A SEAL for Christmas

by Leslie North

Murphy headed to the door with a curt nod. “Yes, ma’am.”

  9

  Shayma sat huddled at a table near the windows of the Air Emirates VIP Lounge, staring out at the frigid, snowy night. She’d fared better than expected flight-wise, snagging the last seat in first-class on the last flight back to Al Dar Nasrani before the Christmas Eve rush began. It cost her a pretty penny at the reservation desk, but money was the least of her concerns now.

  Hands wrapped snug around her mug of hot cocoa, she swirled a peppermint stick in the hot liquid and let her mind wander back over the events of the last week and a half. Hard to believe a month prior she’d been sitting in her parent’s mansion on the island with no idea she’d lose a fiancé and gain the love of her life so soon.

  Snow plows drove by on the runways outside, their blinking lights atop the trucks flashing in the darkness like beacons. The weather had deteriorated since they’d left the senator’s party earlier. In fact, her cab driver here had warned her if the snow got much worse they might cancel outgoing flights until things settled down. Honestly, it didn’t matter to Shayma. She would stay here at JFK for as long as it took to get back home again.

  Home.

  Growing up, she’d always loved her tropical island paradise and couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. Now, after everything that had happened with Murphy, she couldn’t conceive of living without him. Her poor heart felt ripped to shreds and her head ached from tears and indecision. Should she stay or should she go?

  In the end, she’d had no choice. Some people never learned to appreciate what they had until it was gone, and unfortunately Murphy Coen seemed to be one of them. Her too, truth be told. Sure she’d treasured every second she’d spent with him, but she never really thought about what it would be like when it was all over.

  Horrible. Heart-wrenching. Humbling. That’s what it was like.

  It felt like there was a Murphy-sized hole in her chest, gaping and raw, that would never heal, not while they were apart anyway. But he’d made it clear he wasn’t interested in the long-term with her. She had to respect that. If she loved him, she had to abide by his wishes. Period.

  Didn’t make her feel any better, but then her pain was all she had left of him now, so she’d hold it tight, in place of the man she missed so much her bones ached.

  “May I get you something else, ma’am?” the waiter asked. He was a shorter Arabic man who reminded Shayma a bit of her father, only younger. She gave him a polite smile and shook her head. “No. Thank you.”

  He bowed slightly then left her to her thoughts again. She pulled out her phone and checked her messages. Several from Mel and two from Murphy. She swiped them away, not up to reading them right now. Things still felt too tender and twitchy when it came to this trip to New York. She typed in a quick text to her mother, letting them know her flight number and arrival time so they could send a driver to pick her up at the Al Dar Nasrani airport.

  Her phone buzzed a moment later with a response.

  Glad to see you’ve come to your senses.

  We have much to discuss upon your return.

  Shayma cringed a bit before shutting off the phone. Her parents expected her to make a good match, marriage-wise, and even though they’d acquiesced in the end with regards to Daveed, it didn’t mean they’d given up their matchmaking ways forever. She imagined her father had arranged meetings with all sorts of eligible young men of their country to sweep her off her feet. Too bad a certain stubborn American male had already knocked her for a loop where love was concerned. In fact, she wasn’t sure she’d ever regain her emotional equilibrium again.

  And her parents meant well, deep down she knew that. They loved her, but they were from a different time, a time where women needed a wealthy husband to care for and protect them. Unions were made not for love, but for advantage, either monetarily or politically. Shayma had defied their logic when she’d broken things off with Daveed. They wouldn’t take kindly to having her do the same again so soon.

  Perhaps Murphy wasn’t the only rebellious one in their relationship.

  She snorted and sipped her cocoa. Wind howled outside and blustered crystal snowflakes against the glass beside her. She shivered despite her cashmere coat wrapped tight around her. Seemed the cabbie was right. The weather was getting bad. Ah well. She scanned the lounge and spotted several long benches against one wall. She could always sleep here until the skies cleared, if needed.

  There were several other people peppered about the place besides the waiter and the bartender at the bar along one wall. Several looked like business executives and there were a couple of families too with small children. In each of the corners of the room, suspended from the ceiling, were TVs attuned to the twenty-four-hour news channels and one on the weather reports. She checked her watch. Nearly midnight now. Still two more hours until her flight took off and the snow kept piling up outside.

  “Attention travelers,” an announcement began over the lounge’s PA system. “If you are scheduled to board flight 2782 to Al Dar Nasrani, please report to the Air Emirates ticketing desk. Again, if you are a ticketed passenger on Air Emirates flight 2782 to Al Dar Nasrani, please report to the Air Emirates counter in the Terminal Four concourse immediately. Thank you.”

  The waiter fixed her a to-go cup for her cocoa, then Shayma stood and wheeled her Louis Vuitton luggage behind her out into the brightly-lit concourse. Where the lounge had been quiet and peaceful, this space felt like a Formula One racetrack with travelers darting here and there, everyone seemingly in a rush to get where they were going. The space was decked out from ceiling to floor for the holidays, with garlands in greens and golds and crimson strung across the ceiling, mixed with large ornaments dangling down every so often between them. Every ten feet or so was a tree, done up in different themes and donated—according to the plaques beside them—by businesses in the New York area. The airport sound system piped in jolly carols and the atmosphere was about as festive as could be expected for an airport.

  Shayma took her place at the end of what appeared to be a lengthy line of passengers at the ticket counter to wait. Snippets of the conversations ahead of her drifted back, confirming her suspicions—the weather was bad enough to cause delays, if not outright cancellations.

  By the time Shayma reached the counter, nearly twenty minutes had passed and the view out the windows looked even bleaker than before. More and more passengers were huddled in their seats, apparently settling in for a long winter’s wait.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m afraid we’ve had to cancel your flight due to inclement weather. If you’d like, I can look at getting you booked on the next available flight to Al Dar Nasrani or we can issue you a refund for your ticket price, whatever you’d prefer.”

  “The next flight, please.” Shayma pulled out her phone and shot off another quick text to her mother, telling her the situation and letting her know she’d send another update once she had more information. At least her airline was being helpful to their stranded passengers. At the opposite end of the concourse, where Terminal Four ended and led out into the main hub of JFK, there seemed to be some commotion. Most likely an unhappy flier who didn’t receive the treatment they deserved, she guessed. Shayma turned back to the ticketing agent, a young girl who looked about the same age as her, her uniform still crisp and her smile still in place despite the awkward circumstances. “When do they expect the weather to improve? Looks like it’s getting pretty bad out there.”

  “According to the forecasts, ma’am, this should blow over by tomorrow midday. Give or take an hour or two to get the runways plowed out, we should be able to resume our flight schedule tomorrow afternoon.” The agent clicked a few more keys on her computer. “It looks like I can get you a first-class seat on our next flight to Al Dar Nasrani leaving at four tomorrow. Will that work?”

  “Yes, please. Thank you.”

  “Wonderful.” More clicking from the agent. “I’ll just need to see your old boarding pass and a va
lid travel visa, please.”

  Shayma dug the items out of bag and handed them over then pulled out her phone to see if there’d been a response from her mother. Nothing yet.

  Once her new flight was squared away, Shayma headed back to the VIP lounge only to find all the benches taken by other passengers already. With a sigh, she took up residence at her little table by the windows again and stared out into the snow, wondering when she’d ever catch a break, with her love life or the weather.

  * * *

  “Can you go any faster?” Murphy asked the taxi driver as they sat in traffic on Queens Boulevard. He checked his watch then cursed under his breath. Mel had said Shayma was going to book the next flight out of New York. The weather was getting crappier by the second, but that didn’t mean a few planes wouldn’t still make it off the ground. Hell, he’d seen them take off in worse. The trip from Manhattan to JFK usually took around fifty minutes. They’d spent that long just poking their way over the Queensboro Bridge. Maybe greasing the wheel might help a bit. He dug his wallet out of his pocket and fished out a hundred to hand to the driver. “Please. It’s really important I get there as quickly as possible.”

  The cabbie took the money then shook his head. “I’ll do my best, but the roads are shit tonight. Too much traffic and too few snow plows. If you’re planning on flying, you best check with your airline. The radio says they’re cancelling a bunch of flights tonight.”

  His heart skipped a beat with hope. It wasn’t nice to wish for someone’s plane to get grounded, but if there was ever a time for him to do it, it was now.

  At the next light, the driver eased out of the long line of idle cars and turned off on a side street. From there, it was a wild ride of zig-zagging lanes and dodging red lights as he took a roundabout way to get to the airport by way of Grand Central and Cross Island Parkways instead, eventually meeting up again with I-678 just outside JFK. Normally, it would’ve doubled their travel time, but with the crazy way things were going this evening, it actually got them there within thirty minutes. Still far later than Murphy wanted, but better than where they’d been before.

  He had no idea what airline Shayma might be flying or what terminal to start with, so he had the driver drop him off at the departure gate for Terminal One and figured he’d work his way down from there.

  Once inside, he found the nearest digital flight board and scanned the offerings. The driver had been right, the majority of them were cancelled, though there were still a few with Delayed next to the number. Next, he started going through all the airlines with flights to Al Dar Nasrani. There were four that he could see, one at each of the first four terminals. Three of the flights were still marked delayed and one was marked cancelled—the one in terminal four.

  He’d check that one last.

  Adrenaline pumping, he jogged up the empty escalator to the mezzanine then down a series of long hallways to the security checkpoint for the concourse he needed. Thankfully, he had his military ID in his wallet, which he flashed to the TSA agents to let him inside, explaining he was on an important mission to deliver a message to a foreign envoy.

  Which was true, sort of. If the message was I love you and the foreign envoy was Shayma.

  Past the checkpoint he charged for the departure gate the board had listed for the flight and searched the crowds of people cowering inside their coats, anxiously awaiting news about the status of their flight. The place was packed with people and luggage which made identifying Shayma that much harder. He searched for her camel-colored cashmere coat and her silky black hair, but didn’t find any trace of her there. The line for the ticket counter took forever and when he finally made it up to the desk, the agent told him there was no one by the name of Shayma bint Amr Kahlan booked on that flight.

  One down, three to go.

  Terminals Two and Three followed much the same pattern, lots of stranded people, wearing patience, and no Shayma. By the time he got to Terminal Four, even Navy SEAL-fit Murphy was out of breath and freezing. His feet were numb from cold and wet and his cheeks were tingling from the icy wind. Still, he pushed on, knowing it would all be worth it if he could win his Shayma back.

  Inside the main doors he stopped to warm himself under a heating vent and had to chuckle. Aileen would’ve gotten a kick out of this. She was always a sucker for a romantic comedy, especially around the holidays, and one of her favorites started and ended in an airport. He wasn’t giving up on finding her, would never give up. He was just taking a moment to reassess and restrategize, hopefully with Shayma by his side. The guys were already back at the hotel working on the next steps they’d take to dig into Senator Lawrence’s past and define the connection between him and EnKor Energy. Knowing his best buds and people he trusted were working hard on his behalf put his mind at ease and allowed him to focus on what was important right now.

  Bringing Shayma home, with him.

  After he’d thawed out a bit, he walked through the automatic doors and into the main lobby of the terminal to scan the departure boards. The cancelled flight had been with Air Emirates and their gate was up on the second floor. He only prayed that Shayma hadn’t left the airport to spend the night at one of the hotels on the property. Running between terminals had been enough to make him worry about frostbite. Running a mile or more across the flat, open long-term parking lots to get to lodgings where Shayma may or may not be staying would result in hypothermia, or worse. He glanced outside at the nearly deserted curb where taxis usually swarmed and said a silent prayer that she was still here at the airport and that he’d find her soon.

  Murphy rode the escalator up to the second floor this time, knowing the flight was already cancelled, doing his best to calm his ragged nerves and prepare himself to see Shayma again. She’d refused to even look at him when she’d walked out of the hotel suite earlier. He hoped her anger had died down in the hours since.

  He didn’t want to fight with her anymore. He just wanted to hold her and love her and spend the rest of his life with her, if she’d have him.

  At the top of the escalator, he glanced around at the overhead signs then followed the arrows directing him to the Air Emirates gates ahead. More people packed the halls here, many of them sleeping on the floors or on cots provided by the airport. He checked their faces as he walked past to see if Shayma was among them, but didn’t find her.

  Finally, he emerged out of the hallway and into a brightly lit concourse. Halfway down was the Air Emirates ticket counter where two agents appeared to be closing up shop for the night. He hurried over to them and asked if Shayma had been on their passenger list. When they refused to tell him, even with his military ID and fake story of a mission, he settled for describing her to them.

  “She’s tall, nearly as tall as me, with long dark hair and pretty brown eyes. She was wearing a long, camel-colored coat and had a wheeled suitcase.” Even as he said it, he realized he was describing half the people in the airport. When the agents shrugged and started to walk away, his desperation grew. “Please. I’m in love with her and this could be my last chance to tell her. Please, help me.”

  Begging was not in his nature, nor was asking for help, but here he was doing both to find the woman he loved. Seemed she brought out all those things in him, feelings he’d thought long dead or had tried hard to suppress—tenderness, yearning, vulnerability, need. The two female agents spoke in hushed tones in Arabic, giving him wary stares every so often, and his instincts told him they weren’t going to tell him anything. His shoulders slumped. This was it. He’d come all this way, his brain finally realizing what his heart had known from the first day he’d met her outside that fancy seafood restaurant when she’d prevented him from punching the EnKor CEO.

  He loved Shayma bint Amr Kahlan. Loved her more than anything in this world.

  And he’d do whatever was necessary to win her back. Give up his life, his career, his home in New York, if necessary.

  One of the agents tapped him on the arm and cocked her head tow
ard the far end of the concourse. “You might want to try the VIP lounge, sir. She’d been sitting in there earlier.”

  Stunned, he nodded then swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

  “Good luck,” the other agent said.

  “Thanks.”

  Each step down the tiled walkway seemed like a thousand and time seemed to slow the nearer he got to the lounge. It was like in those horror movies or nightmares where you’re trying to get to the doorway, but it only seems to get farther and farther away. People jostled him as he walked, but Murphy hardly noticed, his attention focused like a laser on the frosted glass doors ahead. For years, he’d lived under the belief that he and Aileen were alone in the world, that they had each other as anchors and no one else, that he was happy with his life that way and nothing and no one would ever change it.

  Then Shayma had appeared and now he couldn’t picture his life without her. Loving Shayma didn’t diminish his love or bond with Aileen at all, only strengthened it and him. Loving Shayma made him feel invincible, like he could solve any problem, conquer any foe, if only she was by his side. They’d find Aileen and bring her home safe. Together.

  He hesitated with his hand on the door, the metal cool beneath his sweaty palm. Then he checked his reflection in the glass and straightened his uniform before taking a deep breath for courage.

  At last, he entered the VIP lounge and found utter chaos. Not exactly the romantic scene he’d been hoping for. The place was packed with travelers, some sleeping on benches, some on the floor. Several clusters of small children were running willy-nilly through the crowds, playing tag while a waiter and a bartender tried to help corral them for their harried-looking parents. The air smelled of fried food and air freshener and Silent Night was playing, ironically, over the PA system.

  Murphy stood inside the doors and scanned the area, finally spotting Shayma against the far wall, in front of the windows, at a tiny table for two. She was turned away from him, staring outside he presumed, so she hadn’t noticed him enter. Careful to avoid stepping on someone, he made his way over to her table and looked at her for a moment, all midnight curls and warm curves, before clearing his throat to gain her attention. “Is this seat taken?”