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“Alright.” I move out onto the front step and pull my front door shut, locking it behind me. “I’m ready.”
My suitcase has wheels on the bottom and a handle that telescopes out the top to make it easy to drag around. But Hans doesn’t use either of those features. He just carries it by the top handle, all the way down my driveway, across the road, and up to his truck.
He makes it look easy. Whereas I’m already starting to sweat just from carrying my backpack. Which is also filled to the max.
I’m an over packer. It’s just who I am.
Hans’s truck is still parked in his driveway, and he stops at the rear passenger door, opening it.
The back seat is small, a bench style, like up front, with a small amount of leg room.
After setting my suitcase on the seat, he turns and holds out his hand for my backpack.
I slip it off one shoulder, and before I can get it down the second, Hans grabs the strap and lifts it off me.
This feels so… intimate. Which is weird considering—I glance at his closed garage door—what we did last night.
But now, with the sun breaking over the horizon, surrounding us with light instead of total darkness, this feels very relationship-y.
“Up.” Hans’s voice snaps me out of my daze, and I find he’s already opened my door for me.
As Hans drives us out of the neighborhood, my anxiety about traveling starts to hit me.
I’m not a terrible flier. I don’t hate planes, but I also don’t ever look forward to boarding one. And leaving the country by myself adds another level of stress. I know I’ll be meeting my coworkers when I land, but I’ll still have to navigate customs alone, and I’ve never had to do that before.
I force my lungs to fill steadily and watch the world pass out the window while we ride in silence.
If I’m being completely honest, I’d admit that I’m pretty nervous about this trip.
I like to be prepared, so when my company announced this sales meeting and where it was being held, I did a search online. Mostly to check the weather so I knew how to dress, but I also like to see what a place is famous for. Maybe a certain type of food. Or a landmark. There’s always something.
And it didn’t take more than five seconds to find what this place is famous for.
Violence.
The city is famous for freaking violence.
I swallow.
I’d been so tempted to tell my parents—so I could have someone to share my worries with—but if I did that, they would’ve lost it. And I don’t need them panicking the whole time I’m gone.
Plus, it’s not like I can just refuse to go. It’s a mandatory trip. And I’m there representing human resources. How bad would it look if the head of HR doesn’t go because they’re scared but allows everyone else to go?
I can picture my mom now…“If everyone else jumps off a bridge, would you do it too?”
Well, yeah. If it’s between that and the unemployment line, I just might.
I blow out my breath.
There’s no way my company would be sending everyone there if it was actually dangerous. Those news stories were probably exaggerating.
I brush away a stray thread on my knee, then press my hands between my thighs.
I packed two outfits for each day—one business casual, one business fancy—since I’m not sure how dressed up people are going to be, which is another reason for the heavy luggage.
For today, I picked something in between—black pants, black flats, black silk shirt. The universally accepted all-black outfit of corporate life.
A large hand settles on my thigh. “You okay?”
