His Nanny Mate - Season 4 Episode 57

Ella

Boarding the plane should have filled me with a sense of accomplishment and relaxation from knowing that we had made it and only needed to lay back now that we were on our way, but it didn’t.

I had never been an easy flyer. Ever since I was a kid, airplanes-and the thought of those airplanes crashing to the ground from thousands of feet up in the air-had freaked me out more than anything else. I never had any issues when it came to climbing trees, scraping up my body, training, or the dark, but airplanes? That was a whole different beast in and of itself.

My parents often had to bribe me with treats and promises that everything would be okay in order for me to get on an airplane, and despite the fact that we flew at least once a year in comfortable first-class seating, I had always been anxious.

Pretty much up until I hit twelve or thirteen, I had to spend flights being held by either my father or Moana. And once I was too old to do that, I still often found myself gripping both of their hands like my life depended on it. Thankfully, neither of them ever complained, and I always appreciated their support.

But I always envied Daisy, who never batted an eye at flights. While she would spend the flights gazing out the window in wonder at the clouds and mountaintops, I was sitting there with my stuffed duck clutched tightly to my chest and my eyes squeezed shut so hard you would need to use a vise to pry them open.

This time was no different. With age, I had managed to refine the art of pretending not to be perturbed even though I was utterly terrified. Squeezing my eyes shut was replaced by a silk eye mask covering my fear. Gripping my parents’ hands was replaced by gripping the armrests in such a way so as not to appear tense.

But as the flight attendant waved me toward my seat, the terror only began to mount even further.

Meanwhile, Logan trailed effortlessly behind me in his usual manner, seemingly unaffected by the sense of fear that was crushing me from all sides. He looked around, appreciating the luxury with an approving nod as if this were all completely normal to him-which, given his affluent upbringing, it probably was.

He joked with the flight attendant, who he instantly referred to by name-Monica-and his charisma was infectious. I, however, stayed silent, wholly focused on my legs not giving out from my fear.

Finally, we settled into our seats, 2A and 2B. I let out a soft sigh as I fumbled with my seatbelt, my hands betraying a slight tremor as I tried to latch it in place. Logan effortlessly secured his own before reaching over to help me with mine.

“I’m fine,” I lied, gently swatting his hand away. “I’ve got it.”

But Logan was unperturbed, and just shot me a warning look before continuing to fasten my seatbelt. With his hands this close to my body, I felt a tremor work its way through my muscles. I had to quickly look away to hide the flush that was creeping into my cheeks.

“Nervous?” He wore that impish grin like armor, deflecting any actual concern behind a veil of playful mockery.

“I’ve flown plenty of times,” I retorted, feeling a flicker of annoyance. “I’m not nervous.”

“If you say so.”

The intercom buzzed to life, a cheerful voice announcing our imminent departure. My heart began to race as the engines roared, a deafening crescendo that seemed to mirror the panic rising within me. I gripped the armrests tightly, knuckles white as snow.

And then we were airborne. My stomach dropped as if it were free-falling, and before I could stop myself, my fingers dug into Logan’s arm with a vise-like grip. He chuckled. “Easy there, Ella. You’re gonna leave a mark.”

My face flushed with embarrassment as I realized what I had done, and I quickly withdrew my hand, muttering a half-hearted apology.

“Relax,” he said. “I went to all the trouble of getting us these first-class seats, you know. Least you could do is enjoy the ride.”

He pressed a button, and a stewardess appeared almost instantly, looking as though she had just stepped out of a fashion magazine.

“Two glasses of red wine, please,” Logan said with a smile that could disarm a nuclear bomb.

“Wine? This early?” I murmured as the stewardess walked away.

Logan shrugged. “Don’t complain. You clearly need it.”

She returned shortly with two crystal glasses filled with ruby-red liquid. I took a sip, hoping the wine would act as liquid courage, or at the very least, a temporary placebo. It was rich and smooth, trailing warmth down my throat and into my stomach. Logan was right; I did need it.

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Satisfied, Logan hit another button, and a privacy partition rose up between our seats and the rest of the cabin.

“There,” he said, looking ridiculously pleased with himself. “Now you can take out your stuffed duck. I promise you’ll be feeling better soon.

My face turned a deeper shade of crimson. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh really?” His eyes narrowed. “Then I guess I just imagined that cute little stuffed duck sticking out of your bag earlier.”

For a moment, I was at a loss for words. The truth was, I did need my stuffed duck to feel better, but this was the first time that another adult-to my knowledge-had witnessed my attachment to it. Aside from my parents, of course. I felt vulnerable, exposed, and it irked me that he could read me so easily.

Unable to withstand the silence any longer, I reluctantly reached into my carry-on bag and pulled out the little stuffed duck. Its yellow fabric was worn, a testament to years of love and countless adventures. It was no longer as full and plump as it once was, and had a bit of a deflated look to it. But it was my lifeline, I held it tight, like a child clinging to their security blanket.

Logan’s eyes softened as he looked at it. “It looks well-loved.”

“I’ve had it since I was a kid,” I said quietly. “Moana got it for me from a farmer’s market when I was eight. It’s my most cherished thing in the world.” Admitting it out loud felt both liberating and embarrassing.

“That’s sweet,” he said sincerely, and I felt another flush creep up my cheeks.

“Is this embarrassing for you?” I couldn’t help but ask. Logan shook his head. “No. Everyone has their fears, their comforts. It’s what makes us… well, alive.”

“Then what’s your biggest fear?” I found myself asking. A question so intimate, so revealing, I almost wished I could take it back.

Logan’s face went a shade paler, his playful demeanor momentarily cracking. It was so brief, so fleeting, I would have missed it if I weren’t so hyper-aware of every tiny expression that flickered across his face.

He opened his mouth, hesitated, then finally said something that I hadn’t been expecting at all.