Page 15 of Wish Lists and Road Trips

“Let’s meet back up in the morning. I want to make sure you get out of here okay.” He seemed to catch himself, and he softened it with a smile. “Not because I don’t think you can. It’s just . . . I’ll worry.”

“Yeah. Okay. Goodnight, Nick.” I turned on my heel, feeling a little dejected, though I really had no right to. Hadn’t I just equated navigating this huge airport on my own to dismantling patriarchy? I could feed myself just fine without company, and apparently my self-respect depended on it.

Burger Bar was in the other direction, but thankfully not too far. I’d put my espadrille wedges back on this morning, thinking I’d be sitting on a plane right now instead of pounding the tiled floors of the concourse. Now my ankles were starting to swell and the pretty pink ribbon that laced up my calf was cutting into my skin. I didn’t dare look in a mirror. I was sure my hair looked equally disastrous. I could really use some dry shampoo and a curling iron right now.

I took a seat at the bar, climbing the stool like a tree before sliding in. Being built like an American Girl doll with curves meant that barstools were not my friend. I ordered a glass of sangria and a basket of fries and started putting together a little movie in my head of all of Nick’s facial expressions, assigning them from best to worst.

The top spot had to go to that smile that started out as a cheek twitch, then bloomed on only one side of his mouth. Worst? Definitely the one where his eyebrows slanted inward and his lip curled like a snarling dog. I felt like maybe that one was just for me. His Brit face. I let out a long breath and gulped my drink.

I should have been using this time to work on a blog post or draft some social media content. I planned to create at least three months’ worth of posts for my Instagram page so I could mix them in with photos of renovating the studio. Plus, I needed a backlog of video tutorials because I’d be too busy to record them soon.

I tried to brainstorm some catchy travel makeup post ideas, anything that could turn this setback into an opportunity, but this entire day felt like an interrogation lamp shining on the Boss Babe I was trying to be. My cracks were showing. Big time.

A man in a dark suit slid into the stool beside me and waved down the bartender. I counted three other stools he could have taken, and I preemptively rolled my eyes at what I knew was coming.

I was rarely the hottest girl in the room, but I got my share of male attention. I used to think it was because I looked like I gave good conversation, but one night, after a few too many whiskey sodas, Sean explained that my personal brand of self-expression screamed “Daddy Issues.” He said men were banking on my bold hair and makeup choices translating into some kinky sexual preferences. Here I thought I was just warm and approachable, so that hurt.

“You stuck here too?” the guy asked. He picked up the menu, but his eyes were on my chest.

I put on a Texas accent just for fun. “Me? Oh, no. I actually come to airport bars all the time. The drinks are weak and expensive, just how I like them.”

He blinked at me.No? Nothing?

Clearly this guy had no sense of humor.He should meet Nick.

“Well, how about I buy you a weak and expensive drink then?”

I turned to face him, debating if I had perky and polite left in me today. Normally small talk was my jam—occupational skill—but this guy had a mean smile, like the male version of Resting Bitch Face. I bet he didn’t like kittens or babies or carnivals.

“I’m not sure I’d be good company tonight,” I said.I’m planning to sulk over a cocktail and dissect why my travel buddy doesn’t want to be friends.“Think we can agree to go our separate ways, no hard feelings?”

He turned back to his vodka with a huff. “That attitude explains why you’re drinking alone.”

My fake smile slid into an open-mouthed gape.Wow. That one hurt.Imagine if he knew how many meals I’d had alone over the last couple of years. Or that I wasn’t just drinking alone, I was actually on my whole honeymoon alone. Or that Nick would rather eat alone in his room than hang out with me.

Salt burned the corners of my eyes, but I forced down my bruised feelings and spun my stool, getting ready to tell him exactly where he could shove that smarmy—

“Actually, she’s drinking with me.”

A voice came from over my shoulder, and my head whipped around so fast my ponytail landed in my sangria. “Nick?”

He put his hand on my shoulder and tipped his head, gesturing for the guy to find another place to be.

Just like that, he slinked away.

“Asshole,” Nick muttered, dropping into the stool Mean Face had vacated. My heart skipped when he draped his annoyingly sexy arm over the back of my chair, even knowing how pathetic that made me since he’d basically just told me I was helpless, then ditched me for a queen-sized bed and basic cable.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yes. You didn’t need to do that.”

“I know.”

“What, did you come back because you were afraid I didn’t know how to feed myself?” I crossed my arms over my chest and tipped my chin. I was a little lapdog barking louder than my bite and he knew it.

“No, Brit.” Nick held a hand up to get the bartender’s attention, then ordered a beer. He took a sip, huffed a sigh. “Look, I’m sorry about before.”

“Oh.” The scowl fell from my face. “I’m sorry” were two words I’d forgotten existed after years with Sean, Sean, Never Wrong—Meri came up with that one. Hearing them was both confusing and like putting on a coat in the rain. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

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