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After twenty hours in the air and a three-hour layover in Paris, I’ve run out of insults with which to call myself. I had the perfect woman, and I let her slip through my fingers.
“Man, enough already with the pity party,” Archie says, cutting into my thoughts as we disembark at JFK. “Yeah, you’ve been a boneheaded monkey…” Boneheaded monkey! I’ll add that to my list. “…but once we get back to Berkeley, LA will be only a short trip away. Fly down there and woo the lady all over again. If she fell for it once…”
We follow the directions toward our connecting flight, turning down a hall, then another, until we reach our terminal.
Archie bumps into me on purpose, prompting me to scold him. “Can you please be serious for once in your life?”
“Nah, you’re grim enough for the both of us,” Archie says, and points at a bar just below the departures board. “How about some overpriced Italian coffee?”
We sit at the counter, and I let him order for me as well. “One espresso for me, and a double for my friend.”
The bartender nods and, with efficient, practiced motions that seem second nature to him, grinds the coffee beans, loads the black powder into the shiny coffee machine, and brews away.
He serves Archie first, and when he places my mug in front of me, he asks, “Need that extra kick, huh?”
The last thing I want is to discuss my problems with a total stranger, so I give him a noncommittal grunt in reply.
The guy seems to take the hint and walks away to busy himself with the drying of glasses or other bartender-y stuff. But Archie calls to him, “Excuse my friend, he’s having a bit of a hard time.”
“Bad work trip?” the bartender asks.
“No, man,” Archie replies. “The other thing.”
“Ah, a woman, then.”
“What else?”
They share a knowing stare, half-serious, half-mocking, at my expense.
I scowl at Archie for spilling the beans about my private life, then drink my coffee in brooding silence. I won’t be baited into talking.
“Ah,” the guy behind the counter sighs. “All my patrons today seem to be suffering from woes of the heart.”
“Really?” Archie asks.
Apparently, my friend is in a chatty mood. How fun for me.
“Yeah, a woman just left after telling me the most incredible story about naked archeologists, jungle treasure quests, ex-Special Forces gone rogue…”
My ears prickle at that, and suddenly all the exhaustion of the long journey evaporates out of me, steamed out by the bartender’s words.
“Was she tall, with white-blonde hair?” I interrupt. “The woman?”
“Yeah, why? Oh my gosh.” His eyes widen as he stares at me. “You’re Logan!”
I jump off the stool with such force I send it tumbling to the floor. “How long ago did she leave?”
The bartender checks his watch. “Not twenty minutes ago, man; you should be able to catch her if you run.”
“You know what flight she was on?”
“American Airlines, I think.” He glances up at the departures screen. “They’ve just started boarding.”
I follow his gaze to the big board with all the flights listed in orderly rows, scanning furiously for Winter’s flight. There! American Airlines to LAX, gate 46.
“Thank you, man,” I say, already taking my first step backward. If I had the time, I’d jump behind the bar and kiss the guy. But I don’t have a second to spare. I won’t screw this up again. “Archie, can you—”
“I’ve got it covered, Logie Bear,” he says. “Go!”
