I will be reposting When Bella Met Edward, but will be adding in Edward's chapters from When Cowboy Met Swanie, so basically, it will be one big story rather than two separate ones. Each chapter will be in both POVs...if that makes sense. You'll see.

No copyright infringement intended.

"When I saw you, I fell in love, and you smiled because you knew." -William Shakespeare

…

one

Pressing my face against the glass window, I stare out at the tarmac, wishing I could change my mind about flying to Florida. I've made it 19 years without stepping foot onto a plane and dying, why have I suddenly decided to take the chance now?

Mom and dad left earlier this week, saying it would be a waste of vacation days to drive down, but honestly, I don't care. Missing a few days of boogie boarding is worth it if we're alive in the end.

An arm jostles mine as someone takes the seat next to me, but I ignore it in favor of watching the man waving that orange flag back and forth. Why is he doing that? What does it mean?

I think I'm going to be sick.

I should just get off - tell them something's wrong with the left phalange - and miss out on this year's family vacation.

What was so wrong with a staycation anyway?

Washington has a plethora of things to do - fishing, swimming, camping. There's no good reason why we have to travel to sandy beaches, blue oceans, and swamps. I don't like the idea of swimming with alligators and sharks anyhow. Been there, done that.

The flight attendant gets on the loudspeaker, preparing us for departure. The sound of buckles click around me. I'm already buckled in - I buckled that baby the second I sat down - but somehow, I still don't feel safe.

My chest is heaving, and I just know I'm on the verge of hyperventilating. Perspiration wets my upper lip and the back of my neck.

God, why didn't I just put up more of a fight?

The plane slowly starts to move, and my heart lodges in my throat. Squeezing the armrest in a death grip, I close my eyes, hoping and praying to make it into the air safely.

"You're not breathin'."

I let out a gust of air and open my eyes, finding white clouds and blue sky.

"I thought you were gonna fuckin' pass out there for a minute."

I don't recognize the deep rasp, but why would I?

Slowly turning my head, I come face to face with a scruffy face and emerald green eyes. Whoa. He's watching me - a smile on his handsome face - like he's waiting for a chance to perform CPR on me. Shaking my head, I say, "I'm fine."

His smile turns into this grin, and my heart lodges in my throat for a totally different reason now. He pulls the hat off his head, revealing messy, brown locks. "You afraid of flyin' or what?"

Straightening in my seat, I try to loosen the grip I have on the armrest, but my fingers refuse to budge. "I've never flown on a plane before."

"No shit?" He laughs, the deep sound sending goosebumps down my arms.

Shaking my head, I stare at him in bewilderment. He's so nice to strangers. "A car can get you anywhere a plane can."

"That's not necessarily true. You can't cross the ocean in a car," he points out, his perfect white teeth nearly blinding me.

"Since I don't plan on ever leaving the country, I don't need to cross any oceans."

He nods, thoughtfully, conceding my point. "Where you headed?"

"Florida. It's our annual family vacation. You?"
"Back home to Arizona. I came up to visit my mom."

"Yeah, so I noticed there's a layover in Phoenix. I'm not sure how I feel about two take offs and two landings."

"You'll be good," he says, bumping me with his shoulder. "Don't sweat it."

I can't help but smile when he grins all charmingly.

He's cute.

I turn away and pull out my laptop and earbuds, not wanting to be rude but not knowing if I'll be able to have a conversation with this cute guy the entire flight. He seems nice - definitely older than me - but I'm not much of a conversation starter.

I busy myself with turning on the old thing and wait for it to boot up. My stomach growls embarrassingly loud, because I purposely didn't eat breakfast - wanting to avoid puking all over myself from nerves alone.

"Want me to ask the attendant for some peanuts?"

Blushing - because of course he heard that - I shake my head. "I'm fine."

"Do you always say that?"

"Huh?"

"I'm fine. You've said it twice, and you were lyin' the first time. If you're hungry, there's no shame in admittin' it."

Who is this guy?

"Okay, I am hungry, but I'm allergic to peanuts. He eyes me as if he doesn't believe me, but it's most definitely true. "If you don't believe me, grab a bag, see what happens." I shrug, making him chuckle.

"No, I believe you. I'm not tryin' to kill you."

"I have my own snacks." I hold up an oversized bag of Goldfish crackers, and he nods his approval.

"That's a good choice, but these are better." He holds up a bag of the same thing except his are the pretzel version - the better version.

"You're right. Those are better. You must have grabbed the last bag. They were sold out when I went in search of some."

"If you share, I'll share."

He smiles again, and I can't help it when my lips lift into one of their own. Maybe this whole fearing for my life in the skies thing isn't so bad after all.

"Okay." After discreetly wiping it down, I offer him an earbud. "I'm watching Dirty Dancing if you're down."

"Will there be dirty dancin'?" He asks, taking the earbud from me, the pads of his fingers a little rough. "I could be down with that."

Dirty dancin'.

Laughing, I nod my head. "It's a little raunchy, but Patrick Swayze is a God."

"Wait," he says, touching my hand - the one that's about to push play. "I can't watch a dirty movie with you…"

"It's not really a dirty movie…"

"...without knowin' your name first. I'm not that kinda guy." He smirks, and my cheeks ache from smiling so hard.

"It's Bella," I say, feeling the heavy weight of his hand on top of mine.

"I'm Edward." He releases my hand and sits back, sticking an earbud in his left ear. "Now, we can watch some dirty dancin'."

"Okay," I say, sticking the other earbud in and pushing play. "Be ready to have your mind blown."

He chuckles, and I cringe a little because that was totally lame. In my defense, this movie is one of the greatest of all time, so it makes me a little crazy when someone has never watched it before.

Edward laughs at I carried a watermelon - such a cringeworthy, classic line - and leans his elbow on our shared armrest. "So, let me guess. Watermelon girl ends up with the God?"
"Shhh," I hiss, laughing. "No questions."

"Sorry," he says, shifting in his seat, his arm pushing against mine as he crowds me to see the small screen. "You're not much for talkin' and watchin', are you?"

Pausing the movie, I look at him like he's crazy. "If I'm talking during the movie then I'm not doing any watching, and to experience all of Patrick Swayze's God-like scenes, you have to watch not talk."

He really needs to stop smiling at me like that.

Is that a dimple?

"Well, seein' as I'm not really a Patrick Swayze fan, I like to talk and watch. Let's make a deal. Since you've seen this movie, what…more than once, definitely, humor me and let me ask questions that you're probably dyin' to answer anyway, alright?"

He makes a valid point here. "Okay, I can do that."

"Then, you can watch my favorite movie, and I'll warn you now, there's nothin' dirty about it unless dirts dirty, which it is, so okay, it's a little dirty."

God, he's cute.

"What movie?"

"Shh…" he says, quietly - grinning the entire time - then whispers, "...no questions." I roll my eyes, and he pushes play. "So, she carried a watermelon, and he teaches her how to dance? Dirty dance?"

The way he says dirty - stop!

"In a nutshell, yes, but there's so much more to it. You'll see."

He nods and watches as Baby awkwardly shakes her hips, his eyes shifting to me every once in a while, his lips twitching, and dang, he's hot.

By the time the movie's almost over, I'm quoting all the best lines, and Edward's so into the epic last dance, nothing can break his concentration.

Without any prompting, he rewinds to Nobody puts Baby in a corner and watches the entire epic dance again.

I think he may just be my soulmate.

"Well?"

He shrugs. "Not bad. Not bad at all."

"Oh, please!" I say, turning in my seat to see him and all his lies better. "Admit it. That's the best movie you've ever watched."

He crosses his arms over his chest and smiles. "Top two, I'll give you that - kind of a chick flick, but it'll do. Now, you ready to have your mind blown?"

I nod, getting a little thrill from the conversation, as he leans forward to dig into his own bag. He sits back up and holds up Tombstone. Should I tell him I've seen it? That when I was 10, I watched it every single night for an entire year?

"What? Why're you smilin'?"

"I'm not," I say, straightening in my seat and handing the laptop over. "Let's watch it."

He puts it in and sits back - the laptop in his lap now - and reaches into my lap for his earbud. "Greatest movie of all time," he says, hitting play.

"Alright, Lunger, let's do it," I tease, trying not to smile.

He slowly turns his head my way, his dimple dimpling. "Are you shittin' me?"

"What?" I feign innocence, trying so hard not to laugh.

"You've seen it, haven't you?"

I nod, and he grins. "You're no fun." He goes to stop it, but I grab his wrist.

"No, I love this movie. I want to watch it."

He looks over at me, those emerald eyes scanning my face for far longer than necessary - long enough to make me feel butterflies erupting in my stomach. "Can we talk and watch?" He asks. "That's the only way I'll let you watch it."

"It's my laptop," I argue.

"It's my movie."

"You're such a baby," I tease but nod my head. "Okay, let's talk and watch."

"Are you gonna let me go?"

"What?"

He laughs and shakes his arm. "You're holdin' my wrist. I mean, I'll let you hold me, but I'll need to hit play first."

"Oh! Sorry!" I say, releasing his arm, my face warming.

He pushes play, and he talks the entire time, giving me a play by play like I've never seen it before, but it's so dang cute, I listen to the deep rasp of his voice until it lulls me to sleep.

I think my head ends up on his shoulder. I'm sure of it, but I keep my eyes closed and don't move a muscle.

The last thing I hear is I'm your huckleberry.