Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
The January before last, I had a layover in the Denver airport on my way to New York, but a storm had all planes grounded for the foreseeable future. I was sitting at a bar nursing the dregs of a drink when an older woman sat next to me.
“A glass of white, whatever you recommend,” she said, smiling up at the bartender who came over. “And whatever else he wants.”
I turned to her and couldn’t help it—I smiled.
Even though I wanted nothing to do with anyone, being that not only was I stuck in an airport when I should be in the sky, but also because I’d just gotten word that Blacknote Records had rejected all four of the songs I was trying to sell them, I smiled at this woman.
She was in her late seventies to early eighties, by my best guess, with short, gray hair curled on her head and big, wire-rimmed glasses attached to a pink stone chain.
She was wearing a light pink cardigan set and had a matching rolling suitcase, which made me wonder if she had chosen that outfit intentionally.
The stool was high, and she was short, so she had to give a little hop, grabbing the bar top to help boost herself as she got onto the stool.
But once she settled, she let out a deep sigh and turned to me, putting a hand out.
“Dottie,” she said.
I stared for a moment, and even though I always made every effort to avoid talking to strangers because there were few things on this earth I hate more than small talk, I shook it. She didn’t seem the type that you simply ignored.
“Adam.”
“How long have you been stuck here?” she asked.
“Three hours with endless more in sight.”
She nodded and smiled. “You looked like you could use some company.”
I wanted to argue, to tell her I didn’t.
To say I didn’t need nor want company. But before she had come over to me, I was scribbling out ideas onto a cocktail napkin, trying my best to think of something new to offer the label, and coming up with nothing.
Having her here gave me a good excuse not to continue down that depressing path.
“You’re right,” I said, and when her smile widened and the wrinkles around her mouth deepened, showing me clearly that she did it often, I knew I had made the right choice.
Over the next two hours, she told me everything there was to know about her.
She was from a small town and was on a trip because she had gotten a nasty diagnosis recently and wanted an adventure before she was too sick to travel.
She was on her way back from an Alaskan cruise when she got stuck in the airport.
She had two children, five grandkids, and a great-granddaughter.
In exchange, I confessed my own stories to her, ones I usually kept close to my chest. I was in a band, and I now write music for a living.
I was stuck.
“I’m coming back from a stay in a cabin in Montana. I was hoping it would help with my writer’s block,” I said as I swirled the dregs of my second drink, casting my eyes down.
“Did it work?” The question wasn’t asked the way Greg asked, laced with annoyance or pity. It was a genuine question, like she genuinely wanted the answer.
Still, I gave her a safe one.
“Travel is always worth the adventure,” I said, even though I didn’t know if I really believed that anymore. She looked me over, clearly reading that it wasn’t an answer at all, but appearing to go with it all the same.
“I wish my grandkids were adventurous. They’ve never left our little town.”
I nodded, relieved to be off the topic of my writing. “Oh yeah? And where’s that?” I crossed my arms on my chest and leaned back, looking her way.
She smiled widely, as if even the memory of her home brought her joy and peace. “Holly Ridge, New Jersey. The best little town in the whole world.”
“Maybe they love it so much they don’t want to leave?” I asked, and she shrugged.
“My grandsons, maybe. My granddaughter…she has the bug. She wants to see the world, to travel about.”
“But?” I asked. There’s always a but.
“But she’s so stuck on putting everyone else first. I’m hoping she grows out of that, but who knows.” She shrugged, then looked me over. “Maybe she just needs to meet the right person to help her figure out her priorities.”
I opened my mouth to tell her that I’m sure her granddaughter would figure it out on her own in due time, especially if she has as close a family as she implied, but a voice came over the loudspeaker, declaring that the storm had eased and my flight would be boarding soon.
“That’s me. I gotta go,” I said, reaching into my pocket to pull out my card to pay for both of our drinks, but she shook her head.
“No, no, let me.”
“Now, Dottie—” I said, ready to argue. If nothing else, my parents taught me manners.
“I’ve never gotten to buy a famous songwriter a drink. Let me have my moment. You’ve already paid your dues by spending two hours with me at this bar, listening to me ramble on. I’m sure you had much better things to do.”
I stare at her, then shake my head.
“Not much I’d rather have done than hang out here with you.” She gave me that wide smile again.
“I hope you find your muse again, Adam. Good luck.”
“I knew her,” I whisper, grazing a finger over the glass of the photo and looking more closely. Wren is next to her, and now that I see them both, I see the familiarities. The eyes are nearly the same, and she has her grandmother’s smile.
How did I not see it before?
“What?” Wren asks, rightfully confused.
“I met her. Last January. She was stuck at the airport in Denver due to a layover. I was supposed to go home to New York, but the flights were grounded due to a storm. We sat at a bar together. Talked.” I shake my head, confused and bewildered by this news, before I turn to her and give her my biggest confession.
“Your grandmother is the reason I’m in Holly Ridge,” I say, the words feeling strained as they leave my lips. My pulse is pounding, and adrenaline is making all outside noise dull; my focus is solely on the frame and Wren.
“What?” she asks again, and I shake my head, trying to organize my thoughts and explain to her.
“When I met her at the airport, she told me Holly Ridge was the best little town in the whole world. In October, when I was looking for somewhere to disappear to, I remembered her mentioning it. I found it on a map, found a house, and bought the first one I found.” I stare at Wren, stunned silence hanging between us as what I just confessed sinks in.
For a split second, panic fills me, unsure of how she’ll respond.
What if it makes her unhappy or sad? What if the grief she’s been struggling to contain all month suddenly chooses to surface now?
I’ll hold her through it, of course, but she wouldn’t want to have that moment here, with everyone around.
“Oh my god,” she whispers, eyes going wide, mouth spreading in a delighted smile that has my shoulders easing.
“She came home and told us she met a celebrity. Showed us a scribbled signature on a cocktail napkin, but she couldn’t remember your name, and it was so messy, we couldn’t discern it.
” She lets out a loud laugh. “We thought someone had lied to her to get her to buy him drinks!”
I lift my hands, eager to set the record straight. “In my defense, I wanted to pay for the drinks, really. She insisted.”
“Oh, trust me, I know. She was very stubborn.” She stares at me, then at the photo, her face etched with awe, though I’m sure it’s a different kind than mine.
I move my gaze back to the wall of photos and scan it again, now looking for Dottie King. I see her in almost all of them, many with Wren of various ages at her side, and smile at the way the world works.
I can’t believe that the woman I met at the airport, who told me to go to Holly Ridge, is the grandmother of the woman I am quickly realizing I am head over heels in love with.
“I can’t believe you met her,” she whispers, and when I look back at her, there are tears in her eyes.
“Birdie,” I whisper, reaching out to her and pulling her into me, my hand holding her head to my chest as she takes a few deep breaths to calm herself. Then her head tips back to look up at me, her eyes shining but tears not falling.
“I kept thinking she would have liked you, you know? She would have really liked you and been so happy to have someone encouraging me to put myself first, take care of me, and help me set boundaries. She always wanted that for me. But it turns out she already liked you.”
“I liked her,” I whisper.
She nods. “I’m so glad you met her,” she whispers.
I squeeze her a bit tighter. “Me too, Birdie.”
She tips her head back once more and stares up at me, and I lift a hand, cupping her cheek and grazing over a single tear that has fallen.
I can’t help but lean down and press my lips softly to hers.
When I pull back, her eyes are dazed, but the grief is gone once more, with adoration and relief and gratitude on her face now.
I’ve never been in love before, but I know this is the moment. This is when I tell her those three little words.
“Wren, I—”
Then her phone rings, and we both startle. She steps back and lets out a little laugh.
“That’s lunch,” she says, wiping at her cheeks and shaking her head. “Can you go out and get it for me and bring it into the main room for everyone? I think I need a moment to collect myself.”
“Of course,” I say, then press my lips to her forehead before she turns and moves toward the bathroom.
As I’m walking toward the door, I realize that’s the first time she’s ever asked me to do a favor for her without apologizing or feeling guilty. And while it’s not those three little words, it almost feels better.