2. Zane
2
Zane
Not Just Another Pretty Face
I f I have to miss what might be my mom’s last birthday, I’m going to make someone smile in her honor. It’s what she’d want. In fact, she’ll love this whole story of the beautiful angry woman who spilled coffee on my shoes and didn’t want to let me buy her a replacement, who then ended up laughing at all my jokes and agreeing to have dinner with me in this airport tonight.
At least, that’s what I’m predicting is going to happen. Not that I’m psychic. But I’ve got jokes, and everybody’s got to eat, right?
Mom’s birthday party is still two days away. I’ll still make it, unless the forecasters are wrong again. I knew as soon as I saw the sudden change in the forecast yesterday that I should’ve tried to get on an earlier flight.
They were still saying the storm wouldn’t hit until this evening, but I had that feeling, the one I know to trust.
And I ignored it.
The delays started coming in first thing this morning. By ten o’clock, the writing was on the wall, but I was already inside the terminal, so I kept walking to the gate, telling myself my flight was early enough that we’d still get out.
At ten-fifteen, the forty-minute delay got pushed back to fifty-six minutes. Then an hour and four minutes. Then an hour and sixteen minutes.
My phone lit up with a new message every few minutes until the gate agent announced the flight had been officially canceled. Over three hours past our scheduled departure time, I finally had to face that I wasn’t leaving here today. By that time, the storm had worsened beyond the worst of the predictions.
Thankfully, I had the foresight to grab a hotel room in the airport before they were sold out. That’s one thing I did right. When this storm finally blows out, I’ll already be here, ready to hop on the first available flight to Florida.
“I’m Zane,” I say, extending my hand to the disgruntled beauty standing in line with me. “Zane Jacoby.”
“Hi.” She reluctantly shakes my hand. “Darby Bartlett.”
“Darby,” I repeat. “What a great name. I’ve never met a Darby before. You ever met a Zane?”
“Just one. He worked at the agency for a while. We called him Inzane.”
“Hostile workplace. No wonder you’re so temperamental.”
“As of an eight-a.m. video call this morning, I no longer work there.”
“Damn. I guess you wanted to see someone’s expression when you quit?”
She stares at me, and it becomes abundantly clear I’ve misread the situation.
“Ouch. I’m sorry about that.”
“Yeah, me, too. But they’re the ones who will be sorry in the long run.”
“So, you weren’t heading off on a business trip?”
“Nope. Just an ordinary vacation on the beach, the kind where you’re supposed to return to work when the week is over.” She laughs, but stops as soon as she catches herself.
“It’s okay to laugh, Darby.”
“Oh, sure, it’s hysterical that I’ll spend my vacation looking for a new job, unable to relax for a single minute.”
“Then don’t do that.”
“I can’t just not do that. What are you, a trust fund baby?”
“No.” I motion for her to step forward in line. “My father is a firm believer in his kids making their own way in the world.”
She looks at me over her shoulder as she steps up a few feet. “But you did grow up rich, right?”
“I had a privileged upbringing, yes.”
“Yeah, you have that look.”
“I could say the same about you.”
“Really? I look like the girls you grew up with?”
“Maybe. If you changed into a plaid skirt and knee socks.” I look her up and down teasingly, as if I’m trying to imagine it.
“Of course you went to private school.”
She completely ignores my pretend leering, obviously not in a joking mood. Yet.
“Oh, you were one of those wild public-school girls, huh? I heard about you.”
“Please. My cousin went to private school, and we did all the same dumb shit in high school.”
“Yeah, the only real difference is the uniforms.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” She steps forward again. “But she was no saint.”
“Teenagers aren’t meant to be saints. But your current look is very well put together, and you carry yourself with a great deal of confidence, so I would’ve had no way of knowing whether we had similar upbringings or not.”
“Our looks as teenager would’ve been much more telling.” She advances a few feet and checks a message on her phone.
I do the same, and send a quick reply to tell my sister for the second time that, yes, I’m positive my flight isn’t going to be rescheduled today. And no, I can’t get out on another airline. I resend the picture I took earlier of the snow coming down through the window at the gate. Maybe it didn’t go through the first time.
“What was teenage Darby’s look?”
She glances up from her phone and almost smiles. “A lot more eyeliner.”
“Oh, so you did look like the girls I grew up with.”
Her laugh is sexy. It’s not a flirtatious giggle, just a genuine laugh. A genuinely sexy laugh. She’s not wearing anything provocative or trying to garner any attention. In fact, aside from her raised voice when she was talking to customer service, I get the impression she’d rather go completely unnoticed.
But I’ve already noticed her. We’re both stuck here, and I am drawn to this woman in a way I can’t even describe. She smells incredible, but I didn’t know that when I first moved to stand closer to her at the gate. She’s definitely pretty, but there’s something more.
In all honesty, after the week I’ve had, I might’ve gotten angry at any other pretty woman who spilled coffee on my shoes, but the moment Darby looked up at me with that pissed-off expression and offered her half-hearted apology, all I wanted was to know her better.
She was real. Honest. Not at all flustered, just ready to offer a solution and be rid of me. Besides, she was already pissed off enough for both of us.
People don’t intrigue me anymore the way they once did. But she does.
Darby Bartlett is intriguing, and I’m in the mood to be intrigued. I’ll just have to figure out how to intrigue her back because, so far, she doesn’t seem any more interested than when she ran into me.
“You staying in Palm Beach?” I ask.
“Yeah. You on vacation, too?”
“No. Going home to visit family.”
“You grew up in Palm Beach? Of course you did.”
I don’t take the bait on the wealth-shaming. It’s not like I had any control over my family’s financial status. “Are you meeting someone to share your vacation with?”
“Nope. Just a solo week at the beach.”
“You don’t have any friends?”
She laughs, and it’s sexy this time, too. A lot of people would’ve been offended by my question, but she finds it laughable.
“Yes, I have friends. But sometimes, I need time alone to reset.”
“Your friends and family must worry about you traveling alone.”
“They don’t. However, if they knew I was talking to a stranger in an airport, they might be concerned about that.”
“No need to worry about me, I promise.”
“Said the serial killer.”
“Actually, you might fit that profile better than I do.”
“Nah, pretty sure I’d be a one-and-done killer. I get bored easily.”
“You could change up your methods to keep it interesting.”
“Honestly, I’d rather be a detective who catches serial killers.”
“No time like the present. You’re currently unemployed, so maybe that should be your next career move.”
“I’m pretty sure you can’t just walk in off the street and become a homicide detective.”
“Don’t think you could hack it at the police academy, huh?”
“I’d probably make a better amateur sleuth.”
“Because you’re really vindictive?”
“Hmm.” She cocks her head like she’s contemplating the possibility. “Yeah, I could see me being motivated by revenge on behalf of a murdered woman.”
“Vigilante then.”
“Now that’s a career change I could get behind.”
“Probably pays well, if you know the right people.”
“Do you know those kinds of people?” She cocks one eyebrow, making me unsure if we’re still joking or if she’s really trying to determine if I’m dangerous.
“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”
“Remind me why I’m talking to you again.”
I point at the cash register, where a weary looking young woman waits to take Darby’s order. “You’re up.”
She steps to the counter. “Large cold brew, please. Black.”
The barista nods and offers Darby a slow smile as she rings up her coffee. It almost looks like a show of respect, probably because she knew what she wanted and didn’t hold up the line. But a cold brew?
“You know there’s a blizzard raging outside, right?”
“I drink cold brew all year long. And the heater is working overtime in here, so the temperature outside is irrelevant.”
I place my order. A large black coffee, but hot. Darby makes no comment, but I turn to her and say, “I drink hot coffee all year long.”
She doesn’t laugh, but I do get a smile. Or a smirk. Whatever. I’ll take it.
With her cup held high and slightly tilted toward me in salute, she says, “Thanks for the coffee.” Then she walks off as if that’s that.
I’m tempted to run off after her before I even get my own coffee, but I don’t want to look desperate. The moment my cup hits the counter, though, I grab it and sprint.
Darby’s browsing the window of a clothing store when I catch up to her. I hadn’t thought anything of it before, but all she’s carrying is a large tote bag. When I stood next to her at the gate, I could see that it held her laptop bag, her purse, and a bag of pretzels. I doubt there’s room for clothes underneath those things.
I had the advantage of height. I wasn’t being nosy. Not entirely.
“You don’t travel with a carry-on?” I ask.
“The irony is that I normally do, but I decided to skip it this time. The one fucking time I get stranded, and all my clothes are in my checked bag.”
She makes no note of the fact that I’ve caught up to her, just answers my question as if I’ve been standing here all along. “Looks like you made the same mistake.”
She’s wrong. I’ve already checked into the hotel and left my carry-on in the room. I kept my computer with me because I thought I might get some work done, and I don’t work well in silence. Having movement and noise around me forces me to focus, but I couldn’t find a decent spot to work.
Knowing I at least have some clothes and my toothbrush provides a small amount of comfort, despite the overall inconvenience of being stuck here. She’s got nothing.
“I’m happy to buy you a change of clothes and any necessities you need.”
Now, she takes very intentional notice of me. “What the hell is wrong with you? Is this supposed to be some sort of Pretty Woman moment?”
“What? No, I just meant because you’ve lost your job, and you’re stuck here at least overnight, that I’d be happy to help.” I add what I intend to be a friendly, maybe-don’t-slap-me shrug, but it does nothing to soften her expression. In fact, she looks even angrier now.
“The coffee was plenty.” She steps past me to enter the store. Quickly.
As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew offering to buy her clothes was weird, but they were already out there. And apparently, they sounded worse than I even realized.
Fuck. What do I do now? Just stand here and wait for her to finish shopping? Yeah, that won’t make me look like an actual stalker at all. I stare through the windows at the clothing racks, letting my eyes scan from one to the next, hoping to find a men’s section. No such luck.
There’s a bookstore across the hall. I guess I’ll pretend to shop for a book until she leaves this store, and then I can coincidentally catch up to her again. It’s not the best plan I’ve ever had, but desperate times . . . not that I’m desperate for her.
I’m intrigued, that’s all.