Page 16 of Wish Lists and Road Trips

He ran a hand over his hair. “I came back because I couldn’t sleep.”

I snorted. “Well, it’s only eight o’clock, Nicholas. I can see why.”

“Yeah.”

“Why are you so averse to having fun? You’re like an old man.” I changed my voice to mimic the only old man I could think of—Santa Claus. “Better get to bed.” I mimed a yawn. “Early morning ahead.”

He looked away without laughing.

I pushed his arm playfully, and when he didn’t budge, something sharp poked my already dead and twitching ego. “Is it me? Do you not enjoy my company?”

I doubted he would tell me, he was too polite, but his demeanor was familiar. I was a lot for people to take, so I’d been told. I talked too much, laughed too loud, made some . . . impulsive decisions. Not everyone had a tolerance for it.

Nick swiveled his stool, his eyes rounding the top of my knee and skimming the hem of my skirt before bouncing up to my face. I’d caught him checking me out enough to know he didn’t find me repulsive, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be friends.

“It’s not you, Brit.” His eyes turned sad around the corners and he leaned closer, dragging his fingertip down my arm. I shivered. “I’m just . . . this isn’t a pleasure trip for me.”

Oh.I scanned his tight jaw, the set of his shoulders. That heaviness I’d felt from him last night was back, right here on display. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

He shook his head and gulped his beer. “No. But I do want to have a drink and forget about it for a while.”

A flower bloomed inside my chest. “Well, Nicky, you came to the right girl.”

I had no idea why I’d come down here. I should have been sleeping, preparing for another day from hell trying to get home. But as soon as I’d gotten to my room, I’d realized I was about to be alone for the night with a whole bunch of thoughts I didn’t want to be having. Brit had successfully filled my brainspace all day with her constant chatter and those big doe eyes, and I missed it immediately.

We moved to a high table, away from the crowd at the bar that swelled each time another flight got canceled. I pulled her chair out for her and she made a big show of taking her seat, curtseying and bowing before climbing into it.

“You don’t find many guys who still do that,” she said. “All the highbred men that my ex and my father hang around with, only the ones over fifty do stuff like that.”

I shrugged, picking at the label on my beer bottle. “I told you I was old-fashioned.”

“How’d you get like this?”

“My dad and my uncle always drilled it into us—open doors, pull out chairs. They said women were the stronger sex, but if you had a chance to lighten their load, you should take it.”

She blinked at me, her face flat. “My father thinks women should stay quiet and marry rich.”

I laughed in surprise. If that were the case, I couldn’t imagine they got along. She’d been telling me where to shove it since the minute we met. It was my favorite thing about her.

Though, she seemed to have lost her spunk earlier. “Hey, you know that guy at the bar was just embarrassed you turned him down, right?”

She turned away and nodded. I reached out and touched her chin, guiding her back to look at me. “Brit. Don’t take it personally.”

“Of course not.” She waved a hand at me with an awkward chuckle before pasting on one of her huge smiles. “I was totally about to tell him to take a hike on the runway.”

“Sure,” I said, my hand tightening into a fist. When I saw her face crumple like that, I had to stop myself from hauling that guy and his rude mouth outside to kick his ass. I might wear a shirt and tie to work now, but I grew up with two cousins and an older brother. The four of us Callaway boys got into a lot of dirt before we’d cleaned up and become professional colleagues. My cousins still tended to settle disagreements with headlocks and kidney punches, even in the office.

I was feeling guilty about her being pissed at me earlier, but I also felt a weird protectiveness over Brit that I was starting to realize she didn’t like much. I didn’t want her out of my sight until I knew she was safe on a plane home to Boston. And if not out of my sight meant other guys wouldn’t look at her, so be it.

“You never told me what you do for work,” I said. “I’m sorry. It was rude of me not to ask this morning.”

She shook her head, finishing a sip of her drink. “It wasn’t rude. It’s not as exciting as buying and selling houses. You probably guessed that.”

“I didn’t.” I hadn’t made any assumptions at all. She was unreadable. If she told me she was the Queen of England, I would have believed her just as easily as if she trained circus cats.

“I’m a makeup girl,” she said. “You know, like the makeup and perfume counter at the mall.” She pretended to spray something at me and for some reason, I flinched. “I call it Dream Training. I get to try out new techniques on customers, learn different makeup lines. The employee discount doesn’t hurt since I do events on the side. I’ll graduate from cosmetology school in May and then I’ll be able to do hair too. I’m going to open my own studio.”

“Wow.” Okay, I guess I had made a few assumptions and entrepreneur didn’t fit with any of them. Maybe it was her miniature size or the fact that she didn’t seem to know how airports work, but I hadn’t seen that coming. I smiled. She was right about not underestimating her.

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