Page 72 of Finding Romance
The entire ride is Bray and Hutch coaching me on what to say, which ranges from ridiculous love sonnets to baring my heart.
“None of that works,” I say as Bray pulls off onto the airport exit.
“Fine, then just tell her the truth. Speak from the heart, man,” Hutch insists. Flashes of recent conversations with Randy, Al, Cornelia, and Cam come rushing back to me. They were all correct. Maybe I needed Piper as much as she needed me. Maybe we both still need each other.
God, I hope she still wants me. Did she want me before? Fuck it. It’s now or never.
Bray pulls up to the airport in record time, peeling into a free spot along the curb.
“Go get your woman,” he says.
I get out of the car. “I have no idea what I’m doing,” I admit in a moment of weakness.
Hutch looks up at me. “You’re going and getting the woman of your dreams. Now, go, go get her.”
I close my eyes and inhale. The air is filled with exhaust but somehow my mind smells floral shampoo, and I know that I need to smell that damn shampoo every day for the rest of my life.
“OK,” I say, mostly to myself, but Hutch fist-pumps.
“Hell, yeah!” he yells.
I run into the airport and get to security. There’s a long line and I groan as I check the time. The plane is already starting to board. I rush to the front of the line.
“Excuse me, I’m running really late. Flat tire. Any chance I can just get through really quick?” I ask a woman who gives me a look.
“Sir, the line starts back there,” she says pointing to where I was.
I swallow. Fuck it. “Listen, I know. And I hate to cut the line, but the woman I love is about to get on a plane and fly away and I can’t let her go without telling her I love her. I bought a plane ticket just so I can go find her and hopefully talk her out of leaving,” I say, feeling a little silly for baring my soul but also not giving a fuck.
The woman tilts her head to the side.
“Please,” I beg.
“Let the man through,” an old lady in line says.
“You can’t ruin his shot at true love,” a teenager calls out.
A few other passengers chime in with support.
“Fine, go,” she grumbles, and I run up, toss my things in a bin, and go through the scanner.
And, it beeps. Whomp. Whomp.
“Sir, I’m going to need you to check your pockets,” a surly-looking man says.
I do as I’m told, but don’t find anything. Then I remember, my side pants pocket has my keys. Thank God I left my pocket knife at home!
I toss them in one of those little containers and walk back through the scanner. He waves me on, and I grab my keys and continue running to the gate. I make it just in time.
“Well, with only five minutes to spare,” the flight attendant says.
I look up and realize the flight got bumped back five minutes. Thank the gods!
I walk onto the plane and search the rows. And then…I see her. She’s sitting by a window, staring out, and…is she crying?
I wait as people put bags in the overhead compartments. Finally, I reach her row and slide past a college-aged kid sitting on the aisle. I sit down.
“You sad that there’s no lily pads or frogs out there,” I state.
