Page 51 of Landing Her Eagle
They offer classes to teach people how to use photo editing software and how to use their cameras. I’m not their target audience. I already know that stuff.
“Hell, I could teach these classes,” I mutter to myself.
I scroll further down the page and see that they host photo retreats. Intrigued, I click and am taken to a page showing pictures of Michigan lighthouses, a few wildlife shots, and landscapes. They take groups of photographers to these sites for photographic opportunities and then help them edit their shots to achieve the best images possible. Hmm.
There’s a nice selection for breakfast. I think. Truthfully, I barely notice the food, though I eat. I’m writing furiously in my notebook—things to research, questions, ideas. I have a lot of things to investigate and consider, but I think a photo tourism business back home in New Jersey could be successful. There is so much in the area that would make a great subject—the lighthouses Daphne visited, wildlife at the refuge and in the Pine Barrens, houses in Cape May, the ocean. Just sitting here, I thought of five tours I could do. Even a tour for shifters because we’d be able to access areas difficult for humans to reach. There are gear bags specially developed for shifters so they can shift, carry their equipment, and shift back to human form to take the shot. Since I’m an eagle shifter, I can get a literal bird’s-eye view.
Could I use that to help Daphne with her videos? I probably look crazy with my mad scribbling and mumbling to myself, but I’m excited. If I can get this off the ground—I snort-laugh at my unintended pun—I’ll be well on the way to setting up the life I want to have with the woman I love.
31
DAPHNE
I wonderwho had twenty-five days in the family betting pool of how long Logan and I could stand to be apart? I kept up the mantra of X more weeks. We can do this. And I believe it. But I don’t want to wait another three weeks to be with Logan again. I’m flying to Paris. My trip is a surprise to Logan. Liam and Will promised not to tell him. They only know of my plan because, well, I work for Will, and Liam drove me to the Newark airport yesterday afternoon.
When I requested my time off, I spoke to Mike about wanting to cut back my hours in the new year. I explained how I was doing video tours and wanted more time to devote to that. It turns out he had seen the two tours I’d done so far, thanks to Logan sharing the links. Our discussion turned to the minor in marketing I’d earned in college and how videos showing the outlet centers could be excellent marketing tools. We brainstormed with Will and came up with the idea of doing video tours of the area around the outlets and coordinating with local attractions for joint marketing. We’re going to test-drive it using the local centers, but if they’re successful, it may be something we take nationwide. I don’t know how Logan is going to react when I tell him. Hopefully, he’s understanding that I don’t want to just tag along on his adventures. I want to have adventures of my own. He can come with me if he wants.
I worked half a day on Friday so I could make my nonstop flight to Paris. If I flew out of Philly, I’d have layovers, and I wouldn’t arrive in Paris until Saturday afternoon after flying over twelve hours. By flying from Newark, I arrive shortly after seven in the morning local time and my flight is merely seven hours. I owe Liam big-time.
This week, Logan has been in Paris attending markets that opened early. Later this afternoon, his plan is to travel to Strasbourg, a city a couple of hours east of Paris when traveling by train. My plan is to text him when I land and figure out how to get where he is. If he’s already left for Strasbourg, then I’ll take the train to meet him. I just crossed the Atlantic Ocean, so a two-hour train ride isn’t a big deal, especially when we’re at least in the same country again!
I heed the announcement to return my tray to the upright position. We must be landing soon. I can’t believe I’m doing this. It’s the most spontaneous thing I’ve ever done. Okay, it wasn’t truly spontaneous. I had to renew my passport and order plane tickets—those things required planning. But this is spontaneity, Daphne Foster style. Normally, I would’ve planned for months, with multiple to-do lists and lists of pros and cons, and, in the end, I would’ve talked myself out of doing it.
I’m proud of myself. To anyone else, it may not seem like a big deal, but to me, it’s a sign I’ve grown, a sign I’m being brave. I’ve spent years staying home, sticking to a routine, and not trying new things because it was more comfortable sticking with the familiar. Taking this trip to France to surprise Logan is something sixteen-year-old Daphne would have done when she became an adult. I’ve missed her, and I’m glad she showed up, finally.
“Fingers crossed, Logan likes the renewed version of me I’m becoming,” I whisper to myself as we start our descent. My seatmate probably thinks I’m praying. They’re not wrong. Part of me worries Logan won’t like new me because he’s always known cautious, predictable me, and he accepts me that way. I’ve had enough therapy over the years to know the most important thing is that I love the person I am. Anyone else loving me is a bonus. Intellectually knowing that is one thing. Accepting it in my heart is another. I’m praying my faith in Logan’s love isn’t misplaced.
I feel the jolt of the landing gear contacting the tarmac and the deceleration of the plane. Someone further back in the cabin applauds. There’s always someone who does that. Maybe it’s a plant. The pilot welcomes us to Paris and gives the local time and weather while we taxi toward the gate. I unlock my phone to open the text thread and thumb a message to Logan.
Me: Good morning! Guess where I am?
Logan: At home in our bed?
Me: Bzzzzzzz! Wrong answer. Would you like a picture clue?
Logan: Okay, make sure you’re in the picture. I miss your face.
I take a picture out the window to show the jets at the gates next to mine and send it. I’m visible in the reflection on the glass.
Me: Any guesses?
Logan: You’re on a plane????? Where are you going???
Me: I’m already there.
Logan: Sunshine, put me out of my misery. Where are you?
Me: I don’t know the exact gate, but I believe they call it the Charles de Gaulle Airport? Oops, time to get off the plane. I’ll FaceTime you once I’m through customs or whatever. I didn’t check a bag, so hopefully it won’t be too long. See you soon!
I grab my bag from the overhead bin and exit my row to join the slow line of passengers disembarking the plane. I follow the flow of the crowd and let it lead me to where I need to go.
Wow. The massiveness of this space is overwhelming. My eyes jump from the high ceiling to the shops that rival the fanciest of shopping malls. There are people everywhere—babies crying, couples reuniting, business people on their phones making deals. This is so much bigger than I thought it would be. The jostling of the crowd makes me feel like a pebble being carried downstream by a strong current.
My ears are buffeted by conversations in so many languages I don’t understand, but the cries of joy when people reunite with their loved ones are universally understood. I smile as I enter the arrival hall where I can meet Logan—if he’s in town—and I watch a husband give his wife an enormous bouquet of pale pink roses to welcome her home. I can smell their fragrance from here. Their little boy gives his mother a smaller bouquet of daisies. So sweet. I want to be greeted at the airport by Logan and our children one day. Roses are optional, but hugs are not.
I pull out my phone to message him.
Me: I’m through everything and in the arrival hall for my terminal. Where do I need to go to meet up with you?
