by Bru Baker
“What? Seriously? You’ve never had a hot pretzel?” Crawford’s eyes widened incredulously. “Where are you from? Mars?”
Mateus snickered. “Portugal. We don’t have—” He squinted at the bag. Grease spots were starting to soak through, and he had to fight not to grimace. “—Auntie Anne’s.”
“Oh, this is just one type. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s the best type. I think they dip them in butter after they cook them or something. But you can get hot pretzels everywhere. Sporting events, skating rinks, library food courts. You’ve really never had one?”
Crawford reached into the white bag and pulled out a small doughy nugget that was covered in large pellets of salt. It didn’t look like any pretzel Mateus had ever seen, though he’d never seen any that weren’t small and hard, so who knew?
“Shouldn’t it be folded?”
Crawford’s brows drew together for a moment, and then his expression cleared. “Oh, these are pretzel bites. But yeah, they sell the big pretzels too. These are just cut up so they’re easier to eat. Less messy.”
The whole thing glistened with butter, so Mateus very much doubted it was actually less messy than its larger cousin. His gaze traveled up to Crawford’s mouth, drawn to the full, rosy lips. There was a tiny bit of yogurt in the corner of his mouth, and the resulting mental image made Mateus shift slightly in his seat. Bree was right. He needed to settle down and stop fantasizing about handsome strangers in airports. Well, that last bit was his own addition, but it still stood.
“You should try it,” Crawford said. He held the pretzel out to Mateus.
Mateus shook his head. “They’re your favorite. You keep it.”
Crawford held his gaze for a second and then shrugged. He popped the pretzel in his mouth, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he chewed. He had long lashes, Mateus noticed. And he made eating a pretzel look orgasmic. They had to be flirting. There was no way this wasn’t flirting.
“Your loss,” Crawford said when he’d swallowed and opened his eyes again. “But they’re about a hundred times better than they look, I promise. Are you sure you don’t want to try one?”
Mateus’s attention was now fixed on Crawford’s lower lip, which was glossy with butter from the pretzel. He swallowed hard. “A small one,” he said, his voice huskier than it had been only a moment ago.
Crawford grinned. He took another pretzel out of the bag, but instead of holding it out to Mateus, he let it hover between them, his expression questioning. A beat later Mateus leaned forward and opened his mouth, praying he wasn’t reading this wrong. Crawford’s smile grew, and he gently placed the pretzel into Mateus’s mouth.
The taste of salt exploded across Mateus’s tongue, followed by butter and the sweet, yeasty flavor of the dough. He’d been skeptical, but Crawford was right. The pretzel was delicious. Or maybe it was just that all of Mateus’s senses felt heightened as he sat there eating out of a total stranger’s hand.
The PA system blared out a page for passengers on a flight to Hawaii, and the world seemed to rush back into focus. Mateus had been so caught up in his exchange with Crawford that he’d almost forgotten they were in a busy airport. Crawford’s face was dusted with a rosy blush, so Mateus guessed he’d just had the same realization. Right. It definitely had been flirting.
Mateus bit his lip to keep himself from laughing out loud. It had been too long since he’d let go and had fun with someone. He felt more relaxed than he had in weeks. Even his headache was gone, he realized. Flirting with an attractive man apparently was the cure for everything that ailed him.
“Should we head over to the new terminal?” Crawford asked. “I don’t want to be late on the off chance the plane is actually there waiting for us.”
Mateus stared at Crawford for a beat longer and then blinked. “Definitely.”
He rose, his half-eaten yogurt still in his hand. “I was going to stop for coffee on the way. Would you like to join me?”
Crawford offered him a smile that made Mateus’s pulse quicken.
“Sure. There was a chocolate shop a little farther down. I know it’s not Starbucks, but I bet they have a killer mocha.”
That sounded disgusting, but he’d choke down whatever he needed to if it meant spending more time with Crawford.
“Sounds good.”
Chapter Five
THEY made it to the gate with three minutes to spare before their new assigned boarding time, but there wasn’t a plane outside the window. Crawford was relieved. He was enjoying his conversation with Mateus, who, in addition to having a delicious accent, was also gorgeous. Crawford’s usual type was blond and waifish, and Mateus was neither, which might’ve been part of his appeal. His patrician nose and full lips were framed by messy dark locks that Crawford’s fingers itched to sweep back behind Mateus’s ear.
Crawford had been in such a foul mood an hour ago, but now he was dreading actually getting on the plane and leaving. Maybe they’d be delayed a few more hours. He wouldn’t mind that, and he didn’t have any meetings scheduled until tomorrow morning anyway. Flying in tonight had probably been a bad idea—not that he’d been the one to book the flight. Usually he’d come in the evening before and have dinner with the people he’d be working with to break the ice. No doubt there was a reservation at a nice restaurant within walking distance of the hotel for tonight, though it would involve Davis. So perhaps the flight delays were for the best. Just as long as he was there by tomorrow morning.
He and Mateus had been chatting for the last hour, but he hadn’t learned much about him, aside from his woeful ignorance about pretzels and his stance on mochas and airport food courts—neither of which he looked favorably on.
Foam from his own drink had slopped over onto his knuckles as the two of them hurried toward their new gate, and he licked at it absently. He’d gone for the mocha, while Mateus had grumbled about ruining good coffee and gotten an Americano. Sweet coffee was for mornings or late at night. It had no place in the middle of the day, and he’d told Crawford as much.
“I haven’t asked—why are you going to Vancouver?”
No immediate answer came. Mateus seemed distracted by Crawford’s hands. It took him a minute to register that Mateus’s gaze was locked on the skin Crawford had just licked. Interesting. “Mateus?”
Mateus flushed, his sun-kissed skin turning a charming pink along his cheekbones. “What?”
“What’s in Vancouver for you?”
“Ah. Nothing but a flight back, actually. I’m on a tourist visa visiting my brother, but it expires in a few days. I have to go across a border to reset it; Vancouver seemed like the easiest place to fly to do that.”
Crawford hadn’t realized visas were that simple. “I see. So you’re here a little bit longer? And then—what? Going back to Portugal?”
Mateus’s cheeks dimpled when he smiled. God, could he be more adorable? “God willing, no. My brother and his wife have an orchard, and I’ve been here helping them with it. I’d like to stay here permanently so I can be close to them.” His dimples deepened, and he leaned in, whispering. “I’m going to be an uncle in a few months, and I want to be here for the baby.”
This man was a wet dream. Handsome, with a sexy-as-hell accent, and he liked children? Crawford’s heart thumped with something a little different from the physical desire he’d contented himself with over the past few years. Mateus was a dangerous man if he could awaken something other than simple lust in Crawford.
“I wish you well with that, then. So you’re not even spending the night in Vancouver?”
What the hell was he doing? Mateus wasn’t the kind of guy he could have a one-night stand with. Mateus seemed more like the kind of man who expected feelings and relationships—things that Crawford didn’t do anymore. Things that he didn’t want to do. Or that he wouldn’t want to do, if he could step back long enough to start thinking with his head instead of his dick.
Mateus’s eyes sparkled, clearly returning the interest. Crawf
ord thought back over what he’d said, embarrassment washing over him when he realized it had sounded like he’d inadvertently propositioned him. “Shit. I didn’t mean—so you’re just flying back? I’m sorry you’re not going to get to see any of the city.”
“I’m sure I’ll get back up there eventually. Sitting in the airport today is the first real sightseeing I’ve gotten to do. I haven’t seen much of Seattle, and I hear it’s a wonderful city.”
“Oh, it is. It’s one of my favorites. That and Portland. Everything up here is so much greener and nicer than down in LA. Though I suppose that could be said of a lot of places,” Crawford said, aware he was babbling now but unable to stop himself.
“The orchard is about two hours outside Seattle. It’s incredibly… what’s the word?” He pursed his lips, his expression thoughtful. “Lush.”
Crawford swallowed. Mateus’s English was practically better than his, so he didn’t for one moment believe Mateus truly had been struggling for the word. He had to know exactly how attractive he looked when he made that face, and how irresistible he sounded when his accent thickened. But unlike so many other guys Crawford had been with since his split with Davis, Mateus didn’t seem to be playing a game. He just was that sexy, and even though he was using it to his advantage, it wasn’t an act.
A sudden flurry of activity up at the podium drew Crawford’s attention, and a moment later the clerk spoke into a microphone. “Due to unforeseen maintenance circumstances, Flight 892 has been canceled. We apologize for the inconvenience, but your safety is our top priority. Please head to terminal three, where we have customer-service representatives available to rebook you on other flights.”
Crawford let his head sink back as he groaned. He’d called this a few hours ago. What a hassle.
“Wasn’t terminal three where we came from?” Mateus asked, sounding amused.
“It was.”
They watched as their fellow passengers scrambled back toward the tram, hell-bent on getting there first. It hardly mattered. This had happened to Crawford enough for him to know there would be precious few customer-service reps at the designated gate, and probably more than one canceled flight.
He turned toward Mateus. “They can help us at any of the airline’s customer-service gates, and we’re close to the departures check-in gates here. Want to follow the crowd or cut our losses and try a different gate?”
A woman with a roller bag cut off a man with a stroller, prompting him to erupt into a streak of cursing that turned heads from several gates around them. The child seemed unaffected, but the adults were acting like two-year-olds.
Mateus shot him a wary look. “Let’s try the other one.”
They’d be near the back of the line anyway, so even if they couldn’t find another customer-service gate, they wouldn’t be much the worse for wear.
“You said there weren’t other open flights to Vancouver today, yes? So what will they do with us?”
Crawford shrugged. “Offer to put us up in a hotel. Or me, at least. If this is your airport, they’ll probably send you home. They’ll book us on other flights, either today or tomorrow probably. But it might not be a nonstop to Vancouver like this one was. Odds are they’ll fly us somewhere else and then hop us over to Vancouver.”
Crawford checked the signs overhead and set off in the opposite direction of the crowds. “Worst case, we have to come back through security again. Is that okay?”
Mateus nodded. “I don’t think we’re going anywhere anytime soon anyway.”
Crawford rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “When is your flight back, anyway?”
“Tonight, but that will be rebooked too, won’t it?”
“Actually, I don’t know what they’ll do in that case. They may just cancel your entire ticket and have you rebook another day.”
Mateus let out a groan. “I don’t have another day. My visa runs out in two days, and they won’t let me fly if it’s expired.”
Crawford looked over his shoulder, where the mob of people waiting for the tram was still visible. It would take hours to process all those people, and even if they were lucky enough to find a customer-service agent to help them at another desk, they weren’t getting out of Seattle tonight.
“So this is crazy. And we just met, and you could be a serial killer for all I know. But hear me out. Vancouver’s only about two and a half hours away. Three, tops. What if I rented a car and drove us there? I could drop you off at the airport in time for your flight home.”
Mateus’s brows rose. “Really?”
Crawford knew how ridiculous it sounded. Hell, if a stranger had offered him a ride, he’d have definitely said no. But Mateus desperately needed to get to Canada, and Crawford desperately needed not to delay the start of his meetings. They’d been getting along well enough over pretzels and coffee, and Mateus was a funny, well-spoken guy. Not to mention hot. Serial killers were never hot, were they? They were always loners with no social skills and polyester pants. Right?
Shit. Mateus was going to totally think he was a serial killer or a stalker. He shouldn’t have offered. “Never mind, it—”
“No, I want to,” Mateus said in a rush. “I mean, if you’re willing to drive me. I don’t have an international driver’s license, so I couldn’t rent a car. But if you’re willing, I’ll go. Do you think I could get the airline to refund that part of my ticket? Then I could pay you for half of the car.”
Crawford waved off his concern. “We’ll need to cancel the tickets, but don’t worry about money. I’ll expense the car. My company will pay for it. Don’t worry about it.”
Even if Chatham-Thompson didn’t pick up the tab, it wasn’t like a few hundred dollars was going to make much difference to him. It was certainly worth it if it got him there sooner.
“C’mon, I’ll take care of the car rental while we’re in line to cancel those tickets,” Crawford said. He sped up, crossing through the point of no return for security and toward the check-in desks. He could see a few people in line, but there couldn’t be more than two dozen in front of them. Much better odds than the hundreds over in terminal three.
Mateus hurried alongside him, picking up his bag when the roller wheels couldn’t keep pace. “Do you have bags on the plane?”
“I do, but they’ll take care of getting those to my hotel. Odds are, the bags will get there before we do. They’re probably already on another flight to Vancouver.”
Mateus shot him a look. “You seem to know a lot about this. Do your flights get canceled often?”
Crawford grinned. “Not often, no, but I travel pretty much constantly, so it does happen.”
They made it to the end of the line, and from the grumbles of the people in front of them, it sounded like at least a few of them had been on their flight.
Mateus made a clucking noise. “That sounds terrible.”
“Eh, I’ve never been too put out by a cancellation. They’ll do their best to get you there eventually. There might be a delay. And I can work from just about anywhere, so a night in an airport hotel doesn’t usually matter much.”
“No, I mean traveling constantly. I can’t imagine living that way. How do you put down roots?”
Crawford hadn’t ever really thought about it that way. He’d traveled less when he’d been married, but since the divorce he’d seen no reason not to head out wherever he was needed. They were usually short trips—a few days here, a few days there. As long as he had his weekends home to help with Brandon whenever Karen was deployed, Crawford didn’t really care where he was during the week.
“I’m not really one for roots,” Crawford said with a shrug. “I tried it once. It didn’t take.”
Mateus gave him a lopsided grin. “That’s called transplant shock. There are fixes for it. Most of the time when a plant doesn’t root, it’s because there’s a deficiency in the soil. Do you not like your soil in Los Angeles, Crawford?”
That was one way to put it. “I like it well enough,” he
said lightly. “You seem to know a lot about plants. Did you learn so you could help your brother?”
They were inching forward slowly, and Crawford couldn’t imagine what agony the other line must be. As it was, they’d be pushing it uncomfortably close to get Mateus to the Vancouver airport in time for his flight, since who knew how long the border crossing would take.
“Not exactly. I’m a botanist. Not so much an expert on apple trees, but I’ve had fun experimenting.”
“A botanist? I don’t think I’ve ever met a botanist. You’re probably good with telling edible plants from poisonous ones, right? And figuring out how to grow things? I was just thinking about how this flight cancellation thing has the feel of a zombie apocalypse with the way people are running around and everything seems so dire. You’d be good to have around.”
Crawford knew his non sequiturs were hard to follow for most people, but that’s what happened when your best friend was your fifteen-year-old nephew. You tended to talk in pop culture references and not make a lot of sense. But he could kick ass at Call of Duty and Mario Kart, and thanks to the videos Brandon liked to watch, he could open a tin can with a brick if need be. It wasn’t like he couldn’t bring at least some skills to their zombie-fighting group.
Mateus didn’t look the slightest bit alarmed at the turn the conversation had taken. “I’m not much of a fighter, I’m afraid. But I could keep us fed in the wilderness until we made it to a remote outpost to start over.” He gave Crawford a friendly leer. “Though we’d have trouble restarting the population.”
“But it would be fun to try,” Crawford joked, internally crowing when Mateus’s shoulders started to shake with laughter.
“That it would be. Fruitless, but fun.”
“Is that a botany joke?”
Mateus looked puzzled for a moment, then laughed ruefully. “I wish I was clever enough for it to have been.”
