I pulled the heavy roller bag behind me through the gently falling snow, tucking my keys into the zipped pocket on the side of my purse. For me, travel was a finely tuned system. A system that worked because I planned carefully, arrived with plenty of time to spare, and knew how to navigate an airport. Travel was also a necessity, since my job required me to roll in and out of as many airports in a month as most people saw in a lifetime.
I hopped on the shuttle from the economy lot to the terminal, peering out the big windows as the snow came down in thicker flakes, beginning to stick to the landscape passing outside. I hoped there wouldn’t be a problem getting out as I leaned back into the seat, checking my phone one last time. My work email confirmed that there was nothing on fire. I’d seen to it that everything would run smoothly in my absence, and not much really happened around the holidays anyway. I was clear to check out for a full week, and I looked forward to getting home to see my mom and my sister. All was going according to plan.
“Headed home for Christmas?” An old woman next to me on the shuttle smiled with an expectant nod.
“I am,” I said, smiling back. “For the first time in a couple years, actually.”
“That’s wonderful.” The woman leaned back in her seat, and then looked over at me again. “I’m going to meet my new grand baby!” Her excitement was clear, and I cooed and nodded as she pulled out a photo of a chubby baby with big blue eyes.
As we arrived at the terminal, the snow was falling in heavy clumps, sticking to my coat and bag, and becoming slick and icy on the ground. I leapt to the curb as a loud crash sounded just to my right. One car had rear-ended another, probably thanks to the slippery road, which was quickly turning to a sheet of ice. I glanced around, my nerves on edge as the snow seemed to be coming down ever more heavily. I could barely see through the thick white blanket descending over the airport terminal. I assured myself that this was not going to ruin my plans. I had good airport karma. Today would be no different. Just because I’d planned this trip at the last minute, just because until three weeks ago I’d believed I would be spending Christmas in Vail, with Paul … I shook my head. No, this would be fine. The snow would stop. It could not go on like this for more than a few minutes.
The ticket counter was just ahead as I stepped into the warmth of the terminal. Amid the blare of announcements and gate calls, Christmas music filtered through the air and I took a deep breath. I was going home for Christmas. Everything would be fine. I was not heartbroken. I was not worried about anything. I. Was. Fine.
The weather outside certainly is frightful, I agreed as the music played. But I’d arrived with plenty of time to spare, and there was no way the snow could continue to dump down at the insane pace it was keeping now, so things would undoubtedly be fine. I had flown everywhere and often, and was proud to say that in all my travels, I’d had fantastic luck. I’d never missed a flight, never had one cancelled, and never been delayed by more than a few hours. Travel was my thing. I was good at it, and it was good to me.
“Hello.” I offered my brightest smile to the man behind the ticket counter. “I’m on the 2:30 to Portland.”
The man smiled and shook his head, looking doubtful. “I hope it goes, miss. We’ll get you checked in at least.”
“It’ll go. I’ve never had a flight cancelled,” I said, trying to sound confident. I was not reassured by the thick layer of snow that had already covered the overhead windows, blocking the light and casting a dark pall over the ticket counter.
“I’ve got my fingers crossed for you,” he said, handing me a boarding pass. “As of right now, it’s going. Checking baggage?”
“Never,” I said. This was not my first rodeo. Having my bag lost on Christmas Eve was not the way I planned to spend the holiday. And if I was known for one thing, it was impeccable planning. “Thanks!”
I wheeled my way to security, surprised how few other travelers were waiting in line with me. Very few people lingered at the ticket counters or the self-service machines in the atrium. The whole airport had taken on a ghostly feeling since I’d walked in. Not that many people traveled on Christmas Eve, I guessed. At least not from this tiny airport in Maryland.
Once I was all checked in, I sat expectantly at the gate. I was used to navigating crowds, being the one who knew where all the under-visited coffee stands and restrooms were, the girl who could flit through the mass of warbling wandering humanity that airports always seemed to hold. But today, none of that was necessary. The gates were even more deserted than the ticket counters had been. It was starting to freak me out.
I read for a while, and was just about to get the vanilla latte I always carried onboard when the unthinkable happened.
The crackling PA system came to life. “Flight 2380 to Portland has been cancelled. Please see the gate agent for details if you are in the boarding area.”
“Seriously? No.” I stood and approached the disheveled woman behind the counter. There were two other travelers waiting in front of me, and the gate agent I approached had a wild-eyed panicky aura about her and a sparkly reindeer pin hanging to her lapel by only a few threads. I stifled the urge to fix it for her. I might have my own problems if this flight really was cancelled.
“We’ll get you on the next flight out,” the woman told them all. “But I don’t know when that will be. Nothing’s coming in or out for a while.”
We all turned and stared out the window. The snow was falling so fast and so heavily that it was already forming gentle drifts outside the terminal windows.
“There must be something going out,” I told the agent. “What’s the next flight leaving here? We can connect from there. Which gate?” I fought to maintain the calm required for navigating unexpected situations while traveling. Things happened. I flexed. It was what I did.
The agent stared at me, and then shook her head. “Nothing’s going out.” She said the words slowly, enunciating in case maybe I was slow. “The last flight just got out, but the snow’s coming down so hard nothing else will be going until it slows.”
“I’ve flown out in snow before.” I felt like stamping my feet and screaming at the woman, but I kept on my best traveling smile. Things didn’t happen faster when people got angry. In fact, I had found the opposite to be true. “Right?” I asked, looking around for someone to agree with me. “Snow doesn’t stop a plane.”
“No, but when the snow is so heavy that more than half of the passengers still haven’t checked in by boarding time,” the woman said. “That will ground a plane. How in the world did you make it in? You must have connected here from another city this morning before it started.”
“I live here,” I said. “I drove here. It was snowing, but …” My voice trailed off and I shook my head. It had been snowing. But not too hard. Not while I drove, at least. But I thought about the thick snow that had started as I was walking in. I wouldn’t have wanted to drive for very long in that. I probably wouldn’t have been able to. “What should we do?” I asked, realizing that the other passengers were waiting for an answer too. I had become the unofficial spokesperson for travelers not going to Portland this afternoon.
This was why living in a place where a tiny regional airport was the best bet wasn’t a good idea. This was why I needed to seriously think about moving.
“Wait a while, I guess,” the woman said. “Maybe it’ll stop and things will be better tonight.”
“But it’s Christmas Eve,” said the portly balding man next to me, evoking sympathy inside me I didn’t know I was still capable of feeling after Paul had smashed all my emotions two days ago.
I nodded, though I knew that pointing out the obvious wouldn’t help.
“For me, too,” the gate agent said bitterly. “Listen for announcements.”
I turned from the gate and stared out into the almost empty terminal around me, feeling my confidence deflate. I walked a bit, headed to the coffee shop to get my coffee, and then sank down into a booth in the back after I’d ordered. I should have known something like this would happen, despite my usual travel luck.
Life was not going my way lately.
“Tall Americano,” someone said, the customer’s deep rich voice rolling back toward me from the counter.
At least I wasn’t completely alone.
I couldn’t help but crane my neck to see who owned the warm resonant voice that had cut through my melancholy for a moment. I caught sight of a tall man with a head of dark wavy hair and a gorgeous pair of amber eyes. He glanced back at me, winked, nodded a hello and then turned away.
Wait, did he just wink at me? Who does that? It had happened fast and seemed so natural that I’d almost missed it. But that man had definitely winked. I felt uncomfortable, and oddly flushed. Whatever.
I returned my attention to the tablet before me on the table. According to the weather service, the snow was not going to stop tonight. It was forecast to taper off early the next morning. It did not seem like I would be headed home for the holiday after all. Not in time for Christmas Eve or morning, anyway.
I slouched back into the booth and let the hurt and depression I’d been holding at bay come flooding in. I stared down at the forecast, and felt the tears start to gather. I’d planned the trip at the last minute, after Mom had let me know that Nana wasn’t doing well. And while most of my holidays in the past few years had been spent on exotic ski trips with Paul, my very ex-fiancé, those plans had been cancelled this year—at the last minute—under extremely infuriating circumstances.
“Excuse me.” The girl from behind the counter suddenly stood before me, holding a plate with a chocolate cupcake on it. She set the plate down before me.
I wiped at my eyes, sniffing and pulling myself together. “I didn’t order this.”
“I know. The guy after you did. He said you looked like you needed some chocolate.” The girl smiled and shrugged before turning away.
What the hell? I thought. First the winking, and now this?
I scanned the other tables for the winking guy I’d noticed a few minutes ago. I was alone except for the poor girl who had to work the coffee counter. I stared at the cupcake, mocking me with its chocolaty perfection from the glass plate. I resolved not to eat it. I didn’t need to add any more pounds to my already curvy figure, and I’d done plenty of reactionary eating in the few days since Paul had ended things. His mention that I’d ‘let myself go’ definitely wasn’t doing anything for my self esteem. And I hadn’t, anyway. I weighed exactly what I did the day he met me. Jerk. I eyed the cupcake suspiciously.
Maybe I can just taste the frosting, I thought, pushing a finger into the white fluffy top, which was sprinkled with bits of peppermint candy. Mmmmm. I licked my finger. Oh god, that was good.
There was no way I could ignore the cupcake now. Diet be damned, I’d have to at least taste the chocolate. I pulled a big chunk off, licking the frosting before pushing it between my lips.
Where did they get these things? I’d have to find out. No, no I wouldn’t. If I found out where they made these unearthly concoctions of chocolate crack, then I’d only end up frequenting the place and then I’d have to upsize my entire already-tight wardrobe to accommodate my new cupcake habit. This was a slippery slope. A deliciously sugary slippery slope.
I devoured the cupcake, pressing the remaining crumbs into my finger and greedily nibbling them off. The chocolate did make me feel better, actually. I finished up the last few crumbs and then realized I was no longer quite alone here in the back of the shop. I looked up into the amber eyes I’d spotted a few minutes before. Mr. Americano. The buyer of the cupcake. God, he was almost as yummy as the treat he’d sent me.
“That was fun to watch,” he said, a wide smile revealing not quite perfect white teeth. And what was it about his speech? Was that a hint of a brogue?
I sat up straighter, wiping furiously at my mouth and fingers with a napkin. “Did you send that?” It was a ridiculous question. I knew he did, but had no idea what to say.
“You looked like chocolate might help. Was it good?”
“It was ungodly.” I smiled, sure I had chocolate in my teeth. “Thank you, I guess I did need it.”
“Glad I could help.” The stranger smiled again and then shifted his weight to leave.
“I’m Dixie.” I shot out my hand without thinking about what exactly I intended to see happen now. He’d been friendly, that was probably it. But since we were both stranded—at least for a bit—maybe he’d sit and keep me company. I didn’t want to be alone. I’d kept myself purposefully busy since everything had happened with Paul, and sitting alone for hours waiting for the weather to clear in an airport on Christmas Eve, would certainly do nothing good for my disintegrating mood.
“I’m Brogan,” he said, shaking my hand firmly. “Is it too early to say Merry Christmas?”
“Probably not. But I’m not sure how merry it’ll be.” I smiled, but I knew it was a bad attempt at cheer. “Where were you headed?”
“Home,” he said. “I’d hoped to see my parents, but I guess I should’ve left a few days earlier. I’m not really a planner.” He slid into the seat across from me and then shot me a sheepish look, the dimples in his cheeks deepening as he smiled. “I guess I should have asked if I could join you.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “I’m happy for the company, actually. Where’s home, then?”
“Ireland. But my parents are living in San Francisco now. Where are you heading?”
“Portland.”
“Home?”
“Yeah.” I found that I couldn’t pull my eyes from Brogan’s as he spoke. His voice was rich and low, and something about the way he looked at me made me feel like the only person in the room. Of course I was just about the only person in the room. I searched for something to say, but Brogan seemed content to just sit and smile at me with his delicious light chocolate smiling eyes.
The thing was, I was no good at silence. And the longer we sat, the more desperate I became for something to say. My conversational desperation, mixed with the almost-fallen tears and the impending chocolate buzz had me feeling a little off. “Last minute kinda guy, huh?”
Oh, that was intelligent.
“’Fraid so. Whenever I try to plan things, they don’t seem to work out. I find that it’s better to just let the universe guide me along.”
I shook my head. I couldn’t disagree more. “How’s that working out for you tonight?”
Brogan chuckled, a low rumble that wrapped itself around something inside me and made me feel both calmer and more on edge.
“This is the first time I’ve taken a trip on a whim, without loads of planning, and here I am. I think this is a pretty solid score for planning.”
“If we’d planned this trip months ago, we’d still be sitting here now, Dixie.” He winked. And his use of my name made something inside me flipped upside down and then right itself just as fast, but left my pulse pumping. What’s with all the winking?
That accent. Those eyes. The winking. I actually winced. He was too handsome and too hot. And in a minute, he’d walk away and I just didn’t know if I could handle another relationship ending so soon after everything with Paul. I mean, of course this wasn’t a relationship, per se. But in a way it was. He was hot. And he’d bought me a cupcake. And winked at me. He had already shown me about the same amount of affection as Paul had in the last few months of our relationship, and I’d only known Brogan about ten minutes.
Get a grip. I’m totally losing it. “I suppose you have a point.” I smoothed my hair and tried to pull myself together. No, this was not a relationship. This was a conversation centered around baked goods and this man’s total inability to plan. It would never work out. If we dated, I’d end up fat and late. Not a good combo.
“Sometimes spontaneity is a good thing. You never know what might be right around the corner if you just open yourself up to it.” There was that smile again.
Damn him for being so ridiculously cute and buying me a cupcake and then planning to saunter off to wherever hot Irish guys hung out when stranded in airports. “Maybe you’re right.” He was not right. Planning was my middle name. I mean, not literally.
I straightened myself up, preparing for the inevitable departure of the hunk sitting across from me. “Well, good luck to you Brogan. Thanks for the chocolate.”
Brogan leaned forward and squinted his eyes at me as he smiled. “I think I’ve been dismissed,” he said, amusement making his eyes twinkle. “Well then,” he slid that long delicious-looking body out of the booth and stood. “It was wonderful to meet you. Enjoy your holiday, Dixie.” He touched my hand on the tabletop as he told me goodbye, and when he turned and strode out of the coffee shop, his jeans clinging just perfectly to an obviously well-muscled behind, my hand warmed and tingled as if he’d left a bit of magic dust behind.
Problem solved. I’d just chased away the most interesting man I’d met in at least a year. Not that relationships founded in airports based on chocolate and delays had much promise. Not that I would know, actually.
As soon as he was gone, the depression settled back in, and I began to wonder if I should get another cupcake for myself. The first one had brought a handsome Irish man with it. But a second one would probably only result in a sugar coma and a painfully tight waistband.
I sighed. Maybe it had been a mistake saying goodbye like that. It seemed like maybe he’d been intending to stay. But no, I thought, he would have gone his own way sooner or later, and the more my desperate mind attached to him, the harder it would have been. I’d only sensed some kind of spark because I was hurt and dejected and my romantic compass was all twisted around. Maybe it was broken forever.
I decided to walk the terminal. After all, I’d just ingested at least eight hundred calories in coffee and cake. And my Spanx were becoming somewhat constrictive under the red sweater dress I wore. Best to move around a bit. I wheeled my bag back out of the coffee shop and turned to walk the long terminal, my strides sure and confident.
I walked up and down the terminal several times, using my best big city walk—head held high, knee boots carrying me in long decisive strides like I was on my way to an important meeting. I looked straight ahead and pretended not to be scanning the gates for any signs of an Irishman with dark, gloriously wavy hair and a killer smile. I wasn’t looking for him, not really, and so when I spotted his long legs stretched out before him at gate 21, I purposely looked the other way as I passed, pretending that the newsstand ahead was drawing my attention. And when I turned at the end of the terminal and walked quickly back, passing 21 again, I checked my phone as I strode by, glancing only once out of the corner of my eye to see that Brogan was still there, reading the paper. The third time I passed, my already crappy mood deflated further. Gate 21 was empty. No hot Irishmen anywhere.
I let myself really look that time, scanning the empty seating area for a long minute, which was probably why I didn’t notice him standing smack in front of me. And why I bowled straight into him at full ramming speed.
His long solid arms caught me and stopped me from sending both of us flying. “Careful there, love!” He was laughing as he righted me, and then he took a step back, that handsome grin lighting the area around me with a warm glow and sending my panties to the floor. Okay, not really, but man—this was the definition of a panty-dropping smile.
“Why are you standing in the middle of the walkway?” I was angry, but mostly at myself. He’d surely seen me scanning for him like a girl with a desperate crush. But I was also a tad bit annoyed that he had stood there, certainly knowing I’d run right into him. Or was annoyed really the right word? He’d put himself there, and waited for me to crash into him. Maybe I was a bit more flattered than annoyed. Still, there were better ways to get me back into conversation.
“Just testing.” He winked again.
“Testing what?”
“I thought I might’ve gone invisible.”
That was it. He was insane. I knew there had to be something wrong with him. No man could be that hot and have a perfect sexy accent, too. I raised an eyebrow. “No, not invisible. Just standing right in the way.”
“Well, see, you walked by twice and clearly didn’t see me over there trying to catch your attention, so I wondered if maybe I’d gone invisible.”
“I saw you.”
“Ah, did you now? But I saw you too, and you were pretending not to see me, I think. So I thought I’d just make it a bit harder for you to pretend.”
“I wasn’t pretending. I was, uh, walking. For exercise. After the chocolate and all.” What was this guy’s game? I felt the flush rising over my chest and up my neck.
Brogan stood just a tad closer than was polite, and some heady man-scent was wafting around him, making me dizzy and confused.
“I see.”
“Why did you want me to see you?” I asked, swallowing my pride.
“We’re the only two people alive in the airport. I guess I was a bit lonely.”
I stepped back, out of the reach of Brogan’s cloud of seductive scent. What was that, anyway? “We aren’t the only two people here.” I nodded at the portly bald man sprawling over four chairs at my gate and then pointed beyond him to another woman quietly reading. “And that isn’t exactly a compliment, you know.”
“What’s not?”
“That you hoped I might come over because I’m the only other person here. That’s kind of like saying that I’d be your last choice of people to hang out with if there were any other choices.”
Brogan shook his head quickly, the amber eyes crinkling at the corners. “That isn’t what I meant at all,” he said. “No, love. I hoped you would say hello because I actually wanted to stay and talk back at the coffee shop, but you excused me so quickly. I thought maybe you’d changed your mind and that we could spend our wait together.”
“What for?” I cringed as soon as the words were out. Here was a gorgeous man asking to spend time with me at a time when I literally had nothing else to do, and I was acting like a suspicious wench. One who could hardly form a coherent thought, thanks to the combination of the guy’s magical cologne and his God-given good looks. I blamed Paul. He’d made me relationship-challenged.
Brogan winced a bit. “What for?” he repeated. “You’re a bit of a straight shooter, aren’t you Dix?”
Oh God, he called me Dix. I had a soft spot for handsome men who called me Dix. Truth be told I had a soft spot for handsome men, period. But the assumed familiarity of the nickname … well, that was a whole other level of attraction.
“I’ll tell you the truth,” Brogan said. “I was headed home today, not looking terribly forward to the holiday. And then I saw you in the coffee shop over there, and something about you seemed to glow, and I wanted to meet you. And then when I did, and you had that wonderful sexy voice and that gorgeous smile, I wanted to stay and get to know you. And now I see you marching up and down the terminal in this clingy red dress, walking like a woman on some kind of mission, and I just found myself scrambling for an excuse to talk to you.”
I think my mouth dropped open somewhere toward the beginning of Brogan’s little speech and I took the opportunity to shut it, having no idea how to respond.
“And Dixie, I was just hoping that maybe if I stood here and got your attention again, you might decide that it would be okay to come to the bar just over there and let me buy you a drink.” Brogan pointed over his shoulder to the bar on the corner of the terminal.
I still couldn’t figure out what to say, but listening to that much of Brogan’s accent all at once had my insides melting and my knees near to buckling. I could pretend to be angry or indignant, or whatever it was I’d been pretending to be a few moments ago, but in reality, I would go just about anywhere he asked me to. I nodded.
“Yes? A drink, then?” A sexy grin spread across Brogan’s face, revealing the dimples on either side of his sculpted lips.
“Yes,” I managed.