Page 22 of No Strings Attached
Yet I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have a second.
The car rideto the airport is quiet.
Amira stares out the window, arms crossed lightly over her chest.
I drum my fingers on my knee, glancing her way. “Youknow,” I say casually, “if we sit in silence any longer, I’m going to assume you’re plotting my death.”
Her lips barely twitch. “I wasn’t, though now that you’ve put it out there…”
“That’s what I get for trying to be charming.”
“You tried?”
I fake a wounded expression, and she lets out a tiny laugh, some of the awkwardness lessening.
When we pull up to the terminal, the driver helps with the bags, and we start walking toward the entrance. I glance over at her, trying not to overthink how badly I want to stretch this time together just a little longer.
“Want to grab a drink before we board?”
“It’s nine in the morning.”
I lift a shoulder, unapologetic. “There are no rules at the airport. It’s international airspace or something.”
Amira squints at me as if unsure whether I’m serious, then sighs. “I guess I could be convinced to order a mimosa.”
“That’s the spirit,” I say, motioning for her to follow me to the first-class lounge.
She hesitates just a fraction of a second at the entrance, her fingers tightening on the strap of her bag.
I catch the tension in her shoulders and step in front of her. “Hey. What’s wrong?”
She gives me a tight smile. “I don’t like feeling like a charity case.”
I frown. “You’re not.”
“You paid for the flight, the hotel, and now this.”
“It’s Christmas spirit.” I offer her a grin. “Think of it as a gift from the Grinch.”
That earns a scrunched nose and a little giggle. “The Grinch?”
“I’m the designated Christmas hater of my family. It’s kind ofmy brand. Cynical, broody, emotionally repressed… all the festive hits.”
Amira huffs out a laugh, and we make our way to a small table in the corner of the lounge after ordering our drinks.
“My family loves Christmas,” she says after a pause. “I’m Lebanese, and we really enjoy spending time together and eating over the holidays.”
“Oh, yeah? What does that usually look like for you?”
“Lots of traditional food and quality time. Singing and dancing. It’s the opposite of quiet.”
“Sounds chaotic.” Then, with a small smile, I add, “But kind of nice.”
Amira blinks, as if not expecting that answer.
“My family is loud, too. But the holidays never felt relaxing to me. They always came with this weight I couldn’t shake.”
She nods, her expression softening.
