by Dela
“And what do you do, Miss . . .?” he asked, easily turning the wheels in my direction.
It was a simple question that had my head spinning in every direction. I spotted a Brookestone across the terminal. I wasn’t quite ready to tell him my true name.
“I’m Brooke. Brooke Evans,” I lied.
No way, he better tell me his last name if I told him mine, even though my first name was totally fake.
He laughed, pleased. “Well I could have lied and given you a false first name and then given you my real last name, but I didn’t. Kendal is my real name, and I give out my last name on a need-to-know basis.”
Good, we agreed to keep half our names a secret. I liked this boy. I didn’t need to know his reason for wanting his name to stay a secret if he didn’t need to know mine.
Grumble.
Stupid stomach, stupid ex! Now the cramping was past, and I was in full-on starving mode.
“Sometimes me think, what is friend?” he said in a childish growl. He broke the cookie he pulled out of his backpack and handed me the other half. “And then me say, ‘Friend is someone to share the last cookie with.’”
I froze. So simple were his words—his gesture—that I melted into his goofy voice. And then I knew: this boy was doing something to me.
“Are you going to take it, friend?” he wondered aloud, as I sat there, unmoving.
I wouldn’t dare hurt his feelings, so I took my portion to nibble on it. Moments later, he was offering to stay at the airport with me for the night. A slight hesitation in his voice cleared all my fears. I didn’t need to worry about his intentions. I could tell he was harmless.
“Are you sure?” I asked, worried this was all too much once he stood and walked away for some pillows and blankets.
He smiled, so much desire and adventure in that excited face. “In the worst way.”
I watched Kendal move toward the gate attendant desk. A minute later he was coming back with four blankets and two pillows tucked under the crook of his arms. He nodded for me to follow him farther into the gate, then stopped by the windows in between gates.
“The best place to sleep in an airport is against the wall underneath a window. It’s usually between gates, there aren’t any seats to get in the way, and there’s no traffic.”
He spread two of the blankets side by side, then sat on one with his back against the wall, propping the pillow behind him as he sighed. “As cozy as ever.”
I sat next to him and did the same. “So are you in the habit of offering girls you don’t know hotel rooms?” I teased, until the sickening thought of him actually saying yes punched me in the stomach.
He smiled, pleased. “No.”
The knot in my chest loosened, and I was confused. “Then why me?”
“You’re just a doe.”
“Forgive me for not understanding your slang.”
“A doe is young and naïve. That’s you.”
He stretched his feet out and rested his hands across his flat stomach. I imagined it was toned and muscly underneath. I blinked hard and looked away, pulling my hat to tease my hair with my fingers. It felt good to get it off, and I noticed Kendal’s gaze had shifted to me—and it was more than just a glance. He was staring, hard.
“I’m not as innocent as you think,” I said.
He shook his head. “I prefer not to think of you . . . like that.”
“Like what?”
“Tarnished. You’re completely clean in my eyes—yep, young and helpless.”
“Um, thank you? Even though we’re practically the same age,” I said.
“Age is but a number.”
I watched him wiggle until he became comfortable and looked carefree. It made me wonder about the alcohol earlier.
“Why were you drinking so early today?” I asked.
He suddenly picked at his nails even though I couldn’t picture him the type to do that. “I . . . um . . . I just got over something difficult.”
“I’m sorry . . . I didn’t mean to pry.”
When he didn’t say anything I quickly started about my childhood in Alabama, cheering for Georgia Southern University, and graduating with a degree in English. How I was looking for a job as an English teacher, and that I had sent out my resume to a few cities throughout the country. I probably sounded brag-ish, but he couldn’t have known how proud I was of my accomplishments.
“So what are we listening to?” he asked, pulling out his phone and flipping to the music.
“Am I boring you?” I wondered.
“Of course not. It sounds like you have your whole life all planned out,” he said in one tone, bored.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Haven’t you ever wanted your life to take an unexpected course?”
“What would be the point of that if I’ve been studying to do one thing my whole life?”
He snorted. “You probably already have planned who you’re going to marry, how many children you’re going to have, and where you’re going to live.”
I slumped, ashamed that he could read me so well. I had the children and house down; I just needed to find a husband. If only Mr. Darcy were available. I sighed, and then sat up straight with a little more pep. “Not everything is outlined, rude. But yes, I’d like to think I know what I want.”
“Knowing what you want is completely different than doing what you want.”
“I suppose, but not everyone gets those chances.”
He held his finger in the air. “Don’t forget, those chances don’t come unless you take whims. You have to create chances for yourself by taking whims.”
There was a pause.
He leaned over to the side onto his elbow and glanced up to where I sat still, thinking. “Anyways, I have Ghost Beach or Capital Cities.”
“I’ve never heard of either of those.”
“Good, then I get to pick.”
“Wait, we haven’t even looked on my phone. How do you know there isn’t something you want to listen to from my phone?”
“Trust me, I know.” He chortled. “I don’t dig Taylor Swift or Katy Perry.”
Funny, my ex loved those girls. “Do you only listen to bands then?”
“I like chicks, just not their style. Have you ever heard of Regina Spektor or Jessie Ware?”
The sound of my name coming from his mouth distracted me and my breathing went ragged. I nodded silently.
“My sister told me about them,” he said.
“You have a sister?”
“Yeah, what about you?”
“Only child.”
Kendal sat up and handed me one bud. “So what are we listening to?”
“How about you pick, since I haven’t a clue who those people are?”
The song was . . . good. At first I was worried it was a wannabe ’80s rock band, but when the chorus came I was pleasantly surprised the singer held his tune, drawing me into his world of chords and lyrics. Kendal watched me, curious.
“I like them,” I said loudly, above the music.
Kendal smiled pleased, showing his dimples when it widened. We stayed side-by-side with our backs against the wall, legs kicked out, and listened to music until the foot traffic in the terminal slowed. It grew chillier by the window, so I cuddled underneath the thin fleece blanket Kendal brought. He changed the band and put a woman on.
“This is Jessie,” he said.
My breath faltered again, stuck in a cavity in my chest, and my heart palpitated just from hearing my name. I wanted him to say it over and over.
Jessie’s voice was soft, like a voice traveling through the wind, with calming qualities. It made me sleepy, and I yawned. Kendal motioned his finger to our pretend bed and I nodded. We slid to our backs where our heads nearly touched at the crown, a white wire connecting us, and listened quietly to a few more songs as we stared up to the tall ceiling. “Wildest Moments” got to me. There was energy in her voice, and the words made me want to be daring, to lose myself to trying and defyi
ng and passion.
The song was coming to an end when from the top of my eyes I saw Kendal hold his wrist up and glance at his watch. He pulled his headphones out. I followed.
“It’s one in the morning. You tired?” he asked.
“Extremely.” I sat up slowly, my back aching from the hard floor. The small airport pillow felt almost nonexistent. I punched my purse underneath it into lumps and propped my side against it, resting my head onto my bent elbows.
Kendal held up his neck pillow. “Would you like to use my pillow?”
“No I’m fine, thank you.”
He didn’t listen and placed the ring around my neck. “Better?”
“I look funny,” I remarked.
“Forget how you look. How do you feel?”
The expensive fabric against my skin was blissful. I tilted my head to the side and rubbed a cheek against its desirable softness, sighing at how comfortable—and bulky—it was. “Amazing.”
He laid onto his back again, bent his knees up, and then punched the flat pillow under his head. “It’s yours.”
“Thank you, again. You are kind to me.” I yawned, my eyes drifting shut.
“Brooke?”
His voice seemed farther away as my mind began drifting to another place. “Hmm?”
“Can I take you to breakfast in the morning?”
“Mmm…”
An element of silver woke me on the spot. Above my head, the pure morning light, articulated from the snowfall outside, enhanced to a bright, metallic sheen. I squinted as I stretched my arms up toward the sky, feeling exactly as horribly as I’d slept. My back felt like dry, brittle wood ready to snap, and my joints ached like I’d run a marathon.
I could hear pads of feet skipping across the airport carpet and intercoms announcing departures. I glanced at Kendal—my handsome new stranger friend—lying next to me. His strong jaw was peaceful; his lips just barely parted enough to let out the quietest of breaths before he stirred.
“Good morning,” he said, smiling as he rubbed his eyes.
“Morning.”
He moved subtly, letting a small wind carry to my nose. Oh dear, he even smells like heaven in the morning. He couldn’t be real. I was about to pinch him when he spoke. “Did you sleep good?”
I nodded, handing his neck snake back—never admitting I didn’t really sleep that well with it—and smiled. “Better than expected.”
He sat up and stretched, then scratching his newly formed scruff, he scoped out the restaurants around us. “It’s time for breakfast. Do you think you can eat now?”
“I’m dying to eat.”
We packed what little belongings we had and went exploring for some tables and chairs, settling inside a Burger King. The place was decent and had recently been polished clean. Atop the table in a small glass vase was a stem of baby’s breath. Kendal slid his two bags onto the bench.
“Anything you don’t like?” he asked.
“At this point I’m not too picky.”
“I’ll be a minute if you don’t mind,” he said politely.
I nodded, and when he walked out of the restaurant, I texted Regina.
Plane will be leaving in a few hours. I’m okay. Met a hot guy, slept with him last night. Wink wink.
Regina responded an instant later with nothing more than two emojies: red cherries and purple eggplant.
Seriously, do these guys exist?
Yes and YES! Destination?
Whistler…
Officially invited to my wedding. Bring him as your date. And don’t you dare argue with me on this one!
I spotted Kendal’s dark, messy bedhead across the way. He was heading back, his hands carrying a tray that seemed heavier than it should have been.
…he’s coming back. Have to go. Call you when I land.
Muah.
He sat the tray on our table and began unloading fruit, pastries, croissant sandwiches, juices, milk, and French fries.
“Is your stomach taking over your head right now?” I joked.
“Absolutely not. I’m not much of a breakfast person.”
“Then why did you buy so much food?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I couldn’t decide what you would like, so I decided to get a lot of things so we can taste them all.”
“That’s fine, but the fries . . . they’re clogging my arteries as I look at them.”
He clasped his hands over his chest and threw his head back like I had stabbed him, but with a playful smile. “Oh come on, you have to try the fries. There’s a steak-and-potatoes place down there that supposedly sells the World’s Best Fries.” He chuckled. “They’re for dessert.”
“Dessert for breakfast?”
“Sure. Haven’t you ever done anything stupid like this before?”
Stupid. That’s exactly what this was, far-fetched and ridiculous, but with him it was perfect. It reminded me of that “Wildest Moments” song. Our breakfast adventure was new, and right now, anything new was good. He looked at me strangely when I didn’t reply.
“Okay, I’ll eat the damn fries!”
He laughed. “That’s my girl.”
My stomach suddenly turned, as if it could remember how it felt last night after that salad. “Wait, are you sure you want to do this?” I hesitated.
He picked up a fry and slowly stuck out his tongue so that the fry could rest on it. Then he swallowed it and licked his lips. “In the worst way.”
I gulped at his sultriness, not sure how I was going to get used to being around this real-life god in the airport. He was strikingly handsome, and as far as I could tell, perfect! I grinned and reached for the apple pastry. I ate a few bites cautiously before moving on to the croissant, and later the fruit. My stomach expanded stubbornly, and I found myself twenty minutes later nauseous and queasy. This was a bad idea indeed. Kendal was still eating as I felt my bottomless pit become not so bottomless, in a war with itself, threatening to send the trespassers out—only I wasn’t sure through which end.
“Done already?” he mocked, now downing some orange juice.
“If you want me to be breathing in one hour I better stop now. You almost ready? I think we’re boarding soon.”
“Wait…” He picked the tiny, flowering buds out of their vase. “Here’s some breath to help you breathe.” He laughed. “Since I, well, the food, literally took your breath away.”
I put them in the outer pocket of my purse. “You always think of something, don’t you?” I surmised as I stood, feeling the weight of my stomach hurt. “If I can’t breathe, it’s all your fault.”
“Not anymore.” He smiled. “I just gave you a breath.”
We checked in and walked down the expandable hall to our plane. When row 2 came into view I turned to Kendal. “I guess I’ll talk to you later.”
He kept a closed grin as he quickly pushed his bags overhead and proceeded to sit next to my window.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m Seat 2A,” he said and leaned in with a taut smile. “Did I forget to mention that?”
“I’m beginning to think otherwise about you.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
I let him figure out the meaning of my silent smirk and sat down . . . definitely not a bad thing.
As the plane took off smoothly we were both full and tired. We chit chatted a minute but I could tell Kendal was sleepy, so I picked up my Vogue magazine and pretended to be occupied so he wouldn’t feel like he had to talk to me. Being Chatty Cathy was a fear of mine and I wasn’t going down for that! I held the pages close to my nose but from the corner of my eye I watched Kendal recline his seat and shut his eyes.
I was observing how peaceful he seemed when suddenly my stomach started doing something new and I felt a flow move upwards. I sat up, feeling the blood rush from my head. No, no no, no!
Kendal opened his eyes and concern quickly spread across his face. “You’re turning green. Are you okay?”
“I don’t
want to be rude, but please don’t ask me to eat another French fry, or pastry, or breakfast sandwich. They don’t like me right now too much.”
His hand was on my shoulder, rubbing it in small circles. “Can I get you anything?”
The firmness of bile rose in my throat and I heaved. “A barf bag, like, now!”
He reached forward and yanked the bag nervously. “Here,” he said. There was a new look sprawled across his face—disgust and . . . nausea?
I prepared for the moment, my fingers pinching the edge of the bag for a firm grip. I take that back, crying in the airport isn’t the most embarrassing thing. Throwing up in front of the hottest guy in the seat next to you on an airplane is!
“I’m not good with . . .” Kendal suddenly said.
Barf, spraying out of my mouth like a hose, filling quickly into the white paper bag like kid’s candy from a piñata. Only the smell made my eyes water and my nose leak and my body cringe. It was sour apples and curdled cheese and remnants of last night’s lettuce.
I noticed Kendal’s hands fumbling for another bag, his cheeks filled with air as he held his breath. But he couldn't find one. There was a grunt and a squeak as he lifted from his seat, slid past me, and rushed to the bathroom.
When I was finished, the flight attendant helped me place my upchucked meal into a red biohazard bag, then zipped it up. She promptly handed me a toothbrush as I stood.
“Thank you,” I moaned, mortified at what I’d just done. I needed rid of the nasty stench exiting from my mouth before Kendal returned. Wait. What if the toothpaste wasn’t strong enough and my breath still smelled like barf? What if Kendal smells it and decides to change his seat?! This can’t be happening to me right now.
I picked up my pace, noticing Kendal in the aisle making his way back, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. My stomach turned, still not settled, but I ignored it to cover my repugnant mouth and beelined for the small door in the back. He looked up startled when he saw me rush past him. I didn’t stop—I didn’t even look—didn’t dare . . . almost there.
