Page 8 of The Layover

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Finally composing myself, I say, ‘A wedding. Yes, I heard you. I was just wondering if I knew you. If we’re going to the same wedding. I thought maybe you looked a bit familiar,’ I add, just a little white lie, to hopefully excuse my weird staring.

He blinks, and stares back at me, eyes tracking over my features in a way that leaves me feeling – exposed.

I can see why he didn’t like it. I sit up a bit straighter.

‘I don’t think so,’ he mutters, and goes back to the little notebook he was scribbling in.

‘You know, there’s no need to berude,’ I tell him, leaning around the poor irritated man in the middle seat to scowl at him better. ‘You’re not the only one stressing out right now.’

He looks a little chastened and can’t quite meet my eye. ‘Sorry. Sorry, you’re … you’re right. I’ve just … got a lot on my plate.’

‘With the wedding?’ I ask more softly. The odds are near impossible that he’s stressed for the same reason I am, but I can at least empathise with the wedding-related problems.

‘Yeah. I have to be in Barcelona tonight, too. I have to talk to my sister before her wedding. About …’ He fidgets with his notebook. ‘Some stuff.’

‘Sounds heavy.’

Hissister’swedding, he said. Does Kayleigh have a brother? I don’t remember seeing anything about her family on her socials,and she’s never talked about them whenever I have seen her … He’s certainly standoffish enough to be related to Kayleigh, though.

‘Well, good luck with whatever it is you need to talk to her about.’

‘Thanks,’ he mumbles. ‘Good, uh, good luck with your … guy.’

I beam, though he doesn’t notice. I’m still smiling as I settle back into my seat, fidgeting with the pins on my jacket.

Good luck with your guy.

It’s hardly much of a well-wish, but it’s more than I’ve had so far.

It’s not as if I can admit to my friends what’s really going on with Marcus – which is a bit of a red flag in itself, I know … But they’ll be happy for me when it all works out, and they’d only try to stop me otherwise!

They don’t know him; not like I do.

And my family have no idea the guy from work I have such a crush on is the one whose wedding I’m going to this weekend …

I’m bolstered a little by this total stranger in the window seat.

I just sort of hope heisn’tgoing to the same wedding as me, after all.

The crush of people clamouring to leave the plane as soon as it lands is immediate. The doors aren’t even open, and despite the aisle on my left-hand side already being packed with impatient people, both the man in the middle seat and window-seat guy are standing and trying to squish past me to join the fray.

It takes far too long to get off the plane, followed by an even longer queue at customs, before – finally – we’re spat out into the main terminal of Orly Airport, the hubbub of French voices and announcements jarring when I was braced for a trip to Spain.

I’m not panicking. Yet.

There’s stillplentyof time to get to the wedding. Maybe I’ll be on my way to Barcelona within the hour! It’s barely five thirty – I might miss dinner, but I could absolutely still make the drinks afterwards.

I let myself envisage it for a moment: arriving at the hotel bar where Marcus has plans with his friends, and the way he’ll look up to see me, a gaze that will make me feel like Cinderella at the ball, how he’ll walk towards me with that megawatt smile, how we’ll slip away to talk – to confess – to kiss …

Really, this diversion is doing me a favour. Otherwise, I would’ve had to sit through dinner waiting for my chance to speak to him, surrounded by people who think they’re there to celebrate him and Kayleigh.

There’s rain lashing down against the windows of the airport entrance, and the wind is positivelyhowling. There are bits of rubbish being whipped about, umbrellas getting turned inside out, people hunkered down as they push forward against the storm to get inside.

I’ll be on my way soon enough; I’m sure it’ll be fine. The weather wasn’t even forecast to bethisbad, so it’ll blow over.

Won’t it?

But even if I’m not panicking right now, Iamon a mission.