Page 13 of Wish Lists and Road Trips

It was a nice compliment, but disappointment pinged through me. Funny, we’d spent the last seven days on a ship together without knowing it, but now that I did know him, I was sad to see him go. Maybe it was those weird eyes that had me hesitant to walk away. Once I got used to them, they were less of a distraction and more like a rare gem you might find and keep for good luck. If they were, my luck was up.

“Thanks,” I said. “You’re not so bad a travel buddy yourself.”

“Good luck with your house, too,” he said. “I hope it all works out for you.”

“Your mind’s back on business already. At least give yourself the flight to relax.”

“Relax?” He looked at me like I was speaking French.

“Sure. You’re still on vacation until you walk through your door.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

He finally did put his arms out to me—I was so close now, he probably felt like he had to—and I settled against his chest. He was the kind of warm you want to burrow into, and he squeezed me so tightly I felt my insides squish together. I had the fleeting thought that we probably looked like one of those airport farewells you see in movies, and I actually felt a tear threaten to materialize, which was typical of me and mortifying at the same time.

“Bye, Nick,” I whispered, suddenly miserable despite having no right to be.

“Bye, Brit.” He let me go and turned toward his gate, exiting Stage Left from this little daydream he didn’t know he was starring in, and I let out a loud sigh. That was an oddly intense goodbye, but it was definitely a goodbye and I needed to shake it off.

I settled in one of the plastic seats near the window and pulled a granola bar from my new Y’all bag. Nick’s plane boarded in fifteen minutes. Maybe I could see it take off from here. Maybe I would tell myself one of the planes I saw was his.

Thanks to Nick’s charger, my phone had a full battery, which would be enough to get me to my car in New York, and I pulled it out to distract me from this weird feeling of disappointment in my belly.

I clicked on my bookmarks. The auction house homepage featured a slideshow of properties coming up and mine was number three. I waited for it to appear and took a screenshot so I could look at it while I was on the plane. Gray, peeling siding, white trim, a stained-glass door—I was in love with every part of it.

Last night before bed, I’d checked my bank account to see my deposit clear. That was surreal. I hadn’t had more than four digits in there since I made the final semester payment for cosmetology school.

I clicked over to Pinterest to look for decorating ideas when there was a commotion at the gate next to mine. People lined up at the desk, looking disgruntled and tired. Probably like what Nick and I looked like at the port desk yesterday. The memory of being left behind made me anxious and fidgety. But then again, so did the idea of going home.

The drizzle that we’d landed in had grown thicker, like a cloud of dishwater hanging over the runway. Only one colorful plane tail was visible now, when before I could see a whole row.

The men in reflective safety vests and headphones on the runway had put on bright yellow rain slickers. I pulled my new sweatshirt tighter and shivered despite the muggy reconditioned airport air. Boston would be colder, grayer, more depressing. March wasn’t spring in the Northeast. There would be at least a few more weeks of cold. But by then I’d have my house and I’d plant daffodils and decorate my table with fresh flowers. Maybe I’d buy a painting of a Costa Rican beach and hang it over the white-brick fireplace to remind me of this trip. If everything went as planned.

The passengers’ gripes in line at the next gate gained volume. I was watching a woman with a blunt bob and thick-rimmed glasses poke at her phone with a scowl, when I saw a familiar navy-blue hoodie squeeze through the line. My heart skipped.

“Nick?” I stood and met him halfway. His hand landed on my elbow, sending a familiar tingle through my body. “What are you doing?”

“You’ll never believe it,” he said through gritted teeth.

“What?”

“We’re stranded.”

Apparently, it was the whole Northeast.

My phone made an alarming beep as Nick told me about the blizzard hurtling toward New York, grounding all flights headed in the vicinity. I pulled it out of my pocket and frowned at the screen just as the monitor behind me changed my flight status to “canceled.”

“So now what?”

Nick read from his phone. “New York is supposed to get over a foot of snow today, with more tomorrow.”

“You think we’ll be here a fewdays?” I knew I was dressed like a bulletin board for Texas tourism, but I didn’t actuallywantto stay in Houston. I had places to be.

My mind started to spiral. I needed to call Meri soon. If there was any chance of me not being back by Friday, I had to enact a back-up plan. First I had to come up with one.

“Come on.” Nick pressed his hand to my back, steering me away from the line of people forming at the desk.

“Where are we going?”

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