When I made it to the checkout line, my phone buzzed in my pocket.
Text message from Dane: Something came up at work, and I won’t be able to pick you up/take you to the airport. I’ve arranged for a town car to get you. He’s waiting outside whenever you’re ready.
Text message from Me: Are you still planning to meet me at the terminal for coffee before take-off? I’ll hold off on going through security, if so.
Text message from Dane: No. Have a safe flight.
What the hell?
I waited to see if he would send me a longer reply with an explanation, but ten minutes passed, and he never did.
I rolled my suitcase outside and spotted a suited guy standing outside of a sleek, black SUV. My name was scrawled onto his mini whiteboard, under the words, “Sorry that I couldn’t drive you personally—Dane.”
The driver opened the door and waited for me to settle onto the seat before putting away my luggage.
As the car coasted through the streets, my mind raced with thoughts on what could make Dane cancel all of a sudden. Not wanting to spend too much time thinking about it, I scrolled down to his name and hit call.
It rang once. It rang twice.
“Hello, Christina,” he said, his voice deep.
“Hey.”
“Are you already at the airport?”
“Still on the way,” I said. “What exactly came up for you at work? I thought you were the owner of all those resorts, i.e., the boss.”
“I am,” he said. He didn’t elaborate.
“Okay, then.” I shrugged. “Well, are you still planning to fly me back to Spokane next weekend, since you said that you didn’t want to wait three weeks?”
“No.” His voice was flat. “Something came up with that, too.”
“I take it that you’ve spoken to my father again?”
“I have.”
“Is that why you’re so short with me, all of a sudden?”
He let out a sigh. “I’ll have to talk about this later, but I’m doing what’s best. I’ll send you a letter on the app.”
“I thought you said that we didn’t need to use that as much anymore. And what do you mean what’s best? Are you saying that we’re over? Just like that?”
“I have to go now, Christina,” he said, not answering a single question. “Have a safe flight.” He ended the call without waiting for a reply, and my heart sank.
I knew that this was bound to happen—that despite the epic sex and the feelings, that meeting him in person would be the demise of our friendship.
When I made it to the airport, I rushed through security and headed straight to the closest bookstore. I needed to dive into someone else’s problems to stop thinking about my own.
I settled on a classic Nora Roberts novel and made it through five chapters before boarding began. For some reason, I was still holding out hope that this was all some elaborate ploy by Dane, that he would show up and sit next to me.
Those dreams were crushed the moment a man in all-grey plopped down in the seat.
I made it through another five chapters and a turbulent take-off before giving in and opening my laptop.
I wanted an explanation from him.
No, I deserved one.
The moment I logged into the app, I noticed that he’d sent me a letter.
Letter Topic: Us.
Dear Christina,
I truly enjoyed meeting you in person. I think we can both agree that the sex was fucking phenomenal, and the short time that we spent together will always be memorable.
Given the circumstances, I don’t think our relationship will work in the way that we discussed.
Have a safe flight.
Dane
I sucked in a breath and started to fire back, but I couldn’t finish my message.
I sat there and held back tears, asking the flight attendant to keep refilling my vodka.
When the plane landed hours later, I didn’t make a move to stand. I waited until everyone else exited. Then I took my time grabbing my bag, and headed toward the baggage claim.
Pulling out my phone to request an Uber, I dropped it to the ground once I spotted Dane standing in front of the exit doors. He was holding a bouquet of red roses and a small whiteboard.
For Christina
Let’s start over…again.
As if he could tell that I didn’t believe my own eyes, that I wasn’t stepping toward him anytime soon, he slowly sauntered over to me.
Slipping his free arm around my waist, he pressed his forehead against mine.
“You had more than enough time to respond to the letter I sent,” he said. “I put a lot of effort into that.”
“It’s one of the shortest letters that you’ve ever written.”
“Most of the time went into the cutting.” He looked into my eyes as he tucked the roses and the small sign into my purse. “I was hoping for your usual fiery response.”
“Why would I?” I shook my head. “You said that we won’t work.”