Page 4 of Stolen Kisses

I’d wanted to tell him a thing or two from the second he started being rude to the airport attendant. I took the high road then... but I couldn’t help myself this time. "You should watch that tone. You can’t talk to people like that."

He looked at me, narrowing his eyes. "Mind your own business."

Why was he so rude? Granted, the situation sucked—we were stuck at the airport, and they’d lost his baggage—but still.

"I was trying to, but you're making it really hard," I said. I didn't like it when people thought they were better than others. "It's not her fault they can’t find your luggage."

“They’ve been fumbling around since this morning. By now, I’m expecting something better than 'We're doing our best to track it.’”

I rolled my eyes and dropped it. He was obviously a pompous ass, so I kept sipping my water and ignored him while my oh-I’m-so-important neighbor kept typing on his phone.

I texted Blair again, letting her know things were still up in the air. I didn’t call her because I was getting antsy that I might not make it tonight after all. Blair always picked the anxiety in my tone. She didn’t need to worry about me.

Fifteen minutes later, several airport attendants were circulating with trays of champagne. There was a self-serve bar, too, but it was the first time I saw them serving drinks on trays. Perhaps they worried there were too many people to crowd around the bar at the same time. I took a glass, enjoying the bubbles. It was delicious.

Yet another twenty minutes later, I wasn’t just antsy. I was panicking.

Another airport attendant came by with water. As she passed me, her phone slipped out of her back pocket, landing on the floor. I immediately crouched down to grab it for her. Getting up was a bit more difficult than I anticipated.

I smiled at her sheepishly. “Sorry. I drank my champagne too quickly.”

Behind me, I heard the grump grunt.What is his problem?

“Thanks for the phone,” she said as I slid it on the tray.

The second my ass hit the chair, a ding resounded through the terminal.

"Attention please, passengers on flight 0S789 to Cape Cod. We need to wait for a thorough check of the runway before we receive permission to fly.”

There was a collective groan.Crap, what if we don't fly out after all?There was another plane going out tomorrow, but I'd planned to be there today for my sister. She had enough on her plate, and I wanted to help her out.

I glanced at my neighbor and could tell he was livid, but he didn't say anything. The airport attendant came to us with another tray of champagne. I took a second glass. He looked at me with a smirk.

"What?" I asked as the attendant moved to the person on the other side of me.

I took a second to really take in my ornery neighbor. His facial features were strikingly masculine. His nose was strong, his cheekbones and jaw defined in a very harmonious way.

"You said earlier that you drank your previous glass too quickly."

I pointed at him. "Don't get on my bad side, or I'm going to take a third, and then you'll have to put up with me for however long we still have to wait here. And I’m a lightweight."

"Christ." He shook his head. "This is not my day."

"Yeah, I'm not feeling so lucky either," I retaliated before taking a sip. I wondered if this seat was free because whoever was here before decided they’d rather wait standing up than sit next to him. I was considering it, too, but in the end, I chose comfort.

My grumpy neighbor had popped open the top button of his shirt, and the man looked spectacular. I could appreciate the view even though he was rude and clearly in a bad mood.

But I wasn’t going to let it rub off on me. I was drinking champagne, and my sister was getting married to a great guy. Life was good. I was determined to stay optimistic.

Half an hour later, I started to realize that maybe my optimism was misplaced. There was still no news. People were chatting among each other in hushed, worried whispers, and waiting personnel and airport attendants circulated with their trays again. This time I reached for the water—not to please my stubborn neighbor but because I knew my limits.

"We are so very sorry for the delay," she said.

Another fifteen minutes went by. My neighbor was fidgeting in his seat. Maybe I had champagne goggles, but he seemed even more handsome than before, even though he was so damn uptight.

“You know, a glass of champagne would help your mood,” I said as he flagged one of the airport attendants.

“Anyone ever told you that you’re a busybody?”

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