Page 7 of Feel It in the Air

She scoffs again, a move I’m finding to almost be her signature in our short time together, those green eyes flaring wide. She shakes her head, my insides easing even more waiting for her comeback. I haven’t felt this relaxed in…I don’t even know. For as much as my siblings tease me for being uptight and grumpy, I’m feeling anything but sitting here right now. And all because of this woman.

“I miss this,” she comments, scrunching her nose. “Californians just don’t get it.”

“Californians?”

She nods. “Yeah, that's where I'm going to school. And the magic of the SEC is lost on them. Nothing like Saturdays in the fall in the South.”

I raise my glass to her. “Got that right. Does that mean you want to move back to the South after you graduate?”

“If I can. Will depend on job offers of course. I have an internship lined up for this year with a really well-known and well-respected firm in my target discipline, so we’ll see what happens. But the last couple of years have taught me that the only LA I want to be in is Louisiana.”

She turns up her natural accent as she says Louisiana, sending a thrill through me. The air crackles around us, the rest of the bar falling away. In this moment, it’s just the two of us. Gone are the two obnoxiously loud ladies taking up too much room to Marlo’s right, or the weird-smelling hipsters behind me. The family with the screaming toddler banging his hands on the table fades into the background, nothing more than a faint noise.

All I can do is hope that she feels it too.

Marlo’s phone vibrates, but she ignores it, keeping her focus on me. “Gus, I’m going to ask you a question, and our entire future hinges on the answer.”

Our entire future? Okay, now my interest is piqued. I lift my eyebrows, ready for her question, leaning in closer.

“I’m serious,” she repeats.

“I’m ready…”

The rattle of her phone against the wood rings out, upping the anticipation of the moment, but she continues to ignore it. Her gaze is squared on me, her stony features still, except for a dance of impishness in those beautiful green irises.

“When you make the bed, do you use a top sheet? Or are you a complete heathen?”

Marlo I-don’t-know-your-last-name-yet, I think I might love you.

“Top sheet. Always. Who doesn’t use a top sheet?”

A couple of my brothers, that’s who, but I leave that part out of my answer. No need to kill whatever this magic is between us by bringing them up.

“Heathens! But you’ve passed the test.”

My heart sings, loving that more than I can say.

Another rattle of her phone, this one stealing our attention.

“You might want to check that,” I tell her, nodding at the device.

She sighs, acquiescing with a shrug of one shoulder. Breaking eye contact for the first time in minutes, she grabs her phone, and I feel the loss instantly. As if a tether has been ripped from my soul, yanking it farther and farther away. That feeling only intensifies as Marlo goes rigid, gasping.

“Shit!”

“What?”

Leaping from her chair, she frantically starts gathering her things. She’s a whirlwind of movement, all limbs and flailing making it hard to keep up.

“My flight’s boarding. And they changed my gate. It’s at the other end of the terminal now. I gotta go.”

Shit…

“I’m so sorry. I…”

She reaches into her bag, pulling out her wallet, but I stop her.

“Nope, these were on me, remember?”