Chapter Fifty-Two
Michaela
More gum for descent.
Just landed, I texted Moira.
Only 15 min late, not bad. I’m parked nearby. They won’t let me stop at the doors long.
KK I’ll update when I get my suitcase.
“Talking to your ride?” Lincoln asked.
“Yup.”
The plane taxied to the gate. He unbuckled his belt as soon as we stopped. Most of the flight, one knee or the other had been bouncing. Guess you weren’t a drummer unless your energy was overflowing. But I had managed a bit of a nap after reading relaxed me.
First class was on first and off first, so Lincoln was pulling carryons out of the overhead bin as soon as they let us disembark. More gentlemanly manners.
He grunted as he set my bag down. “If that’s the weight of your carryon, I don’t know how you got that suitcase down the stairs.”
“Wheels.”
We shuffled through the aisle and out the door, getting the usual courtesy thank-you from the flight attendant for choosing this airline. A relief to get into the wider walkway.
I’d pulled my carryon about halfway down when someone slammed into me from behind and I stumbled sideways. Familiar hands caught me, bringing another flashback to last night.
“Watch it, asshole!” Lincoln yelled at the young man running for the terminal. “You okay?” He set me upright, but didn’t remove his touch immediately.
“Yeah,” I muttered.
Someone said excuse me to my left, breaking the moment, and I resumed course.
“That guy didn’t pickpocket, did he?” Lincoln asked.
I wore my purse cross-body. “No.” My pockets were already empty. “Just a jerk.”
“I don’t miss that part of L.A.,” he grumbled.
LAX was huge, so it was a bit of a walk to Baggage Claim. I moved quickly.
The past week would have cherished memories, but I needed a breather now.
My strides were no match for Lincoln’s long legs, though. He kept pace as we followed the directional signs to get to the right carousel to retrieve our flight’s luggage.
Of course, nothing had been spit out, yet.
I texted Mo an update. Other passengers arrived to wait as well. I sipped water.
“Michaela.”
“Hm?”
His fingers touched the underside of my chin. “What’s with the distance? I thought we were good. Last night—”
“Can we not do this here?” I whispered.
He stepped closer. “This isn’t about public embarrassment. Didn’t we have a good time this week, funeral not withstanding?”
“I’m sorry,” I murmured. “I don’t mean to be rude. I just…”
“What, sweetheart?”
Couldn’t keep contact with his emotive eyes. “I need space to deal with what’s been thrown at me.”
“And I already said I wasn’t going anywhere while you did.”
“Lincoln…patience can mean butting out.”
“Michaela, being present and supportive does not equal intrusive.”
The carousel whirred to life, gaining everyone’s attention, and the first bag went thump.
I returned to my phone, texting Moira that the first bag just dropped from the luggage chute, so hopefully this won’t take long. Then moved closer to the chute.
“We’ll be a while,” Lincoln said, catching up. “Last luggage on, first one out.”
My jaw dropped. “You mean mine will be one of the last to arrive?!”
“Probably.” He’d flown more recently than I had, so there was no reason to doubt his experience. “Might as well find a seat or somewhere to lean.”
Argh.
Hey, Mo, a more experienced passenger tells me the first bags on are the last off.
Sucks. I haven’t moved the car, though. Let me know when you find your suitcase.
The one blessing might be we didn’t have much of a crowd here. Could that mean a small number of passengers checked a bag for our flight?
Lincoln snagged the handle of a black garment bag. “Don’t worry, I’ll wait with you.”
Not that I asked him to. Sigh.
Lesson learned about being prompt and early.
He shared luggage-mishap stories while I waited for my suitcase, the bigger version of my carryon, including missing clothes before one gig and stolen stuff after another.
Then AHA! “Finally.” But he grabbed it faster than I could.
“Geeze, woman, did you make poor Thomas lift this in and out of his trunk?
“Shut up. And no, I didn’t make him do anything.”
Nor was it really that heavy.
Heading out, to Moira, then I grabbed the handles of my bags and marched for the doors. I wanted lunch and a nap, maybe not in that order, and to unpack the souvenirs for my people.
She must’ve gotten impatient, for I spotted her baby blue Toyota at the curb with its flashers on. My tall blonde BFF stood as I dodged other passengers. “Mic!”
Space in the crowd opened up and I jogged to the car. “I hate LAX.”
Her trunk lid was already popped, so we loaded my bags, then she hugged me. “I missed you!” Then something over my shoulder caught her eye. “Hello.”
“Hey,” a familiar warm, male voice said behind me. “You must be Moira.”
She grinned and hurried around the car. Oh no. “And you must be Lincoln Adams.”
A steadying breath, then I turned to them. “Mo, that officer is scowling at us.”
“Do you have a ride home, Lincoln?” She shook his hand.
No-no-no.
“Not yet. How about I buy you ladies brunch?”
Moira looked at me getting into the front passenger seat. “That is a very fair trade.”
The door behind me opened and I knew I couldn’t get away with any argument to leave him behind. Shit. This was the opposite of space.
“Michaela, would you mind giving me a little more leg room?” he asked in the sweetest, politest voice I’d ever heard him use. A tone he probably reserved for buttering up Abby.
I slid the seat one notch—maybe two inches.
“Thanks.”
Mo sat down and moved the shifter out of Park. “Let’s get out of this rat maze!”
Sunday traffic outside a holiday weekend wasn’t bad, thankfully. I’d heard horror stories about the creep just to get out of LAX and onto the streets.
“Where do you live, Lincoln?”
“Studio City.”
“Nice,” she replied. “Close enough for your work, right? We’re closer to Pasadena.”
“Really…all I’d heard was the Valley.”
Kill me now. This chat could not end in my favor.
She chuckled. “Not surprising. Mic keeps her cards close to the vest. But yeah, we grew up there and live as close as we can afford. You know how that is.”
Moira entered the onramp for the 405North.
“Do you have a favorite brunch spot? I’m open to anything,” he said cordially.
He loved this.
I might kill him later. “We really don’t have time. Lots to do after a week away.”
“Like what, laundry?” Mo countered. “Since when do we turn down a free meal?”
I glared at her. “I have somewhere to be.”
“Not until six. It’s not even noon now.”
She peppered him with questions about the music he’d played on.
I plucked the book out of my purse.