Page 19 of Holiday Romance
“I’m already on it,” I say confidently. “Don’t worry. We’ll get something.”
He nods, his attention already on the other side of the terminal where people are beginning to gather. “Not like it’s a busy time of year,” he says, trying to joke.
My answering smile fools no one, but I manage to keep it up until he goes and I take a seat at the bar to call Gabriela.
“Okay,” she says when she answers. “So, when you said you’d be on your phone, I didn’t think you actually meant—”
“My flight’s canceled.”
“Noooo,” she says softly. “You’re kidding. Because of the storm? I didn’t think it was going to get that bad.”
“I don’t think anyone did.”
“Are you okay?”
“I think so. I mean, yeah, I’m annoyed, but I’m fine. It’s Andrew I’m worried about. He’s big on Christmas. I’ve never seen him in panic mode before.”
“Andrew?”
“My friend?” I hold the phone between my shoulder and my ear as I open my laptop and log into the Wi-Fi. “My plane friend?” I add reluctantly.
“Oh. The man you fly economy for?”
“That’s the one.”
“That’s cute that you guys still do that,” Gabriela continues, and I grimace as my email blinks to life before me, updating by the dozens in the few hours since I last looked at it.
“I just wanted to call and let you know that I might be offline tomorrow,” I say. Neither of us bats an eyelid about the fact that tomorrow is a Saturday. “We might not get out of here until the morning. But I’ll keep you updated.”
“I’m so sorry, Molly. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
“Can you fly a plane?”
“No, but I love a challenge.”
We say goodbye, Gabriela’s voice full of sympathy as I start a fresh spreadsheet and start Googling.
CHAPTER FOUR
SEVEN YEARS AGO
Flight Three, Chicago
I pick at my cheese fries, pushing them around the plate as I try to drum up the appetite to eat another one. I don’t know why I agreed to this. Well, I do know why. I panicked. But what’s a girl supposed to do when Andrew Fitzpatrick comes striding toward you like you’re the final boss in a video game he just can’t beat. Like he’s been expecting you.
I certainly wasn’t expecting him. So all I could do was sit there in the middle of the terminal and freak out as he approached, wondering what I’d done to make the universe hate me so much.
“11C,” is all he’d said, thrusting his ticket at me.
I’d been completely lost for a solid five seconds before I realized what he’d meant. “34B,” I’d responded, showing him my own seat number.
He’d been surprised at that. Maybe even annoyed. And then, like he’d decided to simply stop feeling both of those things, he sat down next to me, hugging his backpack to his chest.
“You want to get something to eat?” he’d asked.
I wasn’t hungry, but I said yes.
And now here we are.
