Page 43 of Backup Plan

“What’s your seat number?” I ask.

“Twenty-six B,” she says, her brows dipping together. “Why?”

I move into the aisle to block her from getting by. “Because that’s where I’ll be sitting. Take my seat.” I nod to the seat I just vacated, and the woman who’s sitting by the window that would have been next to me glances over with curiosity.

In another timeline, I might’ve hit on her. But suddenly I only have eyes for the woman I’m offering my first-class seat to.

“Stop, Liam. I couldn’t possibly take your seat.”

“Sit,” I demand, and her eyes seem to heat over a bit.

She clears her throat. “Okay,” she squeaks. “Thank you.”

I grin, and then I head back to twenty-six B, which happens to be a middle seat jammed between a dude who has his entire body turned to look out the window in such a way that no one else can see out of it and the gentleman in the aisle seat who claims the armrest before I even settle into my seat.

My long legs don’t fit back here, nor does my healthy frame.

It’s going to be a long four hours back to Illinois.

But at least the woman whose bed I kept warm last night is getting the royal treatment up in first class.

I watch a movie, and another one, and my legs are stiff by the time we land, but it was worth it for her to feel pampered if only for a few hours.

She’s waiting for me in the terminal.

“How was your flight?” I ask.

She smiles, her eyes closing for a beat. “So relaxing. Yours?”

“Fine,” I say, smiling that she got a few hours of time to herself ahead of the chaos it’ll be when she’s back to reality.

While I carried my luggage on, she checked hers. I walk with her to baggage claim, and I’m tempted to grab her hand, but many of the people who attended the party in Vegas this weekend are flying back here today, so just in case there are others around, I keep my hand to myself.

“My place should be ready for you and the boys if you want to grab them and move in tonight,” I say as we wait for her suitcase to drop down onto the carousel.

She glances over at me. “Are you absolutely sure about this?”

“I’m absolutely, one hundred percent sure, Pen. I’d love to have you.”

“Me, sure,” she says, setting a hand on her chest. “But I don’t think you realize what you’re getting into with having two kids stay with you.”

I press my lips together, certain she’s right. “We’ll take it one day at a time. I’m leaving for San Diego in a week, anyway, and then you three will have the place to yourself. Well, mostly. Dolores stops by a few times a week.”

“Dolores?”

“Didn’t I mention her? She’s my housekeeper.” And she’s my best friend. I refrain from mentioning that part.

“You mean to tell me that you don’t keep that gigantic place sparkling all by yourself?” She shakes her head. “And here I thought you were the full package.”

“You weren’t complaining about my full package last night,” I murmur, and she laughs and turns bright red at the same time. “Dolores is awesome. She’s in her sixties, has four grandchildren, and keeps my house organized for me.”

“Sounds like a mother figure.”

I scoff. “Dolores is more like a friend. She’s someone I can talk to about anything, you know? I was still staying at the Bradley Mansion and moved into the building after I got my inheritance from my mother’s death a few months ago, but we’ve gotten close pretty quickly.”

“You’re friends with a sixty-year-old grandmother?” she asks.

“Sixty-three,” I correct, and I nod proudly. “I am. And she’s the best. You’re going to love her.”