“Your flight left at six.”
I drop my hand. “Yeah. Didn’t sleep much. I missed it.”
Her lip twitches upward. “Me neither.”
“Ari—”
“Flight 243?” she asks and I freeze. How hadn’t I put that together? I missed my flight, she’s at my fucking gate, and we’re in a tiny, isolated Canadian city. There won’t be many flights going our way. We’re on the same damn one. With her brother. “I call that fate.”
I call it karma.
I hear a loud, booming cackle and my gaze flickers over her shoulder. Carter trudges toward our seats, armed with plenty of snacks. “No shit. You missed your flight?”
I take one look at him and something in me dies. Maybe all the morally good parts of me. One of my closest friends. A guy who has had my back through thick and thin, on and off the ice. A guy I stabbed in the back just hours ago. Twice. Three times if you count the bathroom incident.
His eyes twinkle when he reaches me, genuine excitement that I’m here.
“Yeah,” I say quietly as I stand. He slaps his hand into mine and tugs me to his chest. I eye Ariana over his shoulder, curled up on that chair, eyes daring me to make it any more obvious that something has changed.
I clear my throat, pulling away. “I need a coffee.”
Arden smiles in greeting. I give her shoulder a little pat as I move to pass her, like an awkward idiot who wants to be anywhere else besides with these three people.
“I’d love a coffee!” Ariana says, jumping to her feet like I invited her along.
Lord, give me strength.
“Ari,” Carter warns, dropping into the seat I had just been occupying.
I glance back at her, waiting for her now. What else am I supposed to do?
She shoots her brother a look. “What? A girl can’t be caffeinated in this day and age?”
He stares at her, bored and bothered. “Give it a rest, alright?”
She smiles, spinning on her heel as she takes off toward the coffee shop without pausing for me to join her. Carter’s eyes slowly meet mine. He shakes his head, all apologetic, like she’s a problem and he pities me for having to deal with her.
If only he knew.
I wave it off, like she’s not a bother, because she isn’t. I’m the fucking problem. I follow that thick head of blonde hair until I’m standing beside her in line.
We both stare at the menu, not looking at each other and not speaking.
“If I don’t keep flirting with you, he’ll know,” is all she says. It’s quiet. Nervous. “I’m sorry if it’s making you uncomfortable. He’ll pick up on it.”
Shit. She’s probably right.
I dip my chin. “Trust me, sweetheart. I wish this didn’t have to be uncomfortable for either of us.”
It’s quiet for a couple of seconds. “I’m sorry you missed your flight.”
“Not your fault,” I say, glancing at her.
She meets my eyes, shrugging a bit. “Kind of is, though.”
It’s the way she looks at me. It’s always been the way she fucking looks at me.
I breathe a laugh. “Both of our faults, then.”
