleeping. She’d been forced to buy a whole new wardrobe for their trip since she’d left home without her bags and Emily had grabbed Ingrid all the wrong things.
The good news was that no one had the number to the phone she carried since she’d taken it from her…boyfriend…
…was Gabe her boyfriend? Were they more than that? She loved him. He loved her. But…they had a history that was rocky and the truth was that Ingrid was probably the worst match for him that was possible.
Saving for actual murderers.
She had baggage from her first marriage.
Baggage from her childhood or maybe just from never being good enough for her family.
She was lazy and spoiled.
And he was a good man.
Kind.
Caring.
Smart.
Hard-working.
He needed someone better than her.
That was probably why she both felt sick to her stomach and also wanted nothing more than some grilled steak tacos with pico de gallo and sour cream. The memory of him in the rain, letting her flee her mother while refusing to do so himself was pretty dang sexy. As were his lovely eyes. Especially when they looked down at her with love and humor.
It was true.
She was a besotten dove.
Damn it.
Next thing she knew they’d be living together. Which would be okay. As long as he expected all of her contributions to be done by paid help. He wouldn't expect her to…iron would he? He wasn’t that much of a caveman was he? No, no.
Of course not.
This wasn’t 1950. Did people even iron still? Surely they didn’t.
Her stomach roiled and she thought, perhaps, that she was sick—not with food or travel or exhaustion—but with anxiety.
Emily got up and rushed down the aisle. Surely, she knew that the flight provided puke bags? But then again, Ingrid’s stomach was upset too, and a friend puking one seat over would be sure to make them both go down. It was better for everyone else if she puked on the guy in seat 27A or whatnot.
As long as it wasn’t on Ingrid.
She leaned back in her seat, closed her eyes, and contemplated sending Gabe a series of needy texts, but she didn’t. She held herself back and tried to remember that just because she’d been hot and cold
“I want tacos.” Ingrid attempted to stretch her legs out, but she couldn’t. They’d been mis-booked. Or she’d messed up. Something. The airplanes seats in the row ahead were mere inches from her knees, and she was pretty sure that the universe was twisting, bringing those seats ever closer. Eventually she would be smothered by the seat.
Maybe. Maybe she’d not been paying attention when she’d clicked purchase.
Maybe. Maybe, this was all her fault.
But. Look. She couldn’t be held accountable for everything.
That being said, crossing the Atlantic in coach was not for doves who were rolling in inheritance dough. Especially old, tired doves. Who’d been productive for days. Practically a week. And then followed up that productivity by an epic shopping and eating tour of New York City.
Also, she missed her Gabe.
Therefore, she shouldn’t have even been saddled with buying flights. She turned to look at her best dove, who should have been the one to buy these tickets and hadn’t been. And she hadn’t thought to bring tacos on the flight. And she hadn’t even figured out where Prague was yet. Where were they going? Ingrid was not sure.
“Do not ever mention food again,” Emily said. “If you do, I’ll punch you so hard that…”
Ingrid waited, but Emmy-dove had her hand over her mouth and seemed to be literally holding in her last round of tacos.
“I don’t know how you have anything to puke up,” Ingrid commented and took a sip of seltzer water. “I’m starving.”
Maybe she’d also forgotten to order a meal for the flight. Certainly, the leftover offerings made her willing to wait. She hadn’t been feeling that great for the last few days. She assumed it was travel fatigue. They’d spent the last two weeks in New York City, shopping, eating, and sleeping. She’d been forced to buy a whole new wardrobe for their trip since she’d left home without her bags and Emily had grabbed Ingrid all the wrong things.
The good news was that no one had the number to the phone she carried since she’d taken it from her…boyfriend…
…was Gabe her boyfriend? Were they more than that? She loved him. He loved her. But…they had a history that was rocky and the truth was that Ingrid was probably the worst match for him that was possible.
Saving for actual murderers.
She had baggage from her first marriage.
Baggage from her childhood or maybe just from never being good enough for her family.
She was lazy and spoiled.
And he was a good man.
Kind.
Caring.
Smart.
Hard-working.
He needed someone better than her.
That was probably why she both felt sick to her stomach and also wanted nothing more than some grilled steak tacos with pico de gallo and sour cream. The memory of him in the rain, letting her flee her mother while refusing to do so himself was pretty dang sexy. As were his lovely eyes. Especially when they looked down at her with love and humor.
It was true.
She was a besotten dove.
Damn it.
Next thing she knew they’d be living together. Which would be okay. As long as he expected all of her contributions to be done by paid help. He wouldn't expect her to…iron would he? He wasn’t that much of a caveman was he? No, no.
Of course not.
This wasn’t 1950. Did people even iron still? Surely they didn’t.
Her stomach roiled and she thought, perhaps, that she was sick—not with food or travel or exhaustion—but with anxiety.
Emily got up and rushed down the aisle. Surely, she knew that the flight provided puke bags? But then again, Ingrid’s stomach was upset too, and a friend puking one seat over would be sure to make them both go down. It was better for everyone else if she puked on the guy in seat 27A or whatnot.
As long as it wasn’t on Ingrid.
She leaned back in her seat, closed her eyes, and contemplated sending Gabe a series of needy texts, but she didn’t. She held herself back and tried to remember that just because she’d been hot and cold
Similar Books
