In the beginning, Darcy had a boyfriend and an aisle seat. It was 29 March 2000, and she was the last person to board the plane from Atlanta, Georgia, to Sacramento in California. Hot, sweaty and tired from running to catch the flight, she was frustrated to see that someone else was in her seat. “I’m sorry,” the stranger said, “do you mind switching with me?” The thing was, he explained, his wife was afraid of flying – he wanted to sit by her. Darcy McGaffic is 6ft tall – there’s a reason she had booked to sit in the aisle of the exit row. The stranger gestured to his seat, right at the back of the plane. A middle seat. Darcy said: “Fine.” She laughed, made her way back, sat down, and then another stranger opened their mouth. “I wouldn’t have done that,” the man next to her smiled.
That man was Scott Germond – just a stranger named Scott back then. They spoke for the entire five-hour duration of their flight; Darcy, who was in her 30s, told him about her job sorting out the “instant replays” for sports tournaments, and the pair told “stupid jokes” that made each other laugh. At one point, Scott asked Darcy if she was dating anyone. She hesitated. Technically she was, but she had already decided to break up with her boyfriend the night before, because they had been on the phone and he hadn’t stopped talking about his ex-wife. Darcy stumbled over Scott’s question. She couldn’t tell him the truth: “Well, I’m dating somebody, but I’m thinking about dumping him because I might like you.”
