Page 6 of The Sweetmate

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“And who do you think you are?” He steps into my face and puffs out his chest.

“I’m a tired passenger who wants to get through this line and not miss my flight over some asshole who can’t follow simple instructions.”

Jensen ends his call and comes to step in between us. “That’s enough.” He turns to the moron and politely tells him, “You have enough nice day, sir.”

The guy shoves both of us. “Fuck you and him! And this bullshit!” He grabs his items from the bin. As I turn around to wait for my stuff to go through the security machine my heart drops. There’s some dickhead with a phone pointed straight atme. Sure enough this is going to be on social media. Shit. Maybe they won’t recognize me.

“Casey Riis?” A little voice calls out.

Welp, so much for that. I look down to see an adorable little girl. Typically, I’d lie in this situation, but I can’t to her. Call me a sucker, but I can never lie when the kids are a fan. “Yes, ma’am.”

“My daddy and I watch your videos. My favorite was your Halloween cupcakes.”

I crouch down to her level. “Not the spooky witch cupcakes?” Her head bobs up and down with enthusiasm. “Really? Because that was my favorite, too!”

A man and lady come forward holding a pen and boarding pass. “Could we possibly get your autograph?”

The little girl’s lips stretch, revealing a few missing baby teeth. “See Daddy, I told you he was nice and wouldn’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t mind. You just made my day. And you know what, I’ll be sure to bake those witch cupcakes again. Or should I try something new?”

“Siren cupcakes.”

“Sirens! Mermaids would be fun.”

“I like the story of the sirens more. They lured the sailors to their deaths with their pretty singing.”

Oh this kid is awesome. “What’s your name?”

“Emma.”

“How old are you, Emma?”

“I’m seven.”

“Well I plan to makesirencupcakes soon and I will dedicate them to you.”

“Thanks Chef.”

And that has to be the best fan I’ve ever met.

I tell the nice, though little twisted, girl and her parents bye.

“Do you think anyone checks the MD and PhD credentials when making reservations? Nobody asks for verification, right?” I ask Jensen as I grab my carry-on. “We should try it.”

“Try what, sir?” Jensen asks. His voice is deep and polite, but I hear how heavy it is from exhaustion.

“Booking with initials after our names.”

“Jr. might not make a difference.”

I pause my step and turn to him. “Did you just crack a joke, my man? Good one!”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Or”—my voice rises as the thought crosses my mind—“put something before our names. Like ‘Lord’ or ‘Sir.’”

“Might be a hard sell since they’d expect a proper-sounding British accent. Not that your southern twang isn’t pleasant to the ears.”