Page 31 of Holiday Romance
“If you wouldn’t mind waiting for ten minutes just in case we miss—”
“Out.”
“Right. Yep. Happy Christmas!”
With our bags in hand, we race inside, pausing only briefly to check the departure board before going to check our luggage in.
Our first hurdle.
“I’m sorry,” the woman says as soon as I show her my boarding card. “But the bag drop closed twenty minutes ago for this flight. They’re about to start boarding,” she adds as if that’s a thing we’re notcompletely aware of.
“I understand,” I say, using my most professional voice. “But the plane is still here and I don’t think my companion’s giant suitcase is going to fit in the overhead locker.”
“They’ll already be loaded onto the airplane.”
“The plane that hasn’t left yet!” I stress, slapping my hands on the counter with every word. “Please.”
“We’re just trying to get back for Christmas,” Andrew says. “Her sister is about to give birth and I’m the only person who likes my mother’s brussels sprouts. It’s really important we get home.”
The woman looks genuinely sympathetic, but just shakes her head as I resist the urge to slump to the floor and pretend none of this is happening.
“Let’s leave them,” Andrew says to me, looking desperate. “We’ll just dump our stuff here.”
“But all your presents,” I protest. “And my Tabasco sauce.”
“Your what?”
“We can’t leave our luggage here,” I continue, ignoring him. “That’s insane.”
“Do you have a better suggestion?”
“Obviously not, but—”
“We’re going to miss the plane.”
“And they’ll destroy our stuff if we—”
“Just go.”
We turn back to the counter as the attendant picks up a desk phone with one hand, and motions for me to pass my suitcase with the other.
“Go,” she says again. “I’ll get these on and ring the gate.”
Oh my God. “Really?”
“My dad was in the military,” she says. “The years he didn’t make it home for Christmas?” She shakes her head, tapping a number onto the keypad. “Go. Be with your families. But I can’t promise anything.”
Andrew jerks toward her, looking like he’s about to hug her, but he thankfully turns instead and starts running toward security.
I linger for a second longer, slipping out a small piece of black cardboard from my wallet. “There’s this amazing Thai place in Ravenswood,” I babble. “They made me this special fifty-percent-off card because I ate there every night for two weeks once. I want you to have it.”
The attendant just stares at me. “…Okay.”
“Because it’s Christmas.”
“Molly!”
“Try the papaya salad,” I tell her as Andrew’s frustrated shout calls from across the concourse. “And thank you!”
