Her Surprise Vacation Date: A Christian Romantic Comedy (Unexpected Dates Book 1)

1. Hope

“It takesreal planning to organize this kind of chaos.” ~Mel Odom

I, Hope O’Connor, plan my life down to the Ts. As in timely, tidy, and thorough. Not to mention, tenacious. Because it takes a lot of careful planning to stick to an itinerary. Or so I imagine. As someone who’s also thrifty, I’ve only taken a handful of trips in my three decades of living. But today’s flight to So Cal is going to be the start of an adventure. A week-long vacation full of fun sightseeing, delicious food, and window shopping.

Assuming I can get my luggage on board the plane first.

“Miss, your bag is definitely over the weight limit. That’s going to be a $100 charge to have it checked in.” The slightly balding attendant at the counter looks over the frame of his blue glasses, giving me a mostly perturbed frown. His cheeks are rosy, and his thick beard could give Santa a run for his money, but I’m pretty sure he’s full of something other than Christmas cheer. “We accept all major credit cards, so if you’ll make the payment, we can get on our merry way.”

The name tag clipped to his red polo shirt reads Frank, which is quite apropos given his directness. I’m just as ready to live out the meaning of my name, and hope beyond hope that we can come to a compromise. Because I’m so not willing to spend my hard-earned money before my vacation even starts.

I stretch to my full height of five-foot-four and lean my elbows onto the counter. With my most endearing smile, like the one I gave my fifth graders a week ago when we parted ways before summer began, I reply, “Mr. Frank—can I call you Mr. Frank?” When he grunts in agreement, I continue, “I hear what you’re saying, but I really don’t have any money to spare. I’m a schoolteacher, and this is the first vacation I’ve taken since I started working. My best friend and I planned this trip ages ago to celebrate her 30th birthday. And the only reason my luggage is a teeny tiny bit over the weight limit is because I packed her gift in it. I can’t not bring her gift, right?”

Not missing a beat, Frank clears his throat and leans his elbows onto the counter. His bushy eyebrows draw together as he looks me up and down. “You say you’re a teacher, and you just used a double negative?”

My shoulders droop a little beneath my thick hoodie. Yes, it’s triple digits in Arizona right now, but this air-conditioned airport feels as cold as a walk-in freezer. And the incredulous stare Mr. Frank gives me only adds to the chill in the air. “Yes, I did, but did you know double negatives are only considered a no-no in the standard English language? There are plenty of other languages, like Spanish, where it’s perfectly fine to use a double negative. In fact, it would be grammatically incorrect to not use one.”

“And what language are you speaking now?”

“English,” I manage with a sheepish smile.

“Exactly.”

“Fine, you’re right.” I notice the corners of his mouth twitching as if he’s holding back his reaction. His show of restraint makes me back down just a little. “Happy now?”

“As a matter of fact, I am.” His lips part in a genuine smile for the first time in our negotiation—I mean conversation. “I am pleasantly pleased as punch. That’s a simile, not a metaphor, in case you didn’t know.”

It takes all my willpower to keep my eyes from rolling. I am well aware of the difference, but I bite my tongue and nod.

It’s just my luck that I’m stuck with a grammar nerd for a ticketing agent. Not that I believe in luck. I have faith in God and in His providence and power. How could I not? It takes a lot more than luck to keep the galaxy in motion, not to mention my life from spiraling out of control. I should know. This incident is only one reminder that things rarely go the way I plan, but it always turns out for the best.

Most of the time.

Right now, I just want to get on Mr. Frank’s good side and figure out how to turn this situation around. If only this were like math, and I could turn two negatives into a positive.

That’s it!

I bounce on my toes, making my ponytail swing from side to side. Excitement builds up in me to have figured out a solution. “Okay, Mr. Frank, how much over is my bag? Are we talking a pound or two? I’ll take out whatever I need to and put it in my backpack. I’ll even carry it in my pockets. It’s just simple subtraction, right?”

“Right.” There’s a glint in his brown eyes as he goes on to say, “It’s nine.”

“Nine?” Air fills my lungs again. “You mean nine ounces, right? So, about half a pound? That’s no problem?—”

“No, pounds.”

“P-pounds?”

“Yes, nine pounds. As in 144 ounces.”

Goodness, Frank’s a math whiz, too? “Nine pounds. I see.”

I blink twice as I let his answer register inside my brain. Nine pounds! How in the world am I going to lug around nine pounds worth of stuff in my backpack and pockets? The former is already filled to the brim with snacks and books—and I am not parting with either of those precious babies. I glance down at my outfit and my heart sinks. Of all the things I could have worn today, I had to choose leggings. Beautiful royal purple leggings that my bestie, Amelia, gave me that have the words Just One More Chapter printed in swirly font along the side of one pant leg and Bookmarks are for Quitters printed down the other. As much as I love these leggings, though, I’d love them a lot more if they had pockets. The only one I have to work with is the kangaroo pocket on my hoodie.

I release a long, heavy breath and roll up my sleeves. If there’s a will, there’s a way. I’ll do whatever I have to do to see Amelia. She’s the friend I’ve known the longest and the closest thing to a sibling since I’m an only child. There’s nothing she wouldn’t do for me—apart from flying. Because of her aerophobia, she drove twelve hours from the Bay Area to visit me five years ago for my twenty-fifth birthday. I only have to fly an hour and a half to meet her halfway at our vacation spot. So, if I have to show up looking like the Michelin Man, so be it.

“Hey, lady,” a male voice bellows, “are you paying or what? You’re gonna make the rest of us miss our flight!”

I turn around and spot the young man standing about ten feet behind me with his arms crossed over his chest. Standing in front of him is a little girl with red hair like mine, eyeing me with her hands on her hips. Apparently, they’re not the only ones on edge over my packing dilemma. Several other passengers also glare at me as if I’m the one thing preventing them from starting their vacations.

Gulp.That’s probably because I am.

With my cheeriest teacher voice, the one I reserve for parents who bring in sweet treats for their children’s birthdays and leave me to deal with the resulting sugar highs, I call out, “Thank you for your patience, everyone! You guys are the best! I just need to lighten my load a little bit, then I’ll be good to go!”

When I turn back to the counter, I yank my bag off the scale and proceed to open it. Before I can get the zipper undone, I hear Mr. Frank clear his throat.

“What is it that you’re attempting to do, miss?”

I wince under his scrutinizing gaze. “I’m going to wear some of the clothes I packed.”

“Nine pounds worth of clothes?”

“Y-yes?” I croak out, quickly losing my confidence. Who am I kidding? This plan is never going to work. I might as well fork over my wallet now.

“Fine, fine. But do it over there.” Mr. Frank shoos me off to the side with a wave of his hand. With a resigned sigh, he says, “I’ll hold onto your boarding pass. Come back to the front of the line when you’re ready and I’ll weigh your bag again.”

My spirits rise as I reach over the counter to shake his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Frank! You’re the best ticketing agent that ever lived!”

With a spring in my flip-flopped steps, I grab my luggage off the scale. Then I squeak my way off to the side—did I mention the luggage is almost as old as me?—and get to work. It’s not an easy feat, but I manage to put on a pair of jeans over my leggings—which I’m now so thankful for!—then my favorite cream-colored sweatpants over the jeans, along with two skirts—a knee-length and a maxi. Next, I layer on four T-shirts and a long-sleeve top beneath my hoodie, then top them all off with a navy bomber jacket I found from my last thrift store hunt. I throw in two pairs of socks, along with a black sneaker, into each of the jacket pockets for good measure.

By the time I’m done, I’m bundled up more snugly than a bug in a rug. I’m also overwhelmed by a delicious blend of fragrances from Amelia’s gift that now permeates through my luggage. The scents also linger on my clothing, lifting my mood. As I zip up my bag, I say a prayer of thanks to the Lord for turning this situation around. I’m ninety-nine percent sure my bag is under the weight limit now. If it isn’t, I’m going to have to resort to desperate measures and check myself in.

That’s right. Just toss me onto the conveyor belt and let it carry me off into the sunset.

Mortification soon replaces my sense of accomplishment. As I head back to the ticket counter, there are two dozen eyes on me, watching my every wobble. Somebody even has the gall to chortle. At least there’s one kind soul who takes pity on me and shooshes the chortler. The only bright side is that these bystanders are complete strangers who will likely forget about me by the time they reach their destination.

Or so I hope.

By the time I make it over to weigh my bag again, my cheeks are on fire. Thankfully, all my work pays off and I get a nod of approval from my buddy Mr. Frank when the scale tips in at exactly 50 pounds. My fellow passengers are also kind enough to give me a standing ovation as I make my way past them in line.

“Thank you, thank you!” I call out before bidding them goodbye.

After going through security, I locate my gate and find the nearest seat to plop down in. With fifteen minutes to spare before my flight takes off, I decide to call Amelia and check on her progress.

“Hello?” a weak voice answers the phone after four rings. “Who is this?”

“Ames, it’s me. Are you okay? You don’t sound so good.”

“Oh, hey, Hope.” A gagging noise comes over the line. “I think I have food poisoning or maybe the stomach flu. Either way, I was stuck to the porcelain throne all night long. You should be glad you’re nowhere near me right now because I look like something the cat dragged in. Which, by the way, is the strangest saying. It makes no sense at all because cats are such clean creatures, right? Ugh, hold on!”

“Ames?” There’s a clanking on the other end before the line goes silent. I’m sitting on the edge of my seat now, wavering between worry, disgust, and more worry. Poor Amelia! I’ve never heard her sound so sick before. We often joke that the two of us have immune systems of steel—hers from working as a nurse and mine from being surrounded by kiddie germs. Between us, we’ve probably been exposed to every virus known to man. It’s surprising that she finally succumbed to an illness, and on the first day of our vacation, no less! This trip is so not starting out well for either one of us.

“Sorry about that.” Amelia’s back on the line, sounding wearier than before. “I’ll spare you the details, but let’s just say that I’m a shade of green even you wouldn’t like.”

“That’s not possible. I love all shades of green. And you’re my best friend. I wouldn’t care if you looked like a cross between Kermit and the Hulk right now. You already have such pretty green eyes. You might as well have the complexion to match.”

She chuckles softly. “Thanks, Hope. You sure know how to cheer me up.”

“It’s good to hear you laugh, Ames, but is there anything I can do? How about I call you an Uber to take you to the hospital?”

“Please, no. Work is the last place I want to be at right now. All I need is to get some rest and stay hydrated. I’m sure it’ll pass in a few days.”

I swallow hard. In a few days? What does this mean for our vacation?

“I’m really sorry for ruining our trip, Hope.” Amelia’s somber tone lightens as she continues, “but don’t you worry. You’re still going to get an awesome vacation. I already called for backup.”

“Backup? What do you mean?”

“Shane’s going to stand in for me until I feel better. He should be halfway to the Santa Barbara airport by now. He’ll be the one picking you up and driving you to Solvang.”

“Wait a minute. You’re sending your brother to go on our vacation? Your little brother who used to hide in your closet when I slept over and would jump out and scare me in the middle of the night?”

“He’s not so little anymore, Hope. And he’s actually not bad company now that he’s older. Just think of him as your chauffeur and tour guide. As soon as my insides return to normal, I’ll come and switch places with him.”

I swallow hard. Now it’s my insides that feel twisted up into a knot. Nothing about this day is going according to plan. Those Ts I had talked about before? They’ve turned into troubling, trapped, and terrifying. I can’t believe I’m about to go on vacation with my best friend’s younger brother.