Nope. Still the same.

  With a sigh, I continue my stroll until I find a small restaurant. The place is packed but there are a couple seats open at the bar. It takes a minute to get across the room. It’s like an obstacle course of tables, chairs, and luggage in here. Some douchebag even has his giant suitcase in the middle of a walkway instead of up against the wall on the other side of him. I know people are frustrated right now, but when did common decency become a thing of the past?

  I finally grab an empty stool before it’s too late. Watching whatever news program or game or whatever they have on in here has got to be better than people watching again.

  The pretty blond bartender approaches me, a tight smile on her face. I get it. Working on Christmas Eve sucks no matter how early in the day it is.

  “What can I get you?”

  “Uh… you think it’s too early to drink?” I half-joke.

  She’s not all that amused, just shrugs. “It’s five o’clock somewhere, right? No harm in calming your nerves in this madness.”

  She’s not wrong. “In that case, can I just get an IPA, please? Like a house draft?”

  “Coming right up.”

  Seconds later, I’m nursing my brew and half-watching some twenty-four-hour news channel as they discuss flight delays due to weather in airports all over the country. According to them, it’s creating mayhem everywhere.

  I thank my lucky stars our delay is only two hours and it’s a mechanical issue. Weather delays can go on for days. Getting maintenance to replace a few lightbulbs, or whatever is causing our problems, is definitely the better end of all this.

  Bored by the television already, I happen to glance up to see a freshly-tanned woman trip over the same suitcase I avoided just a few minutes ago. The asshole who owns it roughly pulls it back and glares at her while she apologizes and continues on her way. He just shoves his suitcase back in the walkway again.

  I shake my head. I hate guys like him, all entitled and refusing to admit their own wrong-doings. If we were on the ice, I’d check him against the wall just to put him in his place. He’s lucky we’re in an airport bar.

  I feel the stool next to me get pulled out and the same woman sits down. Up close, she looks to be in her mid-forties or so. Her dark hair is pulled up into one of those messy bun things and she pushes her dark-rimmed glasses up her nose as she sits. She smiles at me before turning her attention back to the bartender.

  “Can I order a Bloody Mary?” the woman asks gently before adding, “Nervous flier.”

  “Sure,” our bartender says, a small thread of compassion coming through in her tone. “Veggies?”

  “Um, extra please.” Glancing over at me, the woman adds, “Might as well try for a little healthy. Plus I may need the energy boost if I have to toss it back and race to the gate for boarding, right?”

  “Smart,” I respond, for lack of anything better to say. “But you can probably relax. The news says there are delays everywhere so don’t be surprised if you’re here longer than you expect.”

  “Oh, I’m just going to Dallas. They never have a delay.” The woman hooks her purse around her leg and rests her feet on the bar rail.

  “Lucky you.”

  She nods in agreement. “I must bring all the luck. I’ve been going back and forth to drop off and pick up my kids with their dad for five years. Never once have we gotten stuck. Thanks,” she says when her drink topped with a spear of olives and a celery stick is dropped off in front of her.

  I turn back to the TV, assuming our conversation is over.

  “Anyway, I’m Rachel Rumble,” she says and holds out her hand for me to shake.

  Oh. I guess we’re making friends this morning.

  “Nice name.” I shake Rachel’s hand quickly and turn my attention back to the TV.

  “I should have been a professional wrestler, right? Missed my calling. Anyway, what’s your name?”

  It’s clear her chatter is less about making friends and more about her nerves. I’ve got nothing better to do while I sit here, so I decide to forgo TV watching to engage in mindless chitchat instead.

  “I’m Becker,” I respond, not bothering with my last name. This is still an airport. The most friends you make in a place like this is a drinking buddy in passing.

  “Where are you headed this Christmas Eve, Becker?”

  It takes me all of one second to assess Rachel and her interest in me. While you have to be careful with your information when you’re considered a local celebrity, she doesn’t appear to be a threat in any way. And she’s old enough to be my mother, so I doubt she’s trying to hit on me.

  I hope.

  My teammate Maks has definitely bedded a cougar or two, but it would be super creepy if Rachel was trying to have an airport hookup just minutes before going to get her kids.

  “I’m headed up to Chicago to see my father.”

  “Nice. I hear Chicago is lovely.”

  That’s it. That’s all she says. Our conversation appears to have stalled out.

  Rachel continues to chow down on her celery while we absentmindedly stare at the television. Before I’m even done with my beer, she gestures for our bartender to bring her another drink, already having drained her first glass.

  Another Bloody Mary is placed in front of her while Rachel rifles through her purse. She pulls out a small prescription bottle. I cock my head to look closer when she opens it and pops a small pill in her mouth, but I don’t see what it is. It’s not my business anyway so I go back to our conversation, but still keep an eye on how fast she’s drinking. I’m not sure how to tell her she should probably slow down. I’m a stranger after all, but maybe the reminder that she’ll eventually have to make her way back to the gate will help.

  “What time does your flight leave?”

  Clicking her phone on, she looks at the time. “I board in about fifteen minutes. Plenty of time.”

  As she’s knocking back another big gulp, her phone buzzes. So do several phones in the area.

  Uh oh. I know what that means.

  She opens it and a look of horror crosses her face. “Oh no. Oh nonononononono.”

  I already know, but I ask anyway, more out of politeness than anything. “What’s wrong?”

  “My flight’s been delayed by an hour. Ohgod, no.”

  “You think your ex is going to be mad or something? It’s not your fault there are delays everywhere.”

  “That’s not it. I’m a nervous flyer so I just took a Xanax.”

  My eyebrows shoot up. “You took a Xanax while drinking two Bloody Marys in a row?”

  She shrugs sheepishly. “I do it every time I fly. If I take it fifteen minutes before boarding, by the time I’m in my seat, I just knock out and have a good nap. I usually don’t even remember taking off. By the time we get there, I’m fine.”

  “What do you do coming back?”

  “Weirdly, I’m okay when the kids are with me. Like they distract me from imminent death or something. But…” She throws her hands over her mouth. “What am I going to do? I’ve never stayed awake for longer than about twenty minutes after taking Xanax.”

  “Maybe you should walk if you get sleepy?” I honestly have no idea how to help her at this point.

  “Maybe.” She stares straight ahead at nothing while she thinks. “Or I can sit really still so it doesn’t metabolize as quickly. And drink lots of water.” Whipping her head around, she looks at me, wild-eyed. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe you can Google it?”

  “Right. Good idea.”

  Rachel spends the next several minutes doing some online research with very little result. The only thing that keeps coming up is the warning to never mix Xanax with alcohol, which Rachel keeps muttering is ridiculous since she does it all the time.

  And then it happens…

  Rachel yawns.

  Without her body being upright and going through the motions of boarding, she loses her fight quickly. I watch closely as her eyes become heavy and her shoulders slump. Slowly, she melts forward until her upper body is resting on the counter, glasses askew on her face. A second later, she snores.

  Our already overworked bartender approaches to check on us, but stops short when she sees Rachel, letting out a deep sigh.

  “Xanax?” she asks me since I’m the only one Rachel has been talking to.

  My eyebrows shoot up in question.

  “Happens more than you’d believe if I told you,” she explains.

  I nod in understanding. “Took one about twenty minutes ago and her flight is delayed by an hour.”

  The bartender shakes her head and shoves a towel under Rachel’s cheek as gently as she can. When I furrow my brow, she explains. “Can’t have her drooling on my bar.”

  “What do we do now?” I am well and truly stumped in this situation.

  “Nothing you can do. Do you need anything? I need to call airport EMS real quick so they can make sure she doesn’t die.”

  My eyebrows shoot up again. This entire conversation is full of surprises. For me. Not the bartender.

  “Like I said, happens more than you’d think. I’m sure she’s only the first today. Can I get you something real quick before I get on the phone?”

  I wave her off. “I’m good. You probably need to deal with this before anything else.”

  “I’ll be back in a few. Do me a favor and make sure she doesn’t fall off the stool, okay?”

  I agree and roll Rachel’s suitcase closer to me so no one takes it.

  Not even an hour into my own flight delay and things are already way weirder than I expected they’d be.

  Chapter Four

  Sloan

  The one benefit of a lengthy flight delay is I’ve had time to search this entire terminal for wrapping paper. There’s none. Not anywhere. The season of giving and apparently no one has anything to actually give.

  I don’t get it. Doesn’t anyone else who’s flying during the holidays need to wrap gifts on their way? Does everyone else plan ahead perfectly like I did, but no one ever has the same kind of luck I do?

  I sigh in resignation. At least I have a giant paper bag with handles. It was given to me by the nice lady at the last shop I went into during my impromptu scavenger hunt.

  Okay, so nice is relative. I was on the verge of tears when she said they also didn’t stock Christmas wrapping, and I’m pretty sure she gave me the bag as a way to get me out of her store, not because she was feeling the holiday spirit.

  Whatever. At least I have a way to transport everything home. And it’s not like my niece will care if one of the gifts is unwrapped anyway. She’s four. Everything is magical, regardless. It doesn’t really matter that I wanted it to be perfect. It’s not even her present that was brutally attacked on our way through security—it’s the one for her baby brother.

  As I meander through the airport, my computer bag on my back, the clunky paper sack in one hand, my carry-on suitcase rolling behind me, and my smaller coat wrapped around my waist, my thoughts veer into happier territory. I can’t wait to see my sweet niece and meet my nephew for the first time. Thank goodness for video conferencing. At least I won’t be a complete stranger when I finally see him today.

  I can’t believe how many milestones I’ve missed living so far away from my family. I’ve thought about looking for a job back in Chicago that would move me closer to them, but I really don’t want to. It’s not because I don’t love them, or because I can’t get a job there. I still have connections and family friends and all that. And all colleges have financial advisors so it’s not like the job market is terrible. I just have a life here in Florida.

  I love my friends and my apartment, which is so much cheaper and more spacious than it would be in the Windy City. I like living close enough to walk to the beach. And my health is so much better living here.

  I used to make fun of snowbirds who would spend all their winters in Florida. Then I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease shortly after I graduated from college and now I get it. The cold in Chicago makes my joints physically ache, which is why Florida is so good for me. The heat and humidity, as well as a few lifestyle changes, means my Sjögren’s syndrome doesn’t flare up very often. When it does, it’s for a few days, versus trying to live through a Chicago winter.

  It makes me sad to be away from my family, but that’s what makes this trip so much more important to me. I’ll be there for a few days, not long enough to have too many physical issues, but long enough to ease the ache in my heart that comes with loving them from afar.

  And now I’ll get there two hours later and with less wrapping paper.

  I sigh again, feeling thoroughly irritated by this turn of events. Plus, all this walking and pity partying are making me tired.

  I continue strolling around, looking for a place to rest for a while. Somewhere that’s not at the gate because for whatever reason, those chairs aren’t very comfortable.

  I happen upon a small restaurant with a bar. And right in the middle of it all is one small table with a lone chair. Perfect.

  I wrangle my overlarge bag of presents, carry-on suitcase, and backpack into the room with too many tables and not enough room for luggage.

  “Sorry. I’m so sorry,” I say as I bump into people that are all probably stuck like I am.

  Someone’s suitcase has fallen over and the handle is in the middle of the aisle, or whatever you would call this narrow space. Of course, I don’t see it until I trip on it and almost fall over. My bag of gifts breaks my fall when it slams into the back of someone’s head, giving me just enough time to grab their chair and steady myself.

  “Hey!” The man turns around and glares at me as I apologize profusely.

  “I’m so sorry, sir. I think your suitcase fell over. I tripped on the handle.”

  He sneers and turns back to his friends, not even bothering to fix the issue with his suitcase.

  Jackass.

  Once I get untangled from his luggage, I continue to push my way through the crowded area. Seriously, this is an airport. How would they not know to configure the space better?

  Finally, after two more people scowl at me and I exert more effort than I should need, I reach my destination and drop my bags on the small table.

  Somehow, it all gets tied up together and before I have time to sort it out, my brand-new paper sack rips right down the middle, scattering presents everywhere.

  It’s like a movie, when a few literally pop up in the air and fly across the room.

  I drop my chin to my chest and shake my head in disbelief.

  Worst Christmas ever.

  Chapter Five

  Becker

  I felt bad for my new traveling friend Rachel, but there was nothing I could do. EMS came to assess her and determined she needed to go to the hospital for observation. Something about mixing prescription meds with alcohol and the airport being liable. I wasn’t surprised, just felt bad listening to her mumble things like, “I’ll be fine. Just put me on the plane,” and “Don’t make me go,” as they carried her out of the bar and wheeled her away on a gurney.

  The only good news is that her ex happened to call while we were waiting for the paramedics, and I was able to tell him what had happened. I half-expected him to be a jerk about it—we’ve all heard the ugly custody stories—but turns out they have a decent relationship. He laughed and said he was afraid Rachel would get the delay alert after self-medicating, and to just have her call him when she woke up

  It was weird to be in the middle of the whole thing, but what else was I going to do? It didn’t feel right just to wash my hands of her because she’s a stranger. The asshole with the suitcase might not have any human decency, but I do.

  Somehow, in the middle of the melee, I didn’t realize how many people decided to set up base camp here while they wait.

  It seems like hundreds of people are jostling around the tiny space, even though it’s probably only a couple of dozen. I know airport restaurants don’t take up a lot of area, but when flights get cancelled, it certainly doesn’t make things easy on anyone.

  Feeling something tap my foot, I look down. A small, wrapped present is suddenly next to my stool.

  All the warnings about unattended packages race through my brain. I’m probably being dramatic, but I can’t help it. I’ve flown so much it’s practically engrained in me to assume anything and everything is either a bomb or drugs. So which is it? Is this a bomb or drugs?

  I glance skeptically around the area, trying to figure out which criminal it belongs to. My money is on the douchebag with the suitcase, but he doesn’t seem to be missing anything. Neither does anyone else. What do I do? Do I need to alert someone official that a random package has shown up at my feet?

  Before I can make a decision, the package is snatched up off the floor.

  “Sorry. My bag broke.”

  I glance up and almost rear back at the sight of the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Her straight, auburn hair is pulled back in a haphazard ponytail that looks like it could fall out at any moment. What appears to be a knit hat is hanging out of the pocket of her giant coat, dangerously close to falling onto the floor. And sure enough, she’s holding a paper sack with a tear down the side.

  Good thing I didn’t overreact about her package or anything.

  A random feeling of concern runs through me. She looks so disheveled and there’s a hint of frustration somehow hidden in the back of her blue eyes. It’s a totally different feeling than when Rachel was in distress. That was poor choices on Rachel’s part, and I can’t help but feel like I was sort of suckered into that situation. But this woman? With bags breaking and presents flying across the bar? It seems that the universe is conspiring against her and makes me want to help her out. “Did you get them all? All the packages?”

 

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