Chapter 18
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
You knew you were in love when you took a girl to Charles de Gaulle Airport—at the holidays.
Nightmare. Sawyer nearly shuddered as he maneuvered Kyle’s ride to the parking deck.
“You really don’t need to see me inside to the security checkpoint, Horatio.
” Phoebe turned in her seat in her big puffy pink coat, repeating the sentence for the tenth time.
“I know you wanted to wait to exchange Christmas gifts until I was literally leaving, but taking me inside seems like one of Hercules’ labors. ”
It was worse than that as he waited for a six-person family lugging a truckload of suitcases to move the heck out of the way.
“It’s more like a Nordic hero traversing the dangerous forest of Mirkwood.
” Or answering Maybe next year to his mother’s text about him coming home last minute for the holidays after he’d already told her months ago We’ll see.
God, he hated the passive avoidance routine, but if it wasn’t broke, why fix it?
“Axel would be pleased to hear the reference, but let’s just exchange gifts here. This is too big of a boyfriend duty.”
That was why he was doing it. “Maybe I want to have that movie moment where I say goodbye to you in an airport, and we kiss passionately because we know we won’t see each other for a while.”
“I’m barely going to be gone for a week,” she said with a not-so-delicate snort. “Even your roommates think you’re crazy.”
They’d all gone out for drinks last night at a snazzy new jazz lounge Brooke had heard about it. His friends had accepted her, and moreover, they really seemed to enjoy her and her humor.
“My roommates understand a romantic gesture,” he told her, finally swinging into a way too tight space on the umpteenth deck he’d driven through packed with cars. “God, I don’t want to risk this baby being dented, but we need to get you to your flight.”
“Kyle was a prince for letting you drive his ride.” She caressed the dashboard of the Maserati GranTurismo. “Tell him thank you again.”
Could she get any better? Gracious and kind and smart and funny and…
He hit the brakes when the concrete wall suddenly loomed in front of him. Daydreaming and parking were a no-no. Jesus, he was going to have a coronary. Why hadn’t he gotten an Uber and had someone drive them?
Romance. Right. A guy takes his girl to the airport…
She swung out of the car while he eased out carefully.
When he grabbed her wheeled neon green carry-on, she made a play for it.
He evaded. They smiled. It was a game they played.
She asserted her independence. He reminded her that he wanted to be a gentleman.
In the end, she allowed it, because it didn’t hurt her independent spirit any. The dance was working for them.
When they went through the electric double doors to the terminal, his insides sent up a going on strike sign. He might as well have stepped on an ant hill. People were running through the airport like crazy worker ants, and there were thousands of them. God, he hated crowds.
“Ah…the holidays,” Phoebe commented, taking his arm and leading him to the escalator.
A man nipped the back of Sawyer’s heel with his bag as he stepped on, nearly making Sawyer tumble forward.
He might have if Phoebe hadn’t helped prevent him from face-planting on the metal grates.
He glared over his shoulder, but the man had his boarding pass in a white-knuckled grip and hadn’t even noticed.
Trying not to growl, Sawyer caught Phoebe watching him with an amused smile. “You really are too cute. But you’re never doing this again. Because while we never talk about work stuff, you should probably know that I sometimes fly four to five times a month.”
He gulped. That many? “Okay, I cry uncle. But I still might call us an Uber and go with you.”
“Whyever would you want to do that?”
He touched her cheek. “Don’t you know? So I can spend every last second with you, my rose.”
She leaned in and gave him a quick kiss. “Ah, Horatio, you slay me with your love. Mind the step.”
They exited the escalator. The man behind Sawyer ran into him again, and this time Sawyer growled aloud.
The man still didn’t notice, his eyes peeled to a departures screen.
Phoebe tugged him along and soon he saw it.
The longest, raucous snakelike line that would put the fear of God into even the most courageous of men.
Babies sobbed. Mothers shouted at children running around them in circles.
Fathers grabbed errant children and put them back in line.
How were any of these people going to make their planes?
“Let the fun begin.” She rubbed her hands together, clearly getting her game on.
“I have an idea! Let’s exchange gifts but agree to open them when we both get to our destination—to anticipate what’s inside.
Every time I feel a snarl coming on because of all the airport cooties I’m inhaling, you and your gift will be my happy thought. ”
He melted. “Deal. I love being your happy thought.”
“Good. Hold my carry-on.” Digging into one of her oversized bags, she pulled out a brightly wrapped present in an easily recognizable shape. “Yes, it’s a book, but you’ll have the car ride to think about which one.”
“Thank you. I can’t wait.” He secured it in his jacket before pulling out the slender box in the inside lining. “This is not a book,” he joked, “but I hope you can feel how much I love you when you open it.”
“That’s guaranteed.” She stroked his jaw. “I always feel your love—even when you’re not with me. I’m going to miss you, Horatio.”
“Me too.” Nodding, he felt a pit form in his stomach. He was going to be without her beautiful spirit for a week. God, his heart hurt.
“Now I need to find the best person joining the end of line.”
Her indominable spirit always amazed him. “Why?”
“Because when you stand in a queue like this, you want to be strategic. You want to be behind someone who looks calm or happy. I discovered this trick when I used to travel out of JFK Airport, and it saved my life. Suddenly the airport thing wasn’t as sucky.”
He knew the moment was here. The goodbye.
His heart really was aching. They’d spent every night together since that first night. He already feared he couldn’t sleep without her. He knew he’d miss the way she smiled at him each night before giving him one final kiss to last until morning.
Turning to her, he took her face in his hands, gazing into her gorgeous green eyes. “God, you’re a marvel. Thank you for coming into my life. I love you.”
She pressed her forehead to his, tangling her hands in his hair. “Thank you for coming into mine. I love you, Sawyer. Merry Christmas.”
Their mouths met. His heart pulsed thickly, savoring the moment, all the noise fading away. His whole world was her, and he hoped it would always be so.
“That kiss was worthy of braving this place, by the way,” he told her softly when he edged back.
“We might have to make a habit of it, then,” she whispered, kissing him fiercely one last time. “I’ll call you when I land. Although Dad is going to keep me hopping. He takes his father-daughter time seriously now.”
“Have a good flight. And a good Christmas.”
It would be too bold to say something like tell your dad hi, wouldn’t it?
“You too!” She was already dashing off. “Enjoy Thea’s wedding. Send pics. Gotta run.”
He could see her scanning the people approaching the end of the line.
When he noticed a Zen-like older man, he put his odds on him.
Sure enough, Phoebe filed in right behind him and gave a thumbs-up.
Laughing, he realized he didn’t want to leave.
Maybe he could stay here and watch her as she waited in the line.
They weren’t even in the main part of the security check area yet.
When she shooed him with a knowing smile, he waved. A large man collided with him, bruising his arm. Yeah, time to get the hell out of this ant farm.
After a tense exit from the airport, he arrived back to an empty house.
While everyone was getting together tomorrow night for Christmas Eve—with Madison joining them late—and then spending the holiday together since the restaurant was closed, everything was business as usual today.
Meaning Madison was at Nanine’s, and Kyle was out. The house was empty.
When he reached his studio, he was more than a little despondent.
So despondent he opened his phone and brought up his photos, smiling at snaps he’d taken of her laughing or grinning as well as images of them together.
The one with them lying on the floor made his chest tight.
God, he loved her. Like he’d never loved anything or anyone.
Yes, he loved her as much as painting. But there was no anguish with Phoebe. Only joy.
The philosophers would call it true love. He wasn’t sure Aristotle had it completely right with his famous line: love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies. But Sawyer did sense the mystical in a true union. Often when he and Phoebe came together, he felt at one with her.
Where was that oneness now, and who was he without it?
God, Thea would say there he went again.
Yeah, maybe he did need a philosophy time-out.
Surveying his current work in progress, the ninth painting he hoped to show—a woman resembling Phoebe lying in a bed of flowers in a garden scene reminiscent of Provence—he didn’t feel the urge to paint.
Or cheer at the thought that he was getting close to that magical number of thirteen paintings.
No, he wanted to sit and curl up with a good book.
Oh wait! The book.
He’d forgotten all about opening it in the stress of leaving the airport and getting to the car. He pulled it out of the inside lining of his coat and traced the neon green wrapping and navy bow.