I stride toward security the next morning, checklist in hand, already with a satisfying checkmark next to check-in. I verified that I was seated in first class when I dropped off my bags and discovered it comes with the perk of a fast pass through the endless security line. 

Arriving two hours early, I stick to my pre-flight ritual even with the fast pass. I have a necessary routine to calm my flight anxiety before I pop a Xanax to truly relax. I love traveling, but stepping onto a plane? Pure dread.

With security behind me, I hop onto the terminal train and make my way to the nearest bookstore. I comb through at least a dozen book jackets before settling on a thriller intriguing enough to keep my mind busy until we board. The next stop is the snack shop, where I carefully select the blandest snacks- nothing that will upset my stomach or stink up the aisle. A bottle of water and a gossipy magazine join my haul, just in case the book doesn't live up to its promise.

At my gate, I scan the board ten times over to confirm I'm in the right place and then pick a seat near the gate agent. No way am I missing any announcements. I glance around at the waiting area, where straw hats, flowy maxi dresses, and tank tops signal that everyone here is heading somewhere warm. It's a relief to know I'm exactly where I need to be.

Settling into my chair, I realize I still have about an hour before it's time for the Xanax. Plenty of time to ease into the start of this journey.

I text my sister and the bridesmaid chat that I have arrived at my gate and am waiting to board, and within seconds I am bombarded with plane emojis and status updates of the rest of the bridal party who are also about to arrive at the airport. I tuck my phone away and then slide my new psychological thriller from the paper bag as I settle into the seat. 

I am about ten chapters in when I feel someone looming over me, I flit my eyes up and see Logan with a backpack slung over his shoulder eyeing me like he wasn't sure if he should interrupt.

"I wasn't sure if it was you," he says sheepishly when our eyes meet and I give him a quick smile. 

"It's me." 

"Can I join you?" He asks while glancing at the open seat next to me. I want to tell him that I am invested in my book and would prefer silence, but I shrug and scoot my tote bag toward me. Emma told me I needed to try to blend in with the bridal party as well as keep my resting bitch face in check. I promised her I would do my best. "Have you been here long?" 

I shake my head, "Not too long. We should be boarding in about forty-five minutes." I notice he's in shorts, but thankfully not the cutoff jean shorts he lived in last year, and a nice linen button-up that matches his knit bottoms. He looks like he's traveling to a bougie resort in Cabo with his sandy blonde hair looking freshly cut. I also notice his beard is gone and say, "I see you cleaned up for the wedding." 

He rubs his hand down his smooth skin with a grimace as he says, "Chase asked us all to be clean-shaven. I figured it would be easier to maintain this than shave it all off the day before." 

"You don't like it?" I ask, realizing I actually enjoy seeing what's beneath the unruly beard. 

"I feel like I look like I am nineteen years old," he says with a frown and I am surprised when a laugh bursts out of me. He does look younger without all the hair hiding half of his face and I notice his light green eyes stand out a bit more. "But I am sure Ainslee is having you all do crazy shit too, so...I'm going to do my best not to complain." He adjusts his backpack in front of him and I watch as he unzips the main compartment and slides out large, over-the-ear headphones still in the box. He's fiddling with the plastic when I reply, "We are having to wear a lot of matching outfits." 

"Oh. Well, I hope you're all wearing white and people have to guess who the bride is," he stoically jokes and he manages to get a second laugh out of me. He's scanning the box and must notice me watching him since he says, "I left my AirPods in the Uber. These were all I could find that wasn't complete garbage." I smirk, realizing Logan may look more refined, but he is still clearly as scatterbrained as he was when I first met him.  

"When did you realize you left them in the Uber?" 

"Right when I got to security. I knew I would be cutting it close if I had to coordinate with the driver to get them, I was already running late after forgetting my passport. Today has been a bit of a cluster," he says and then manages to get the box open. That's the Logan I remember. Always flying by the seat of his pants, half-answering emails, and showing up late to his own event. He's cute but unreliable... and undateable. 

"Sounds like it," I mutter, but he's now engrossed in getting his headphones situated so I go back to my book. I try to get back into the murder, but Logan is struggling to get the headphones connected and I know how to help him as they are similar to the ones I have. I watch him try and figure it out for a few more seconds and then say, "You have to wait until the light turns blue to pair them with your phone." He spins the headphones around to find the light and when it goes from red to blue, I watch the ah-ha moment. He grins and then says, "I see why Chase has you do everything for him now." I blink in confusion and am unsure what he meant by that. 

"Oh?" I manage to reply when I have a dozen other reactions. He must not have heard me with his headphones now on his head and I watch as he pulls up some podcast. I guess our conversation is over as he's now engrossed in his phone. I really wish I could have gotten a reply from him as it seemed to be a loaded statement. One my brain wants to pick apart. 

I hear the gate agent announcing first class boarding will start in fifteen minutes and I take a deep calming breath before reaching for my tote bag. I slide my hand inside the side pocket and am confused when I don't feel my plastic packet of Xanax pills. I lift my bag off the floor and start digging around, wondering where they're hiding. I then remember I stuffed them in my jacket pocket for easy access at security and stand up to unwrap my light jacket from my waist. I pat down the pockets but come up empty. 

This is not part of my routine and anxiety rolls over me like a heavy, electric wave. Where the fuck are my pills?! 

Logan glances up at me while I am turning my pockets inside out and asks, "You lose something?" 

I nod as I retrace my steps in my head and remember fiddling with the packet in the security line. I realize I took my jacket off and tossed it into a bin before striding through the metal detector. The packet may have slipped out then or when I was tying it back around my waist. My hands fly up to my face and I finally answer Logan. 

"I take Xanax for my flight anxiety and I think I dropped them at security." He must be able to tell I am panicking because he stands up and looks around us like maybe they'll magically appear near our feet. 

"Oh shit. Are you going to be okay?" I can't look at him as I am trying to refrain from having a meltdown. I follow my routine. I cannot lose a vital piece of my routine and not notice until it's too late. 

"I don't know. I haven't flown without Xanax in years. I have more in my checked bag, but I don't..." I start pacing, wondering how the hell I am going to get on that plane. "I don't know if I can get on the plane without it." 

"What gives you anxiety about flying?" He curiously asks, still looking around. I'm starting to pace, wondering if there is anything I can buy in the next ten minutes to help calm me down. 

"Everything. We are locked in a box for hours, held hostage. Turbulence, being claustrophobic, two bathrooms for over a hundred people."

"Ah, okay got it. Do you want a drink? We can get you drunk?"

"I've never been drunk on a plane," I mutter and wonder what my options are. I see a few priority passengers now lingering near the gate and know we'll boarding soon. 

"Melatonin? Benadryl?" Logan suggests as I wring my hands before running them through my hair. 

"It's only a three-hour flight, I don't want to be groggy when we land because I have work to do when we arrive at the resort," I ramble, not even able to look at him. Next time on my checklist, I need to have a well-thought-out plan B. 

"Looks like it's alcohol then. It helps relax me," Logan suggests again and I finally meet his eyes. I dart between them as I wonder if this is the best solution. Getting buzzed on an airplane sitting next to Logan Swensen. Before I can answer, he glances over his shoulder to the gate and then adds, "We already have our seats, let's go grab shots at the bar real quick, and then we can order a drink on the plane. Come on." This has now become a "we" situation as he slings his backpack over his shoulder and starts striding off toward the bar across from our gate. Not boarding in my boarding group is also not part of my routine but I watch Logan squeeze in at the bar and say fuck it. Why am I not surprised that this trip is not going to plan?

I grab my tote bag and follow the path Logan took to the bar. He's already ordered us two lemon drops each and I thank him for not ordering tequila. 

"I want you to relax, not throw up. Especially since I'm the one sitting next to you," he says but I still have anxiety pulsing through me. He may not have to deal with me throwing up, but he might witness me having a full-blown panic at some point in the air. The bartender slides over our shots and am touched that Logan paid for them as well. I am usually the one who takes charge in a panicky situation, so it's weird to have someone else stepping in. 

"Cheers!" He says as he raises his first shot glass. I wince as the second one goes down with a burn. "Do you want another? Or wait until we are on the plane?"

"Oh no, I am good for now," I cough out, wondering when the last time was that I pounded two vodka shots in a row. "Also, I think alcohol is free on the plane, I can wait." 

"You guys going to Cabo too?" A pretty woman seated next to Logan at the bar asks us and I can tell she's going to be buzzed on the plane by the empty martini glass in front of her. She's wearing a wide straw beach hat and her large boobs are already spilling out of her maxi dress. 

"Yep, we're just about to board," I tell her, unable to have any kind of banter while my brain is trying to calm me down. 

"Nice! We are pregaming it too!" She answers as she swats at the man next to her. He raises his drink to us and then Logan says, "Oh she has flight anxiety. We're using alcohol as a calming agent." 

"Oh! Baby girl, I have a Xanny if you want it? I keep them handy when I travel," she offers and I close my eyes in disappointment. If she had talked to us five minutes sooner I would have been cured.

I laugh in irony and then answer, "Thank you for the offer, but I just downed some vodka. I'm not one to mix." She shrugs and we tell her we'll see her on the plane. I hear the next boarding group called and Logan leads the way out of the bar. I follow behind him and pray to all that is mighty these shots hit me soon so I can calm the fuck down.