Izzy scoffed and turned her head away even more, purposefully ignoring me. She was just as beautiful—even more so—as I remembered, in a bar full of frat boys on summer vacation and soldiers preparing to deploy. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how many times she must have been hit on tonight.
“What could you possibly know about what interests her?” The bride glared with slightly glazed eyes. “We’re having a girls’ night. So just go back to whatever”—she gestured at the plain black T-shirt that stretched across my torso—“gym you crawled out of.”
“I like you,” I told the bride, then leaned farther onto the counter so I could see Izzy. “And I know she likes to read and hates to fly.”
Izzy stiffened and her gaze shifted, but she still didn’t look at me.
“Random guess,” the bride huffed, crossing her arms.
“I know she’s allergic to shellfish and penicillin,” I continued. Izzy’s eyes widened as she slowly turned my direction. “And she keeps Tylenol and antibiotic ointment in her purse.”
Izzy’s gaze locked with mine, her gorgeous brown eyes flaring with recognition as her lips parted. She looked as shocked as I felt.
“Oh, and her blood type is O positive.” My smile somehow widened. “Am I forgetting anything?”
She sidestepped the bride, and my breath stalled as she came closer, until only a matter of inches separated us. “Nathaniel Phelan?”
“Hey, Isabeau Astor.”
She cried out and jumped at me, throwing her arms around my neck. I caught her easily, splaying my hands over her back and hugging her tight. Forget awkward. This felt like coming home.
The last time I’d felt this relieved, this whole, was the moment we’d made it to shore after the crash.
“I have your bag,” she said as she pulled back, studying my face like she was looking for the scar my ball cap hid.
“What?” I set her back on her feet and forced my hands to let her go.
“Your bag.” She flashed a smile, and my chest constricted around my heart. Shit, I hadn’t imagined that instantaneous connection I’d felt with her on the plane. It was all too real, shining brightly in my face. “The airline sent it to me because you’d been sitting in my seat.”
“No way.” My eyebrows hit the ceiling.
She nodded, her grin just as big as mine. “I have your hoodie and your iPod, which I can’t believe you actually put in a ziplock bag, but it worked. My mouth just about hit the floor when it powered on. I don’t have them with me, of course—they’re all at my apartment in DC—but I’m not really sure what box they’re in, since I haven’t even had time to unpack between graduation, moving, and now Margo’s bachelorette party,” she babbled, yelling to be heard over the music.
She still babbled, and there was nothing better in the entire world.
“Holy shit, this is Plane Guy?” the bride—Margo—asked, staring at me like she’d seen a ghost.
“Yes!” Izzy nodded. “Can you believe it? Nate, this is Margo. Margo, this is Nate.” She hooked her arm through Margo’s elbow. “She was with me when I got the backpack.”
“Hi, Margo.” I managed to rip my gaze from Izzy long enough to nod at the bride.
“Hi, Plane Guy!” She smacked a kiss on Izzy’s cheek. “If you need me, I’ll be out on the floor!” Arms up, she ran back out to the other bridesmaids.
Izzy and I stood there, the beat pounding all around us, and stared at each other.
“You want to grab a drink?” I asked, suddenly remembering that she’d been at the bar for a reason.
She nodded, and we both turned back to the bar, our arms brushing as I lifted my right hand to flag the bartender. Fuck, it was like I was sixteen again—that was how quickly that innocent touch went straight through me.
“You’re not drinking either?” she asked after I’d paid for our sodas.
“I’ve already had a couple.” I shrugged. There was no chance I was going to dull a single second of seeing her again. “Want to grab a table outside?”
“Absolutely.”
We made our way through the bar crowd and onto the beachfront patio, where we scored one of the two-seater high-tops at the edge.
Then we stared at each other again, this time in the relative quiet.
“It’s nice out here,” she said.
“You look good,” I said simultaneously.
We both smiled.
“Thanks, but it’s probably just the fact that I’m not bleeding out internally.” She shrugged playfully.
“You were looking a little pale there for a minute.” I flashed a smile and took a sip of my Coke.
“I don’t remember anything after getting to the edge of the river,” she said quietly, wiping the condensation from her glass.
“But . . .” My brow furrowed. “You swore your eternal love and devotion to me. You promised we’d have three kids and everything.” Shit, it was hard to keep a straight face.
She didn’t even try, her eyes dancing in the soft outdoor lighting. “Very funny.”
I took a deep breath, sorting through my memories of that day. This was all so incredibly surreal. “We got you to a tree so you could sit down,” I began, and then I told her everything I could remember.
“You saved my life,” she said when I got to the part about the ambulance.
“Nah. Technically that was the paramedics.”
“There you are!” Fitz called out, coming across the patio. “You disappeared.” He glanced at Izzy’s shirt. “With a member of the bridal party, I see.”
“Izzy, this is Fitz.” I took a drink.
Izzy stuck her hand out, and Fitz shook it. “Hi, Fitz. I’m Isabeau Astor. I’m Nate’s wife.”
I slammed my hand over my mouth to keep from spitting Coke across the table.
“His wife?” Fitz raised his brows at me. “Do Justin and Julian know about this, seeing as they’re his best friends?”
Rowell and Torres definitely didn’t know I’d lied my way into an ambulance for a woman.
“According to my medical records,” Izzy said with a laugh that woke up every emotion in my body, even the ones I’d done my best to shut off when we’d deployed.
Somehow, I managed to swallow without making an ass out of myself. “I thought you said you didn’t remember anything.”
“My sister told me.” She leaned back in her seat.
“Your sister had to tell you that you were married?” Fitz asked, leaning his elbows on the table. “Please, do go on. Phelan over here tells us next to nothing about himself.”
“I lied to the paramedics so I could get into the ambulance with her,” I explained.
“After the crash,” Izzy finished. “We were sitting next to each other when the plane went down.”
Fitz’s head whipped in my direction. “You were in a fucking plane crash?”
I shrugged.
“How did you think he got . . .” Izzy leaned over the table, reaching for my hat, and I dipped my head so she could take it. She removed my hat with one hand and pushed the short strands of my hair up with the other, no doubt showing Fitz the scar he’d seen multiple times over the last two years. “That? I knew you’d have a scar!”
“Eleven stitches,” I told her.
“You got that scar in a plane crash?” Fitz’s voice cracked.
“Yep,” Izzy said, putting my hat back before sitting down.
“I thought we were friends!” He clutched his chest.
“We are,” I assured him.
“Friends tell friends when they’ve been in plane crashes,” he lectured.