Dropping his duffle by his feet, Rowan’s rigid stance slumps. His free hand grips the back of his neck. The movement communicates regret.
“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.” Scuffing his sneakers along the floor, he lets out a beleaguered sigh. “I know. You’remymotherfucker.”
Aw.It’s almost sweet the way it rolls off his tongue.
“We can discuss this when I get back. My flight gets in…” Pivoting, he comes face-to-face with me, mouth slack. “Pen.” It comes out almost pained.
Crap!“I wasn’t listening… Well, I was, but not intentionally. I—” I hoist up the Tim Hortons bag. “Breakfast!”
“Thanks,” he says, drawing out the word and taking the offered bag.
“Sorry.”
The muffled voice of whoever is on the other end of the call crackles between us.
“I should go.” Frowning, I turn and hurry away.
So fricking embarrassing.Rowan is clearly having a day and I’m all like “Here I am holding your breakfast sandwich hostage while eavesdropping on your conversation with someone you fondly refer to as motherfucker.”
Finding my gate, I fold myself into an uncomfortable plastic chair to devour my breakfast sandwich and fall into my latest audiobook. The sultry timbre of Wesley Williamson – my favorite narrator – helps me escape into the world of thousand-year-old hot vampires with Mr. Darcy vibes. The story being woven in my earbuds helps me leave the last week behind. Leave why I came back to Buffalo, the tension with my mother, and the awkward meet-cute with Rowan.
Rowan.My stomach flip-flops between a sigh and a flutter at the thought of him. I hope everything turns out okay with he and motherfucker. It seemed to have turned the corner before he’d caught me listening in. I scan the boarding area, wondering if he’s here. He’s not. At least, I don’t see him which doesn’t mean he’s not here. He’s bound for L.A. Are we on the same flight? The Buffalo-Niagara Airport is small, but notthatsmall. There are several airlines flying direct to Los Angeles in this time window.
“Penelope Meadows, please see the agent at gate eleven’s counter.” A voice booms over the sound system, interrupting the vampire/awkward girl meet-cute.
Hitting pause, I sling my bag over my shoulder and shuffle with Cane Austen to the counter. “I’m Penelope,” I say, reaching the agent.
“Ms. Meadows.” The agent beams. “Your seat has been upgraded. I have a new boarding pass for you.”
“Upgraded?” I blink.
“You’re still in a window seat, but you’ve been moved to first class. Seat one-A. We’ll start pre-boarding in a few minutes for our passengers with disabilities. Would you like assistance going down the jetway?”
First class from Buffalo to Los Angeles?Perhaps I had earned some karma points after all. Thanking the agent and telling them I wouldn’t need assistance, I head back to my seat.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I check my messages. Despite the frown, guilt swirls in my stomach at the four unread messages from my mother. Sighing, I open them and respond.
Me: I’m at my gate.
Mom: Good! Did you click on the links I sent you to those clinical trials?
Eyes closed, I release a hard breath. If it isn’t messages about my love life, it’s ones about studies to cure my eye condition.Shemeans well, Aunt Bea’s cautious warning plays on repeat inside me. Opening my eyes, I reply.
Me: I’ll look at them when I get home, so I can see them on the larger screen. I’ll message when I’m home.
It’s a lie, but my energy for this familiar conversation is nonexistent.
I swipe to my message with JoJo, my West Coast bestie. Trina is insistent that I’m allowed two best friends if I designate them by coasts. Trina Lyons, who is two years older than me, was my first bestie due to close proximity. She lived next door until I moved with Aunt Bea to California. I met JoJo Rivers a year later as freshmen in undergrad.
Me: Flight is on time. You still picking me up at the airport?
JoJo: Does a hobby horse have a hickory dick?
Me: A simple yes would do.
JoJo: Then I wouldn’t be me. Tongue out emoji.
I snort just a bit. Even with the magnification program on my cell, I have the worst time with GIFs and emojis, so JoJo spells them out for me. It’s both sweet and totally self-serving because I’m a hundred percent positive that a majority of the GIFs and emojis that she spells out do not exist.
