First Comes Love
an excerpt

Chapter 1
It was a dark and stormy night. That’s all I could think to myself as the plane kept plummeting every time we hit a downdraft or whatever pilots call those things that make you hang onto the armrests of your seat with white knuckles. Except that I was only holding on with one hand because my other hand was clutching the air discomfort bag like it was my best friend, which it was right now.
I would have preferred losing my twenty dollar airport fast food dinner in the privacy of my own bathroom, or even in the privacy of the airplane’s bathroom, but the fasten seat belt sign was on – for good reason –, I was wedged up against the window by a very long legged man who kept trying to fold and unfold his legs, and even if I’d made it to the bathroom, I don’t think I could have wedged myself between the door and the toilet to throw up anyway.
Such is the curse of having a very sensitive stomach. I almost could have made it through the whole flight from central Wisconsin into Minneapolis without incident, but then we encountered a freak thunderstorm, and here I was, pitching cookies into a bag that was quickly filling up.
It’s the reason I avoid flying. I’ll take a car, train, bus or bicycle to get where I need to go. But don’t put me on a plane. Most people who avoid flying do it because they’re afraid of a plane crash. I know better. I run statistics all the time. No, I avoid planes because I don’t want my stomach crashing – in front of other people.
Now avoiding planes makes my job a little complicated, especially when I have to travel. But I love my job. I’m Andee Torvald, event planner. I set up events for big corporations – retreats, banquets, even an occasional wedding – large weddings. But most of that I can do from the comfort of my cottage over the phone or the internet. I handle the actual planning and someone else handles the details of getting everyone and everything in place. I don’t work well with people, but I love to plan things. Weird, I know.
The plane hit another dip and I thrust my face deeper into the bag. Sweat was pouring off my face at an alarming rate, and I could hear nervous coughing and shuffling all around me. I could just imagine what people were thinking, and there was nothing I could do about ruining their trip. At least I had a bag – I’d had to ask my seat mate for it when we got on the plane because the bag from my seat was missing. The plane hit another dip, but the pilot must have over corrected because we went up and the bag flew right out of my hand and onto the floor. Then we dipped again and I frantically searched the floor for my new best friend.
Now it felt like we were on a roller coaster and before I could find the bag – you guessed it – whatever was left in my stomach went all over the long-legged man’s pants.
Too bad the windows were so small or I would have been desperately trying to exit the plane through mine. Instead I waited for his reaction. Was he the kind of guy who would freak out, laugh or get angry? I couldn’t read him at all.
The wait was unbearable. What was he going to say?
He kind of rolled his eyes and hailed a flight attendant. She looked from his pants to me and back to his pants. She rolled her eyes too.
“Why didn’t you ask for a bag?” she asked with an “I can’t believe this is happening” kind of tone.
Trust me. I couldn’t believe it was happening either.
“I had one. It fell on the floor,” I said. I wanted to defend myself, but I was too wrung out.
She let out one of those exasperated breaths you read about and came back with two towels and another bag.
My victim took the towels and I took the bag. “I’m really sorry,” I said, trying to smile and sink into my seat a little further.
“It’s ok. I’ll just change when we get to the airport.”
“I could pay for those.”
He laughed. He was laughing at me. I couldn’t believe it.
“They’re just my old jeans. Don’t worry about it.”
The plane hit one more gut-lurching dip and then the captain announced that we were making our final approach into the Minneapolis airport.
Thank you, God. Now I could leave the instrument of my gastric torture, leave these poor, traumatized passengers behind, and have just enough time to recover before the next part of my trip.
When we finally landed, after what seemed like forever, but was probably only a few minutes, I found the bag at my feet, folded it up and couldn’t decide where to leave it. (They never tell you these things when you get on the plane. It should be part of the whole “here’s how to buckle your seatbelt speech.”) I untangled my purse from my ankles and clutched it to my chest.
Mr. Long legs unfolded himself from the poor excuse of a seat and wiped at his jeans a little more. It just made it worse. I wrinkled my nose and so did everyone in our immediate vicinity. Long legs started to open the overhead bin. They warn you that things may have shifted during flight. The poor guy almost ended up with my briefcase, overnight bag and who knows what else on top of his head, except that his amazingly quick reflexes made him grab all of it at once and let it slide, unharmed, into his seat.
I looked up at him weakly and smiled as best I could, still recovering from my own episode of “lost.” His brown eyes smiled back and he offered me his hand.
“I’ll be fine,” I said hoarsely. It’s hard to talk after all that.
“Are you sure?” he asked. “Do you have to make a connecting flight?”
There was no way I was going to spend any more time with this guy than I already had. I was glad I would never see him again.
“I have plenty of time,” I said. I swung my purse over my shoulder and grabbed briefcase and bag, and after Mr. polite let me go first, I was happily headed for stable ground. Except I forgot about the steep stairs I had to climb to get out of the plane. I was still wobbly and I would have tripped except that my flying companion caught my arm and rescued me from embarrassing myself even further.
I gave him another weak smile, shifted everything back where it belonged and stepped onto the runway. Oops. Still wobbly. Mr. polite took my elbow and made himself my personal escort, steadying me all the way into the airport, up the stairs and over to a seat (a non- moving seat) where I could recover.
“You’re sure you’ll be ok?” he asked.
Persistent. “Yes, I’m fine now. Just need to catch my breath.”
“Well, if you’re sure…”
I nodded my head and gritted my teeth. Persistent men, especially men who make it sound like I don’t know how to make up my mind are near the top of my “irritating things in life” list. I’m twenty-six and can take care of myself.
Thankfully, he left to change and I was alone to gather my composure. Once I had my land legs, I scooted into the bathroom, brushed my teeth, washed my face (dear God, I look like something the cat dragged in- wait, stop, I sound like I’m channeling my mother), put on a little makeup, combed through my hair, and headed for my connecting flight to Phoenix.

***********
Nothing to report on my flight to phoenix. Well, except for almost leaving my purse on the plane and my overnight bag tumbling down the aisle, but I was the last to leave the plane and no one saw me.
I’m not sure how I do it. I’m great at making plans and keeping other people organized (at least on paper – glad I don’t have to make sure they’re organized in person), but I have the hardest time keeping myself organized. You would think with my kind of job that I’d be very “put together” as my mother would put it - that’s one reason I don’t work with actual people. Virtual people can’t see your flaws. My clients probably think I’ve got it all together. (In fact, on the few occasions when I’ve had to meet my clients, they always look behind me, as if they’re expecting someone else. It’s a little irritating. They always look surprised when I introduce myself.)
One of these days, I’ll get it together and then the Andee they know online will match the Andee they meet.
Anyway, I gathered my luggage and was just about to go outside to find a shuttle when I spied my flying companion from the Wisconsin flight.
Dear God, don’t let him see me. Just great. What were the chances that we were on the same plane? At least phoenix was a huge city and I would never bump into him. But I still had to get out of the airport. I ducked into a bench and threw a newspaper into my face. When I thought it was safe, I peered over the top of the paper.
I let out a breath and resumed my search for a shuttle.
That’s when the heat hit me. Honestly, it was May and even though Gram had warned me about the heat, I was surprised. Wisconsin has its share of hot, muggy days, but this was like walking into a pizza oven. I don’t care if they call it a dry heat or not. Heat is heat.
Gram moved here five years ago and says she”s used to it. Either she”s lying or she”s a lot more adaptable at seventy than I am in my late twenties.
I mopped my face and waited for one of the super shuttles that she said would drive by every ten minutes. Two minutes later, the driver stopped, helped me with my luggage and asked for an address. I adjusted the air vent to blow right into my face and gave him Gram’s address in Mesa.
After a dizzying ride through the airport, we were finally on the freeway.
Now I was glad that I hadn’t rented a car like I had first planned. This was a nightmare. I’ve lived in rural Wisconsin all my life. Once in a while I have to go into Stevens Point or Wausau for something, but I do most of my shopping in the next largest burg or online. Driving in the Point hadn’t prepared me for this.
“Is it rush hour?” I asked the driver.
“No, this is Saturday.”
Duh. Maybe it was, but they were rushing by like they had to get somewhere yesterday. Most of them were going at least seventy. Why would anyone need to be in that much of a hurry?
It had been a big stretch for me to come here. I like my quiet rural life. But when Gram told me that she needed someone to help her temporarily run her tea house and her new coffee shop, I couldn’t refuse. Gram would do anything for me, her favorite grand daughter she says (I’m her only grand daughter), and I would do anything for her. Besides, it was just for the summer.
A car suddenly changed lanes and the driver slammed on the brakes.
What had I gotten myself into?