Thayer and I navigated the long-term parking garage interrupted only by the clack and rumble of our suitcases rolling along the uneven asphalt. As further proof that it is possible to argue about anything, we’d engaged in a heated disagreement about parking arrangements before even arriving.
She’d wanted to park further away and take the shuttle, while I’d insisted on parking at the more expensive lot within walking distance of the terminal. It wasn’t remotely worth saving ten dollars a day when taking the shuttle required waiting in the freezing cold for the bus, cramming in with tourists and screaming children en route to Disney. I was paying, so I didn’t know what it mattered to her. And since when was she so thrifty? It was rich coming from someone wearing designer sandals.
We came to a halt in front of the parkade elevator, sheltered by a delicate truce that threatened to fracture if one of us looked at the other the wrong way.
“Let’s do electronic check-in.” I reached over, hitting the elevator button.
Thayer’s pale blue eyes widened like I’d suggested I fly the plane myself. “What? No, we have to go to the counter.”
“Why? Doing it ourselves is faster.” The elevator doors popped open, and I followed her inside, pushing ‘G.’ Thayer positioned herself arms’ length away from me, facing forward.
“I don’t trust those computers. Last time I did that, something went wrong.”
“Did you miss your flight?”
“Worse,” she said. “I got stuck with a window seat. A window seat, Bennett.”
The elevator dropped sharply, taking with it my hopes of this trip going smoothly. First class for this airline only sat two across, and if Thayer was anti-window seat, that meant I would get stuck there instead. Not exactly ideal, given I was more than seven inches taller than her. Being unable to stretch out my legs in the aisle would make for a horribly cramped flight.
“What’s wrong with a window seat? I thought everyone liked those.” Maybe I could help her overcome this objection somehow. For my own sake.
She huffed. “For starters, it’s a logistical nightmare if you need to use the bathroom, which you should need to do several times throughout the flight if you’re drinking the recommended amount of water. Flying is dehydrating, you know.”
Raking a hand through her long espresso-brown hair, she took a breath and continued. “Not to mention, if there’s an emergency landing, you’ll be one of the last ones out if you’re stuck in a window seat. Which means you’ll burn to death or drown depending on the nature of the emergency. Long story short, window seats equal death.”
Well, that escalated quickly.
“Are you saying you’re claustrophobic, or…?”
“I just like to have some freedom of movement,” she snapped.
I held the elevator door for her. “Fine. Let’s go check in at the counter. We have plenty of time to kill.”
We entered the departures area through the revolving glass doors, checked the electronic directory, and headed up one level to the ticketing counter for Sunscape Airlines. At least with our hands occupied by luggage and no audience to convince, we didn’t have to bother with our lovey-dovey act. Which was perfect, because I was pretty sure both of us felt more like strangling the other person than snuggling them.
While the escalator carried us up to level two, Thayer fidgeted with the strap of her purse, starting to look restless. She’d flown hundreds of times before; when we were kids, her family went to Europe every summer and did Christmas break in the Bahamas every winter. She regularly visited her father in France, too. Surely, she wasn’t scared of flying. Then again, her window seat rant did seem to indicate otherwise. Either way, she was more tense than a presidential election recount.
The redheaded passenger service agent greeted us as we approached. “Welcome to Sunscape Airlines. Confirmation number and passports please?” Her name tag read Pamela, and her weary smile said she’d rather be anywhere but standing at this counter. Same here, Pamela, same here.
“BXZDEY,” I read from my phone’s electronic ticket. I pulled out my passport with our booking confirmation tucked inside, sliding it across the counter. Thayer rifled through her handbag and emerged with her passport, shoving it at me. I caught her eye and shot her a questioning look, but she quickly looked away, folding her arms against her body. To an outsider, she probably looked more like a kidnapping victim than someone headed to a ritzy beach resort.
I handed Thayer’s passport to Pamela, trying unsuccessfully to flip it open and sneak a peek of her passport photo in the process. Passport photos were always hilariously bad, and I was sure hers was no exception. I was also sure that was why she’d kept it tightly shut when she gave it to me. No matter, I’d get my hands on it eventually.
“Thank you.” Pamela propped open our passports and typed rapid-fire, completing our check-in. She glanced back up, eyebrows raised. “Special occasion? Honeymoon or anniversary?”
“Just a romantic getaway.” I reached over and gave Thayer a squeeze. She leaned into me, hugging me back while stepping on my toe with her foot. Hard. I poked her in the ribs in response, prompting a stifled yelp of laughter. If there was one thing she hated, it was being tickled. I’d pay for that later.
“Oh, lovely,” the agent said, keys clacking. “Where are you staying?”
“Las Ventanas al Paraiso.” I released Thayer, hoisting our luggage onto the weigh scale. My bag was only thirty-one pounds, but Thayer’s clocked in at a whopping forty-eight pounds, nearly maxing out the fifty-pound limit. What the hell was in there?
Pamela nodded approvingly. “I’ve heard it’s gorgeous there. My boss honeymooned there last year, and her pictures were to die for.” Turning away, she bent down to put on our baggage tags, lifting them onto the conveyor belt.
“Romantic getaway?” Thayer hissed, looking up at me. I leaned closer, pretending to nuzzle her ear, which was a mistake because she smelled good enough to eat for breakfast.
“You know Quinn and company could arrive at any moment, right?” I murmured.
Thayer looked over my shoulder, scanning the terminal behind me. Her pale blue eyes snapped back to meet mine, and she opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted by the agent handing us our passports and boarding passes.
“Security is down the hall and to your left,” Pamela said, flashing us a pleasant smile. “Have a safe flight.”
“Thank you,” we both said at the same time. But I was more concerned about my safety sitting next to Thayer than the flight itself. There was a decent chance she’d strangle me with an iPhone cord.
I moved to put the passports and tickets back into my suede duffle bag, but Thayer swooped in like a ninja and snatched her passport out of my hands before I could. She tucked it into her grey leather tote, zipping it shut.
“Don’t even think about it.”
“What?” I gave her an easy, lopsided grin and received a glower in return. Unfortunately, Thayer appeared to be largely immune to my charms. Well, except for whatever happened at her place the other night. I would have liked a replay of that but had no idea how to make it happen.
“You’re trying to sneak a peek at my passport photo.” She jutted her chin. “Don’t even act like you’re not.”
I didn’t respond because she was right. How was she on to me?
“You’re snoopy,” she added, like she’d read my mind for a second time. It was more than a little unnerving. What kind of witchcraft was this?
We navigated the glass-walled hallways of the airport, weaving between throngs of slower moving travelers. Which was all of them, actually, because she was traveling at an impressively fast speed for someone so much shorter than me.
“I prefer to think of it as inquisitive.”
“Ha. You mean nosy.” Thayer snorted, picking up the pace so we were speed-walking down the corridor, whizzing past everyone else ambling along in the same direction. Her heeled silver sandals clicked across the glossy tile flooring with each step. I couldn’t think of a more impractical choice for airport footwear, but they did make her legs look great.
“Maybe you’re just closed-off,” I countered. “How am I supposed to play the part when you’re keeping me at arms’ length like you do with everyone else?”
A tiny crease appeared in her brow, disappearing almost instantly. I would have missed it if I hadn’t been paying attention, but I had been. And besides that, I knew better than to go there with her. This was how she’d always been—slow to open up. It’s not like it was bad, necessarily, it was just frustrating to deal with sometimes. Like right now, when something was clearly eating away at her.
I swallowed, trickle of guilt seeping into my gut. “I didn’t mean—”
“I’m an open book,” she said flatly. “Anything you need to know, ask away.” But her speed said otherwise because she’d begun to walk even faster, practically running away from me.
“Why are you hurrying?” I asked, checking my watch as I quickened my strides to keep up. “We still have nearly three hours until we have to be at the gate.”
“I’m not. This is my normal walking sp—” Thayer skidded on the glossy white tile, losing her balance and tumbling into me. I caught her elbow with one hand, steadying her. She looked back up at me, eyes wide, and a pink flush started to spread across her cheeks.
Still holding her arm, I lowered my head and caught her gaze. I rubbed her skin gently with my thumb. “Thay, just level with me. Are you a nervous flier?”
“Of course not.”
“You seem awfully jittery for someone who’s heading for a relaxing vacation on a white sandy beach.”
Thayer hefted her carryon bag back onto her shoulder, pretending to look behind me. “I don’t love flying. That’s all.”
“You have a fear of flying, you mean.” My hand slid down to her waist, landing on the hem of her black tank top, and her posture softened a fraction.
Her blue eyes lifted to meet mine, vulnerability flashing behind them. “Call it what you want.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No.” She scrunched up her mouth, signature red lipstick perfectly applied even for flying at the crack of dawn. “Well…some food might help once we’re past security. And a massive coffee.”
“Done.”
We resumed walking at a more reasonable speed and turned down the hall, sidling into the winding security lineup. It was several dozen people deep and moving ahead at a slow shuffle; we weren’t the only ones trying to escape the dreary fall weather.
“Have you heard from Callaghan yet?” Thayer asked quietly.
The line moved forward, and we took a few steps, advancing in the queue. I looked over my shoulder, checking to ensure the rest of our party hadn’t shown up without us noticing. Fortunately, they hadn’t. It was probably too much to hope that they’d no-show altogether.
“No,” I said. “We don’t want to push it, given the situation.”
Her teeth sank into her crimson lower lip, expression turning pensive. “I was trying to think whether I knew anyone else that you could hit up for an investment, but everyone is being tight-fisted with their money right now. I mentioned it to Lola because she works with a lot of wealthy art collectors. She said she was going to see what she could do…” Thayer trailed off, and a flicker of emotion crossed her face that I couldn’t quite read. “I mean, so you crush Adam, obviously. I’d love to see him fail.”
“You and me both.” An unfamiliar feeling settled within me. Gratitude, maybe. Maybe even a grudging sense of trust, as difficult as that was for me to extend to her. “Thanks for trying. If you do find any leads, send them my way, and I’ll give you a finders’ fee.”
Thayer waved me off. “You don’t have to do that.”
It was an industry standard, but I wasn’t going to argue over it.
Security waved another handful of people ahead and we moved forward, nearly at the front of the line. I came to a stop before Thayer did and she bumped into me, immediately shuffling back two steps after our bodies made contact. The beeps and buzzes of the x-ray and wand scanners filled the silence between us.
“Do you want to grab a drink after this?” I asked. “You know, help take the edge off?”
“Drinks?” Thayer gave me a wry smile. “It’s not even eight in the morning.”
I elbowed her gently. “C’mon. We’re on vacation.”
For a moment, she looked like she was actually considering it. Getting drunk with her in the morning would be hugely entertaining, if for the surprise element alone. And it would sure take the edge off having to deal with Adam.
Her expression shifted, suddenly turning more guarded. “Thanks, but I’m going to stick to coffee for now. I have a prescription for my anxiety that I take before I fly, and I can’t mix alcohol with it.”
Knew it. She was afraid of flying. But I also knew better than to gloat about being right, especially when I didn’t think she intended to admit that to me.
“All right,” I said.
Whatever it took to get her on the plane.
