Rae smiled. “That’s because I’m their fave lesbian aunt.”
Jeri tsk’ed. “You’re their fave and only aunt, period. And it’s because you happen to draw really cool graphic novels.”
“Oh, I get it. They only like what I do. Not who I am,” Rae teased.
“That definitely helps. Especially when you draw them both as superheroes and make their own private comic book panels. Their friends are so jealous.” Jeri laughed. “Will you check the flights?”
“All right.” She adjusted her backpack on her left shoulder, her duffle bag on her right, and moved closer to the wall, out of the flow of harried passengers. “Don’t get your hopes up, though. The Weather Channel says this is sticking around tomorrow, too.”
Pause. Sigh. “I don’t like the thought of you spending Christmas alone—” she stopped, and Rae silently finished her statement: Even though you’ve always hated this holiday and would prefer to ignore it completely.
“Hey, it’s all good,” Rae said. “James told me to call him, even on short notice. He and Alex always have a Christmas dinner gathering and I have a standing invite. I won’t be alone.” She fibbed that last part, since she wasn’t sure she felt much like spending time with anyone on Christmas. No, she’d never been one for Christmas. Most likely, she’d work.
“Are you sure?” Jeri sounded worried. It reminded Rae of their mom when Rae couldn’t make it home for the holidays when she was in art school. Rae tried to find any excuse not to come home and have to deal with their father’s drinking and yelling. And their mom would end up in the kitchen crying. It became a habit for her, avoiding Christmas. This year, she’d tried to do something different and break the negative connotations. She looked up at the board again. Didn’t look like that was going to happen. But at least it’d be a quiet holiday, snowed in like this. Not necessarily negative. But it still carried some weight from the past.
“Positive,” Rae said. “There’s nothing to be done about it. I’ll call you once I know more. If I have to, I’ll reschedule for the boys’ birthday in March. There’s got to be some kind of sporting event going on that a couple of eleven-year-olds will want to check out.”
“And that’s why I’m so lucky to have a lesbian as a sister. She can take care of all the male role model stuff for my sons.”
Rae grinned, in spite of herself. “Okay, let me go take care of this. I’ll let you know what I find out.”
“Okay. Bye,” Jeri relented. She’d stopped pushing Rae about the holidays years ago, especially after Rae came out, and it was something Rae appreciated about her sister. She was glad she’d sent the boys’ Christmas presents at the beginning of the month. At least she could feel like she was involved that way.
She hung up and made her way to the United counter at the gate through which she had, at one time, been scheduled to depart. Her phone beeped with a text message and she checked it. James, telling her they’d set an extra plate for dinner on Christmas Eve, from the looks of the weather. Rae texted back: “So right. Checking with airline anyway.” A couple minutes later, her phone beeped again. “Girl, u know u ain’t goin anywhere. Come to dinner. Nvr know who u’ll meet.” Rae texted him back that she’d call him later and she put her phone back in her coat pocket. He was always trying to set her up with someone. Although maybe she’d take him up on it. She hadn’t done so well picking the last girlfriend, who’d ditched her a week before last Christmas. Shit. She really needed to break the Christmas curse. Maybe next year.
The line was just a few people deep. Resigned to her fate, Rae took the last position. She set her duffle bag on the floor and kept her backpack on her shoulder. No sense standing here with extra weight. She watched the front of the line. Most people were like her, just resigned to rescheduling, and didn’t hassle the counter agent, but Rae noted that no one was happy about the situation.
She also wasn’t last anymore. That position belonged to a woman who had moved into the line right behind her. Rae dubbed her “Art Gallery” because she looked like the kind of woman who represented artists and sponsored openings at swanky lofts somewhere. Smooth, classy, and maybe a little aloof. She was standing with her back to Rae, texting on her phone. Rae continued to check her out. Long black hair, but she had it pinned up. Expensive black cashmere coat. Rae’s gaze went lower. What’s this? Black jeans? Black motorcycle boots? Now that was an interesting look for a chi-chi art gallery chick. Rae started making up a storyline for Art Gallery’s character, and decided that rather than the Moneypenny to James Bond’s 007, she just might be 007.
Art Gallery hung up and put her phone into her chocolate-colored leather shoulder bag. She then dug around for something else, and her cell phone fell out onto the floor. Rae picked it up and held it out for its owner.
“Thanks,” Art Gallery said, grateful, as she took it. “Kinda disorganized at the moment.” She flashed a smile.
Rae guessed her accent as New England. Boston? “Join the club.” Rae smiled back. “Were you going to San Francisco, too?”
“Yes. Not tonight, though, obviously.” She shrugged and smiled back. “Shit, as they say, happens.”
Rae nodded, strangely charmed at the statement, and at the hints of mischief in Art Gallery’s dark eyes, and moved, in a weird way, by the sight of a woman in a cashmere coat and motorcycle boots.
“Bummer,” Rae said, trying to continue a little bit of conversation. Art Gallery had a nice voice.
“Oh, well. Probably doesn’t help that I’m not a fan of holiday travel,” she said. “Seems it never really works out the way it should.”
The line moved and Rae pushed her duffle along with her foot while Art Gallery pulled her rolling carry-on.
“That’s the truth.”
“Maybe I’m just a grinch,” Art Gallery added. “I’d rather just stay home with a cup of coffee and a book on Christmas.”
“That’s not grinch-y. That’s practical. Maybe if we all did that, there’d be less stress this time of year.” And fewer expectations, fewer fights, fewer freak-outs.
“And fewer crowded airports.”
“Which would make spending Christmas in one less of a hassle.”
Art Gallery laughed, then, a rich, velvety caress. Uh-oh, Rae thought. Lust virus warning.
“And maybe even enjoyable,” Art Gallery said.
“You never know.”
Art Gallery nodded, and for a few moments, she kept her gaze locked on Rae’s. “No,” she agreed. “You don’t, do you?”
Rae wanted to respond, but her throat had gone dry. Fortunately, it was her turn at the counter, and another agent had opened another line at the same counter, so Art Gallery was able to get her flight squared away, too. She flashed another smile at Rae before she turned to the counter.
“I’ll be right with you,” the agent said to Rae.
“Okay.” She waited, pretending to just be waiting for the agent when in reality, she was working up a story line. Art Gallery would make the perfect superhero for one of Rae’s graphic novels. And a really excellent date. Hell, she was the perfect adventure. Kind of enigmatic but approachable. Incongruous quirks, like a long cashmere coat and big, clunky boots. She’d have a big, black bike, and really sexy shades and black leather riding gloves. And she’d have a vulnerability beneath the bravado that could melt stone.
Yeah, Rae thought. A perfect mix of means well and mysterious. The kind of woman Rae was drawn to, much to her never-ending chagrin. She wasn’t doing so well in the dating arena these days. But she’d settle for a couple of nights with Art Gallery, here. Who needed dates when a rendezvous with a pseudo-superhero would do?
“Ma’am? Can I help you?”
Rae focused on the agent, trying to ignore the fact that Art Gallery was a few feet to her right. Weird little sparks zinged around in her stomach. “Sorry. So lay it on me. Any chance of getting out tomorrow?”
The United employee looked at her like she’d just grown an extra head.
“I’
ll take that as a no,” Rae said, adding a rueful smile to her statement.
The agent relaxed and smiled back. “It’ll take a lot of tomorrow to dig out,” she explained. “I’m sorry. This is a really bad storm. We probably couldn’t get you out until the morning of the twenty-fifth, but if you’re desperate, I’ll put you on standby, but we’re trying to juggle all kinds of people.”
“No guarantee I’ll get out tomorrow?”
“No, unfortunately. I can’t say it won’t happen, but I can’t say that it definitely will.”
Rae debated for a moment. Well, what the hell? No sense trying to get her ass to California when she might not have but a day or two there. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. So can you reschedule me for March, maybe? Same destination?”
The counter agent relaxed even more. “Let me see what I can get worked out. When?”
“First weekend. That Thursday. Returning Sunday evening.”
She typed away at her keyboard. “Done.” She waited for the new documents to print out and she slid them into a holder. “I’m really, really sorry about this. It’s such a bad day for a storm.”
“Sh—I mean, it happens. Merry Christmas,” she said, trying to sound genuine. She glanced over at Art Gallery, who was pointing something out on a paper she held to the agent helping her. She was engrossed in the conversation.
“Same to you,” the agent said. “Thanks for your patience.”
Rae gestured at the line that had grown behind her. “Thanks for yours.” She picked her duffle bag up and moved away from the counter, trying to act nonchalant while she stole glances at Art Gallery, who was just finishing up. She stepped away from the counter and slipped her arm through the strap of her shoulder bag and looked at Rae. She approached. “Hope you got your flight worked out,” she said.
“Yeah. Hope yours is worked out, too.”
“As best it could be. Thanks for chatting. Take care.”
“Same to you.”
Art Gallery hesitated, like she wanted to say more, but instead she gripped the handle of her rolling carry-on suitcase, and left the gate area. Rae willed herself not to watch her leave, willed herself to look through her new flight information, but she lost the argument and stared after her. And was so busted. Art Gallery had stopped to put her new documents into her shoulder bag and she looked right at Rae and held her gaze for a long moment, another smile on her lips. Then she was off, into the crowd.
Rae cleared her throat. Weird, how she wanted to chase after her and ask her—ask her what? To dinner? To grab a cup of coffee at an airport? She didn’t even know if Art Gallery was single. Or into women. Rae forced herself to go near the window that overlooked the tarmac, where ground crews worked in the twilight to plow paths that were covered within minutes. The snow was at least eight inches deep and it was still coming down hard. Estimates were anywhere from twelve to eighteen inches, more snow than they’d seen in this area in years. The great Christmas blizzard, newscasters were probably calling it by now.
She set her bags on the floor and opened the document holder so she could text Jeri the new info. In addition to the new itinerary and receipt, the ticket agent had included a one hundred dollar voucher for a future flight. That was a nice holiday present, though she would’ve preferred the visit with her sister and nephews. Whatever. She’d spent holidays alone in the past. Not like she could change the weather, after all. She thought about Art Gallery, and what her plans for the holidays were. Like it mattered now. She was long gone, which was sort of sad, somehow.
Rae put the papers into the front pocket of her backpack and hoisted it to her shoulder before she picked up her duffle bag, dreading the drive home, but knowing it needed to be done. At least she was at Reagan Airport and not Dulles. Ten miles versus thirty.
She headed back to the main terminal, thinking that she’d call James when she got home, though she still wasn’t sure she wanted to go to a dinner party. She’d probably end up staying home tomorrow, given the weather. Which was fine. She had to do some more work on the latest project. Rae thought again about Art Gallery, and her long black coat and motorcycle boots. Definitely more pleasant than thinking about a holiday dinner party. She got to the lower level and set her bags down while she zipped her coat up. Thus prepared, she slipped her arms through her backpack straps, got it settled, and hefted her duffle bag to her shoulder.
Ready, she exited through the sliding doors, prepared when the winter air slapped her bare face. It made her think of broken ice across a pond. Here, protected by the airport’s overhang, the streets were wet and slushy, but the few cars that crawled by were coated with snow and ice. A sloppy, nasty night. She’d worn her combat boots because she’d just weather-treated them. Hopefully that would help with the worst of this.
She waited for a cab to pass before she crossed the street toward the parking garage where she’d managed to find a spot. She glanced to her right, wondering who else might be braving the weather and standing outside. The cab passed, leaving Rae a clear shot but she didn’t take it. Art Gallery stood about fifty yards away near the curb, talking on her phone. Was she waiting for a cab? No, she didn’t grab the one that had just gone by. She stood near a shuttle sign. A hotel, Rae thought. She’s going to a hotel.
Rae started to head over to her but stopped. What was she doing? What would she say? “Hi. Want a ride?” Crazy. She hunched against the cold and resolutely crossed the street instead, without saying anything. Art Gallery had clearly made arrangements. She was waiting for a shuttle, chatting on the phone with a friend/girlfriend—hell, maybe even a husband. Had she been wearing a wedding band? Rae thought back, but couldn’t recall. There. End of story. Right? Right.
Ten minutes later she had loaded her bags into the back of her trusty Subaru all-wheel drive and she buckled up and prepared to brave the elements. It’d be at least forty-five minutes home in this, if not longer. At least. And only ten or so minutes back to the terminal. She made her decision. Why not? It was practically Christmas, after all.
She steered out of the parking garage to the terminal rather than the airport exit. Fortunately, a layer of snow covered whatever ice might be underneath and it wasn’t too bad, as long as she was careful. As she approached the terminal overhang, she slowed down a little bit more and got into the shuttle lane. Art Gallery was still waiting, but she wasn’t on the phone anymore. A couple of other people stood near her, apparently waiting for the same shuttle. Rae pulled up right in front of her and rolled the passenger side window down.
“Excuse me,” she said, loud enough for her to hear.
Art Gallery bent a little to see who was addressing her. She smiled. She had a great smile. The kind that made Rae think about slow dances and warm nights. “Hey,” Art Gallery said, sounding a little surprised.
“Not to disrupt your plans, but I live in DC and I don’t mind giving you a ride to wherever you need to go.”
She came closer to the car. “That’s awfully nice of you, but I don’t want to put you out.”
“You’re not. I’m offering.”
Art Gallery regarded her for a few seconds, and those weird little sparks Rae had felt at the gate resurfaced in her gut. “Dupont Circle?” Art Gallery finally said.
“That’s my neighborhood.” And Rae was already unbuckling and practically out of the car before Art Gallery could say anything else. “Here,” Rae said. “I’ll put your suitcase in the back. Get in. It’s warmed up.”
Art Gallery didn’t protest and did as she suggested. Rae slammed the back of the car shut and returned to the driver’s seat. Her passenger was already buckled up and ready to go. She’d rolled the window up. “You’re right. It is warmed up. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Rae belted herself in and pulled back into the traffic lanes, which were mostly empty. “I’m Rae, by the way.”
“With an ‘e’?”
“Yeah.”
“Nice. I’m Erika.”
Not quite a superhero name, Rae t
hought. But it was smooth and classy, like its owner. “Good to formally meet you. Where to?”
“The Madera. Do you know it?”
“On New Hampshire? Nice place. Artsy.” And about fifteen minutes’ walking time from her apartment. Convenient.
“Yes. And now I won’t bother you too much so you can concentrate on driving.”
Rae laughed. “It’s okay. Just don’t ask me to read anything.”
“Good, since I’m not normally one for awkward silences.”
The sparks had increased, and Rae was warm in spite of the night.
“So what’s in San Francisco, Rae?” The way she’d added her name to the end was kind of sexy, like punctuation with a wink.
Rae exited slowly onto the main thoroughfare that would take them back into the city. “Family.”
“You were going to visit them for the holidays?”
“‘Were’ being the operative term here, yes.” Rae lightened the statement with a smile as she settled in for a slow drive following the ruts left by a few other intrepid drivers before her. The plows had been through, but already another layer of snow had fallen on the churned-up slush. Fortunately, most people seemed to have decided to go home early, and traffic was light.
“Sorry about that,” Erika said, in a tone that seemed to convey genuine concern.
“On the plus side, I do live here, so it’s not that big a deal to go home from the airport. Still, there’s no chance I’d get out of here until Christmas Day, so I had to postpone a visit.” She shrugged. “Someone said earlier today that shit happens.” Rae glanced over at her and caught her smiling. She refocused on the road.
“So she did. That was kind of tacky. Probably shouldn’t swear at a first meeting.”
Rae grinned, but kept her eyes on the road this time. “I rather enjoyed it.”
“Then I won’t apologize. At least not for that.” She left a little hint of possibility at the end of that statement, like she was leaving clues about some of her inner workings that Rae had to unravel. Sexy.
“So what about you? Are you from San Fran?” Rae asked in a salvo to regain her equilibrium.
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