Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
Six hours, two canceled flights, one delayed flight that had subsequently also been canceled, and a conversation with a gate agent named Phil who Dalene suspected was part android for how unflappable he was in the face of adversity coming at him repeatedly from multiple angles.
All of this and she was still in Montana.
"I'm sorry, Ms. Austen," Phil said, for the third time. "The system moving into the valley has grounded everything inbound and outbound. We're not expecting conditions to improve until Sunday at the earliest."
She looked at the departures board. A column of red. Canceled, canceled, canceled, canceled. The board was updating in real time with the cheerful efficiency of a system that did not understand what it was doing to her love life.
Dalene sat down in one of the gate chairs. She had packed for two days. She had a change of clothes and the good vanilla extract she'd brought because she'd had some idea of baking something in D.C. for Eliot.
She pulled out her phone. She called Eliot again. Four rings again. Voicemail again. She hung up.
She thought about renting a car. She had actually looked it up — the drive from Valor to Washington D.C.
was approximately thirty-three hours. She had done the math.
She had briefly, genuinely considered it, which told her something about where she currently was emotionally.
Dalene had arrived in Desperation Town; population…
? Well, likely the population of all the desperate travelers currently in the terminal.
Instead of renting a car, she called Eliot again. Four rings. Voicemail. This time she didn't hang up.
She sat in the gate chair, she listened to the beep, and prepared to talk.
"It's me," she said. "I'm at the airport.
I've been here for hours and everything keeps getting canceled.
I was about to rent a car and drive to you, which is insane, I know that.
I wanted to tell you something, and I didn't want to say it on the phone but it turns out the phone is what I have right now so—"
She took a breath.
"I didn't fight for Tristan. When he left.
I didn't fight and I've thought about that a lot and I think I didn't fight because some part of me already knew.
Already understood that I was the only one holding that thing up and if I stopped it was going to fall.
It's different with you. It's different and everyone can see it and I can see it.
I'm not fine when you're not here, Eliot.
I haven't slept. I've been thinking about calling you seventeen times a day and not doing it because I don't want to be too much.
But I am so tired of making myself small—"
She stopped. She looked up. Blinked once, twice. But her vision didn't change. Eliot was standing in front of her.
Eliot Brooks, in his jacket, with an overnight bag slung over one shoulder, stood in the Valor, Montana airport looking at her with his phone in his hand and the desperate expression of a man who had arrived fought tooth and nail to arrive exactly where he wanted to be.
She gasped. Her phone hit the floor.
He bent and picked it up. He looked at it for a moment — at his number on the caller ID. The silence went on for so long that the call ended. He handed the device back to her, politely as though they were strangers, and looked at her with wonder as though she were his whole world.
"I got the last flight out," he said. "Before the storm came in."
"I've been here for three hours. Everything kept getting canceled. I was going to rent a car."
"And drive to D.C. It's thirty-three hours."
"I know. I looked it up."
Something moved across his face. The not-quite-smile. The warm one. "Dalene."
He dropped his bag down and pulled her in to him. Both arms came around her. Her face against his chest, his nose in her hair. He held her tightly to him. Not a millimeter of space or breath would make its way between their bodies.
She felt his chest expand as he inhaled. Hers collapsed into his as he exhaled. He inhaled again, only this time his nose was very deliberately in her hair.
"I washed it," she said, into his jacket. "And used the lavender. Your favorite."
Eliot made a sound against her hair. Low. Something between a laugh and a groan.
Dalene pulled back enough to look at him. "What are you doing here? You have an interview."
"I saw the system," he said. "Moving faster than I'd told Nora. Nobody was reporting it correctly, and I wanted to — I needed to be here. I wanted to tell the farmers, and I wanted to be here and I wanted to see you. Make sure you were safe."
Dalene's fingers curled into his back. She couldn't pull him any closer, but she had the urge to do it, anyway.
"I called you," he said.
"It didn't get through. But that's okay, because you did."
"We're going to go back to your place. And we're going to figure this out.
Properly. Because I don't want the job if you're not there.
That doesn't mean you have to come to D.C.
That's not what I'm saying. I would never force you to leave.
In fact, if you want to stay, I'm staying.
End of discussion. So, I guess there isn't actually that much to talk about. "
Dalene let out a chuckle. "Slow down there, weather boy. I'm not going to make you give up your dream."
"You're my dream, Dalene. The job is a job. I can find another job." His thumb brushed her cheek. "I can't find another you."
She felt her eyes go bright. Felt them sting with tears. She was not going to cry in the airport.
"Same," she said.
It was the whole truth in one word.
His hands came up to her face, both of them, cupping her jaw like she was something he'd been afraid of losing and had just gotten back.
His mouth came down on hers and captured her lips like he'd been starving for three days.
Dalene understood the sentiment. She felt the impact of the kiss from her mouth to her feet.
The warmth of his palms against her jaw. The slight roughness of his jaw against her skin. His thumbs tracing small circles at her cheekbones.
His forehead came down to hers when they finally broke apart. Both of them breathing heavy, like had in fact done a run through the airport montage at the end of a rom com. But neither had run, they'd simply found one another.
Eliot's hands were still on her face. Dalene's fists still in his jacket, as though she was determined he would not get away from her again. And if he tried, she would fight for him.
"So, your dream girl, huh?"
"Don't let it go to your head."
"Too late." She took his hand. "Come on, weather boy. Take me home."
He picked up his bag. He laced his fingers through hers. They walked out of the airport together into the raging storm.
The storm hit them the moment the doors opened — wind and cold and the driving rain of a system that had been building for days. It was loud, and it was wet and it was exactly as dramatic as the occasion required.
Dalene felt none of it.
Or rather — she felt all of it. The wind in her hair and the rain on her face and the cold coming off the mountains with the indifferent force of weather that didn't care what was happening beneath it.
Eliot pulled out an umbrella and unfolded it over her head, tucking her into his side. In the small warm radius of Eliot's hand in hers and his shoulder against hers, there was nothing but calm certainty.