Rochelle Morgan - The Trouble Series: Four Sweet Contemporary Romance Novels

The Trouble Series

By Rachel Morgan writing as Rochelle Morgan

Copyright 2016 Rachel Morgan

The Trouble with Flying | Copyright 2014 Rachel Morgan

The Trouble with Flirting | Copyright 2014 Rachel Morgan

The Trouble with Faking | Copyright 2014 Rachel Morgan

The Trouble with Falling | Copyright 2016 Rachel Morgan

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the authors imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The author makes no claims to, but instead acknowledges, the trademarked status and trademark owners of the word marks, products, and/or brands mentioned in this work of fiction.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For more information please contact the author.

v2019.11.06

Sarah doesnt talk to strangers. Aiden wont shut up. When they find themselves next to each other on a plane, unexpected sparks begin to fly

I dont make friends on aeroplanes. I know there are people who like to strike up a conversation with the complete stranger sitting next to them, but thats not me. Its not that Im an unfriendly person. Its more the fact that the conversation centre of my brain seems to seize up in the presence of strangers, and I cant for the life of me figure out what to say. And even if the other person is happy to simply babble on while I pretend to be interested, Id rather be doing something else. Like reading. Or watching a movie. Or trying to figure out how to stop crying.

Yes. Crying. Because if being shy and awkward isnt enough, today Im adding red eyes, tears, and suppressed sobs to the embarrassing mix.

I stare out the oval window at the patches of reflected light on the wet runway and silently ask God to leave the seat next to me empty. I cant deal with a chatty neighbour right now. Id rather watch the black sky and incessant rain until we reach cruising altitude. Then Ill close my eyes and let sleep take the pain away.

Oh, STOP IT. Its not like someone died.

I wiggle around a bit in my seat and sniff, trying to listen to my inner pep-talk voice. Think of the good things, I tell myself. Im on my way home. Im leaving behind the dreary, wet weather for a sunny, summer climate. That, at least, should make me happy. But thinking about home leads to thoughts of who Im flying towards, and that only makes my stomach twist further.

I hear the sound of a bag being dumped onto the seat at the end of my row. There are only three seats between the window and the aislemine and two othersso theres a fifty-fifty chance this person is about to plonk him or herself down right next to me.

I angle myself towards the window and swipe my fingers beneath my eyes. I start the furious tear-banishing blinking. Stop crying, stop crying, stop crying. All I need now is for someone to see my blotchy, wet face and start asking me whats wrong.

Someone settles into a seat. I dont feel movement right beside me, though, so it must be the aisle seat. Fantastic. I send up a quick thank-you prayer and remind God that it would be spectacularly awesome if He could keep the seat next to me empty.

A tickle inside my left nostril alerts me to the fact that my nose is dribbling. I sniff, but it doesnt help. Crap, where are my tissues? I lean forward and reach down by my feet for my handbag. Brown strands of hair fall in front of my face and block my vision, but if I can just get the zip open and feel past my purse to the tissues

No. Too late. Now its trickling down my lip and Im digging around in the bag and I cant feel the stupid tissues and a drop of tear snot just landed on my hand and yuck! I haul the ridiculous handbagI told Jules I didnt need something so bigonto my lap with one hand while holding the back of my other hand to my nose. And there the tissues are. Right next to my purse. Practically mocking me. I rip one from the packet and jam it against my nose to stop the tear-snot flood.

And thats when I catch a glimpse of the guy sitting in the aisle seat. A quick sideways glimpse, but enough to tell me hes cute. Excellent cheekbones, a strong jawline, and perfectly messy dark brown hair. Terrific. My nose is dripping snot in front of a cute guy. Not that I should care that hes cute, or that hes a guy, because its not like Im going to talk to him, and its not like Im even availableam I? I dont actually know. And thinking about that makes me want to cry all over againbut STILL. I dont want to look blotchy and snotty in front of a cute guy.

I turn back to the window because Im going to have to blow my nose now, and I hate doing that in front of other people. Such revolting noises. I take a deep breath and go for it, cringing at how loud it sounds. I grab another tissue and finish cleaning up my face, then find an empty side pocket on my handbag to stuff the wadded tissues into. Gross. I wish Id stocked up on waterless hand sanitiser after I finished my last bottle.

I drop my handbag onto the floor and straighten. From the corner of my eye, I take a peek at the cute guy, half expecting to find him giving me a disgusted look. I neednt have worried. Hes holding the two halves of the seatbelt in his hands and staring at them as if hes never seen a contraption like it before. He pushes the two metal pieces together, and a satisfied half-smile appears on his face when the buckle remains fastened. Weird. Perhaps this guy is a little slow. Hopefully that means he wont be interested in chatting.

More passengers squeeze along the aisles; tired parents try to get overexcited children to sit down; businessmen remove their laptops before sliding their bags into the overhead storage compartments. I pull my book from the seat pocket in front of me. I put it there as soon as I found my seat earlier so Id be ready to act as if Im reading the moment someone sits down next to me. I open up to the last page I read and try to focus on the storya sweet, predictable romance meant to distract me from my own messy love lifebut the cute guy in the aisle seat keeps shifting around, and I cant help wondering whats wrong with him.