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Approximately forty-five minutes afterthat, Finn found me, looking significantly more chastised than he had during our first interaction. He was accompanied by a woman in a crisp black pantsuit who shook my hand and introduced herself as the airport general manager.
The introduction was followed by a rapid string of apologies about the weather in Toronto—as though she was directly responsible for its bad behavior—and the insistence that I take advantage of one of their VIP lounges while a private suite on the third floor was being prepared for my overnight use. Free of charge, of course.
She’d become increasingly flustered (and almost pleading) as I continued to refuse her offer.
An airline manager came next.
More apologies about the weather. More insistence that they were doing the absolute best they could under the circumstances. More VIP lounge access offers.
I had a headache by the time I’d finally gotten them off my back and made my escape to the second floor. I found a quiet spot to rest while I waited for the available flight notification to hit my inbox, which Finn and the airline manager were now insisting would likely be “no later than noon tomorrow.”
I slept across the length of a hard two-seater with my knees curled up to my chest and woke up with a sore neck and a stiff everything else. But none of my valuables were stolen, so that was something.
By the time I’d splashed some water on my face and grabbed a cup of coffee, I’d received a notification to head to the nearest information desk as soon as possible.
I practically ran there.
“Miss Sanchez! Hello!” The young woman shot to her feet when she saw me, beaming like we were long-lost pals.
“Hey, yeah, I just got a notification telling me to come down here. I’ve been trying to get back to Toronto. Is there—”
I stopped talking when she waved her hand. “We’re well aware of your situation. Your seat on the next flight out has been secured, but it’s in a different terminal. I’ll be more than happy to escort you there if you’re ready?”
I didn’t even question it. At this point, I’d row back to Toronto in a fucking canoe if it meant I’d get to sleep in my own bed tonight, with Toebeans trying his best to suffocate me.
And that was the exact moment I remembered that Adrien had forced me to move into his stupid building when this whole nightmare first started. I groaned internally, so preoccupied with trying to figure out the logistics of having to explain everything to Jamie, pack up all our stuff, and move back to our apartment as soon as humanly possible, that I didn’t notice how much quieter my surroundings had become until the echoing of our steps grew so prominent and loud that it finally snatched my attention.
I blinked, glancing around. The long hallway I was being led down was surprisingly empty, save for the two people walking a few meters ahead of us and a handful of suited employees standing behind desks belonging to airlines I’d never heard of.
“Um, question for you…”
“Anna,” she said, noting the not-so-subtle way I was trying to catch a glimpse of her name tag.
“It’s nice to meet you, Anna,” I said politely, only now realizing how suspiciously quiet she’d been during our walk so far. “Can you tell me what airline I’m flying with, exactly?”
In lieu of an answer, Anna slipped her employee card out of her breast pocket and flashed it to the two uniformed men standing outside a pair of ebony doors.
“After you.” She gestured to the door as one of the men held it open for us.
I stepped inside and… a lounge. She’d led me straight to a fucking lounge.
My molars crammed together as my frustration peaked. I tried to keep my voice calm and centered. I really did. “Listen, I’m not trying to be rude or anything because I know you’re just trying to do your job, but I’ve had a reallyrough twenty-four hours and I just need to get home. So, if you could please just give me my flight information—”
“That will be all, Miss Ross, thank you very much.”
My brain tripped over itself when the voice registered. I turned to the source, my brows leaping when I saw him.
“Gampy?” Or was I supposed to call him Robert now? I wasn’t sure what Adrien had told his family about us since I’d left yesterday—if anything.
“Good morning, Ria.” He smiled.
He was decked out in a pale pink sweater vest, a checkered bowtie, and matching socks. I’d have spotted him from ten miles away had my brain not been so mushy.
“Wh-uh… what are you doing here?” I asked.
“Impromptu visit to Toronto,” he answered swiftly. “Long overdue. My college buddies live out there.”
I fiddled with the handle of my carry-on, twisting my fist around it. “You decided to spontaneously fly to Ontario on the tail-end of the biggest storm of the year?”
