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“Pop, you ready?”
“Coming!” Reaching for my carry-on bag, I head for the steps.
“Porter could’ve gotten that, babe.”
I grin down at my handsome man. “I know. But it’s still kinda weird to me. I’ve been handling my own things for thirty-nine years.” I laugh.
The last few months have been a whirlwind. It didn’t take long to discover the few moments Broadie and I had together were sacred. Trying to coordinate our schedules to find time for one another started to seem senseless when instead, we could come home to each other at the end of every day if we moved in together.
So, I packed my things and moved in with him just before Christmas. It was the best gift this girl could’ve asked for. We often talk about where we go from here as we’re lying in bed. But he hasn’t formally asked, and I’m in no rush. Broadie has come so far with finding a work-life balance, I don’t want to push him.
“It should be a quick flight, Dr. Weston. The weather’s beautiful. You couldn’t have picked a better day to fly,” Porter says.
“Oh, Broadie. This seems like even more of a dream than the last time.”
He winces, and I know he’s recalling all of the sneaky stuff he pulled to mastermind my winning that trip, as well as the lies he kept telling once I arrived.
“It all got me to you,” I coo, kissing his cheek.
“Thank god you’re the forgiving type.”
In no time at all, we arrive at the airport, and Porter pulls up to Broadie’s jet. This man knows how to travel in style. I still can’t believe this is my life now. Heck, I remember just being excited to fly first class.
“What’re you giggling about?” Broadie asks.
“I was thinking about when I got randomly bumped to first class on that flight to Jamaica.”
Instead of seeming shocked or amused by this, Broadie appears troubled. “What is it?”
“Poppy, I—”
“You didn’t? Tell me that wasn’t you.”
Broadie looks up toward the heavens and rocks back on his heels.
“Oh, good grief. And the limo that came to get me out of that transportation van?”
“For fuck’s sake, Poppy. I couldn’t watch you bumping down the highway in that thing any longer.”
“Broadie Weston, I almost had a heart attack that day.”
“See. You’re welcome.”
“No! I thought I was being kidnapped.”
“Shit. You never told me that.”
“Welcome aboard, Dr. Weston,” a flirty little number greets as we enter the jet.
“Hello, Samantha. This is Poppy.”
“It’s so nice to meet you. Can I get you anything while we’re preparing to take off?” She extends her arm toward the open seating, and I follow Broadie’s lead, taking the spot beside him.
“No, thank you,” I say. I’m excited to get this trip underway. Broadie has joked about wanting to go back to Jamaica and enjoy our time there without the false pretenses for months. Now that spring fever is in the air, it seemed like the best possible time to travel. As much as I enjoyed the previous trip, the summer temperatures in Jamaica were brutal. I’m looking forward to spending time there when the heat isn’t quite as oppressive.
Broadie leans in. “I hope you packed that sexy little blue dress.”
I grin. “You don’t like this one?” I was surprised when Broadie asked me to wear something white on our trip. He’s always complimentary of anything I wear but hasn’t seemed to have strong opinions about fashion. He advised he wanted to make a stop on the way to the resort, and there might be a chance to capture our visit with photography this time. It was sweet. I’ve regretted not getting more pictures the first time, even if they were of the cheesy tourist variety.
