Page 96 of Forget About Me

Mr. Porter squints, as if picturing a calendar. “He’s on a red-eye that lands at six a.m. There shouldn’t be too much traffic that early, especially on Thanksgiving, right?”

Since it’s pretty clear that I’m watching a performance put on for my sake, my head swivels back to Vera.

“I think five-thirty would be fine.” Vera crosses her arms, leans back against the sink and sighs dramatically. “I do wish you could be here all morning. I’m going to need help getting the fire started in the smoker.”

“Hmm.” Mr. Porter nods and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Well, dinner may have to be late if we run into traffic on the way back.”

Two pairs of eyes ping-pong to mine, reminding me of the way Ben and Bella played their scenes.

“Unless…” Vera begins.

“Lucy might be able to make a run to the airport?” Ben’s dad finishes.

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath before taking on the role they’ve written for me.

Opening my eyes, a smile stretches my cheeks so wide that it’s almost painful. “Why, I’ll be happy to do an airport run. Just let me know who I’m picking up and the flight information, and I’ll go now and set my alarm.”

BEN

My hand isn’t big enough to cover the yawn I make as I trudge up the jetway. The red-eye’s never pleasant, but this flight was full of babies. As soon as one settled, another would start up. Of course, the package I’m carrying wasn’t exactly quiet, either.

Once we get to the end, I cut to the right, past the other deplaning passengers, and begin scanning the faces in the crowd waiting to meet us.

No sign of my dad, though. Maybe I misunderstood the message. Maybe he’s meeting me at baggage claim instead.

Little kids squeal before running into the arms of grandmas, guys in uniform slap the backs of older versions of themselves, and whole families erupt in cries of recognition and love.

When I’m tackled from the side, I don’t see it coming.

LUCY

Quickly checking the monitor next to the gate, I hope I don’t have the wrong flight number. Or worse, the wrong airline. I barely slept last night, my mind running through scenarios of what might happen at the airport, my body restless and hungry for his touch. How many red-eye flights can there be from LAX to Logan? But none of the faces emerging from the jetway is the one I’m looking for.

Thinking—hoping—that I missed him somehow, I scan the crowd around me. My eyes trip over a chiseled face I almost don’t recognize without a beard. Of course, he would’ve shaved it for the shoots he went back for.

I could’ve been hired by the Patriots, I dodge and weave through the crowd so quickly, muttering an apology when I almost take out somebody’s grandpa. Before my heart beats twice, I’ve tackled him. His entire body tenses for a moment. But when our eyes meet, his arms have me, and he somehow manages to keep us both from ending up on the ground. Before I can babble a single word of regret or apology, he covers my mouth with his. Lost in the familiar taste and feel of him, I don’t want to ever let go. At some point, though, his strong hands grip the sides of my face, and he breaks the kiss to whisper in my ear, “Do you forgive me?”

“Yes, Ben. Yes.” I squeeze him tight. “I’m sorry too.”

His brow rests on my shoulder briefly, but when he meets my eyes, his are steady and his voice is firm. “I left. Again. I told myself you were done with me. But then I realized I did it again. If you forgive me, I promise I’ll never leave without making a plan with you first.”

“I was hurt, but I…” Sucking in a deep breath, I lay it all on the line. “I was wrong too. Before, when Tony died, you left, but I could’ve tried to find you, written you letters. It was easy to stay mad at you because you weren’t there. I’m working on breaking that habit.” He opens his mouth to speak, but my hands grab his shirt and pull him closer. “Besides, you’ve spoiled me. No one can come close to making me feel the things you do.” I lean in close to whisper, “So you’d better take me home and make love to me before Thanksgiving dinner, or I’ll really be mad at you.”

Shaking the disbelief from his face,he kisses me until the flashing and popping sounds of cameras bring us both crashing back to earth.

I try to cover his face with my hands. “Shit. We’ve been caught.”

His arms tighten around me. “I don’t care.”

“But your agent?—?”

“Lucy, I don’t care.”

I start to tell him that I don’t want to make a scene, but suddenly he’s on his knees.“Lucky for you, I’ve been learning lines for an audition forThe Tempest,because if you got those letters, you have evidence of how bad I am at expressing myself.”

He spreads his arms wide and his voice fills the terminal. “‘Hear my soul speak, the very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly to your service; there resides, to make me slave to it; and for your sake am I this patient’”—he holds up his carry-on as he finishes—“dogman.”

The crowd goes wild.

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