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stop worrying. Go!
Her bestie knew her too well. She pushed herself to standing and gathered up her carry-on bag, then headed out to the taxi ranks. She felt jittery, with too many questions and unknowns bouncing around in her brain. But Lena wouldn’t send a horrible person to come pick her up at the airport. Nor would an awful human being volunteer to fly for several hours to pick up a friend of a friend. She would find her way to this aerodrome and she’d meet up with this stranger. Someday it would all be a jolly little holiday travel mishap story she’d tell for laughs. Later, once it was all over and she’d survived, it would be a fun memory. Meanwhile, she was having an adventure. Maybe it was more of an adventure than she’d planned on, but as she selected a car on the Uber app, she decided she was just going to have to be flexible and roll with it.
She couldn’t help smilingwhen her Uber driver greeted her with, “G’day!” Between that and the hot summer weather—so different from the foggy winter she’d left behind in San Francisco—it was the first time she truly felt like she was in another country and not just an airport.
Once her driver figured out she was an American on holiday, he kept up a steady patter, asking her questions about her trip and her plans. It was a relief, because at least it kept her mind off Lachie and his private not-a-jet.
“You’re going to be in Bindarra Creek the whole time?” The older man met her gaze in the rear-view mirror, which had a reindeer ornament dangling from it. “Not much to do out that way, is there?”
She laughed. “I don’t even know. But it’s enough, to get to see my best friend.”
“You sure you don’t want to go round the other way?” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder as he prepared to pull onto the motorway. “Then I could take you to see the Opera House at least.”
“I’m afraid I’ve got a flight to catch.” Except unlike a normal flight, she had no idea when her departure time was. Her stomach twisted at the thought.
In the end, it took less than thirty minutes to get to the cinderblock building that said it was the Bankstown Passenger Terminal. She felt almost forlorn, as her driver pulled away from the curb, leaving her standing on the walkway to the small building. She checked her phone. No new messages.
She saved the contact Lena had shared with her and then fired off a text to Lachie.
Hey there! This is Carissa, Lena’s friend. I’m here outside the Bankstown Terminal. Do I go in?
She waited. And waited. The message stayed on ‘delivered’ and no reply came. On the one hand, she appreciated the fact that if Lachie was flying, his focus was where it was supposed to be. But on the other hand, she had no idea what she was supposed to do or how long she should expect to wait. Well, she could play the Foolish American Tourist if she had to and ask the ticket agent all the dumb questions about how to check in for a flight that may or may not exist.
She took a deep breath, pulled her shoulders back, and marched for the doors.
She didn’t know what she’d been expecting. Something like a regular airport terminal, but smaller. Instead, she walked into a mostly deserted room, with zero ticket agents or security personnel. It was how she imagined airports had been, before 9/11. There were a handful of people scattered around the space, which was filled with very upright faux wood chairs and a smattering of what she thought of as ‘institutional lounge furniture.’ She chose one of the unoccupied seating clusters—two armchairs across from an uncomfortable looking, sturdily upholstered loveseat—and sank into the couch, suddenly overtaken by exhaustion. She checked her phone one more time. Still no new messages. She scrolled to Lena’s number.
Made it to the Aerodrome. No sign of Mr. Devine
That done, she pocketed her phone and closed her eyes. She’d just rest for a minute.
The next thing she knew,there was something large, warm, and heavy on her arm. A hand.
“Don’t touch me!” She startled hard, into a confused wakefulness, her surroundings completely unfamiliar. Where the heck was she? She struggled upright before she’d even processed who the hand was attached to. Australia. She was in Australia. And there was no one in the entire country—no, continent!—who should be touching her. Especially not a man.
A tall, sandy-haired, broad shouldered man, who was now holding both hands up, as if in surrender, and backing away from her. He was dressed casually, in shorts and a T-shirt. How long had she been asleep? She’d closed her eyes only a few minutes ago, right? Definitely not long enough for her rescue pilot to arrive. The man had to be another passenger, waiting in the practically empty terminal. Ugh. She pulled out her phone, and nearly dropped it when she saw the time. She’d been asleep for over an hour. But when she checked her messages, there was no reply from Lachie. Her message still just said ‘delivered.’
“Pardon me. I’m so sorry, but…” He was speaking—had been speaking the whole time, she realised—in that Australian accent that glossed over r’s. It somehow made him sound friendly, even when he’d been grabbing her arm and shaking her awake. Or maybe it was the huffing, bemused laugh barely contained behind his words that did that. Or the way his bright, sparkling eyes met hers. The man was undeniably attractive, with even features and just the right amount of muscles. Biceps and pecs that his slim fitting black T-shirt clung to. Not that she cared. Especially not when she noticed what was on his T-shirt: a picture of Santa Claus emblazoned on the front with the words ‘Big Nick Energy.’
She snorted. Of course a man who looked like that would be cocky and wouldadvertiseit. “I’m sorry, but who let you out of the house like that?”
“Like what?” He looked genuinely confused.
“Wearing a shirt with a dick joke on it.”
He glanced down at his shirt, his cheeks flushed. “My cat?” Of coursehe would say something like that.
She shot him her death stare. “Seriously? Your cat? Does your girlfriend know you talk about her like that?”
“No! I don’t—” He ran his palm over his mouth. “Truly, I have a real, actual cat, not a girlfriend. I didn’t mean anything else. Look.” He met her glare with the most puppy-dog eyes that had ever puppy-dogged. “I’m just here to pick you up.”
That had to be the worst pick up line ever. Leave it to a man to interrupt her nap to try to flirt. Repeatedly. Badly. Well, she was not having it.
2
IN A TWINKLING
Lachlan didn’t understand how he’d so completely botched things.
