Chapter Two
“Tristan Graham. Oh my goodness.”
I left my bag at the table and wrapped my arms around him without second-guessing it.
He hugged back, solid and warm, but there was a flicker, a pause, like the touch carried too much history.
The last time I’d held on to him had been for a very different reason; tear-streaked faces, shattered lungs, and his arms around me because neither of us knew what else to do.
This hug didn’t come with sobs, but it still landed like history pressing against my ribs.
“How’ve you been?” I asked, stepping back.
“Living my best life, Anna.” His mouth twitched like it was only half-true.
I did a fast once-over—not that my eyes obeyed the speed limit. “You look great, by the way.”
“Yeah, lost a few pounds since last time.” He straightened, and the lack of belly did not go unnoticed. “And you? You look amazing too, but somehow still the same. That’s how I recognized you.”
Still the same? I automatically ran a hand over my polished ponytail. Sure, I’d had the same go-to style since I could wrangle my hair into an elastic, but still, a woman liked to think she’d evolved since sixteen.
“Still the same,” I echoed. “So... teenage me, but with laugh lines and crow’s feet?”
His grin deepened. “I was going to say mature, but it’s nice to see your self-deprecation aged just fine.”
“Oh, good. I thought you were implying I still have a locker in the math hallway.”
“Only if you became a high school teacher.” He chuckled, resting an arm casually on the handle of the dolly cart beside him. “Wait, you don’t still doodle hearts in the margins of your notebook?”
I narrowed my eyes. “That’s classified information. And for the record, I only did that during social studies. I never doodled through the truly thrilling stuff like biology and chemistry.”
“Still a nerd?”
“Once a nerd, always a nerd, right?”
Tristan had been my BFF Lizzie’s older brother by a year, but in high school, that gap had felt like a military zone with a No Trespassing sign.
He’d haunted the edges of my life back then: teasing me when I was at their house, smirking when I said anything too sincere, driving us to school in that ancient blue truck like I was bonus cargo.
In the fall, thanks to my overachiever plan of knocking out the boring classes in summer school, we’d ended up in the same biology and chemistry electives.
Just the two of us at the lab table, trading notes and arguing over answers.
Me quietly crushing. Him firmly oblivious.
I shoved the memories back to where they belonged and nodded at the dolly. “So what brings you to the airport with that? Besides eavesdropping on a very important conversation I was having with my note-taking app.”
“Making a few VIP wine deliveries; my best customers get the first batch straight from the vineyard. I own a winery now, out in BC.” He produced a card from the back pocket of his black jeans and handed it to me.
Second Sun Winery.
“A winery? That’s... actually perfect for you. You always did have a gift for getting people to like things they didn’t think they would. Like country music.” I held the card in my hand, tipping it to reveal a slightly shiny sheen to the lettering and the rays of sun in his logo.
He tilted his head. “And here I thought my charm was subtle.”
“Tristan, your charm was never subtle. You once convinced Mrs. Spence to let you bring your guitar into biology to ‘teach us about plant vibration.’”
“Worked, didn’t it?”
I laughed as that memory jumped to the surface. “Touché.”
His gaze dipped toward my coffee cup. “So... heading home until your flight’s ready?”
“Not really. I still live in Athabasca, so I guess I’m going to hole up in a nearby hotel and charge an exorbitant amount of expensive room service to my credit card.”
“Footing it to the company, eh?”
“Don’t I wish?”
All of it would be coming out of my so-called holiday savings. The money I kept pretending would take the kids and me somewhere warm one day. Instead it always went to things like Ally’s dance recitals, Josh’s car crash that he “walked away from,” or the furnace dying during a -30 cold snap.
“So you’re stuck in Edmonton for the night?”
I blew out a breath. “Unfortunately. Cancelled flight. Earliest they can get me to Victoria is tomorrow morning at ten, after a scenic tour through every airport in western Canada, but I’ll keep nagging for a stand-by.”
He pulled out his phone and took a long look at it before tucking it into his chest pocket.
“Thinking out loud here, but I can get you there sooner.” He rubbed the stubble on his chin and shifted onto his left foot.
“I’m heading back that way. Few stops to make, of course, but I can promise better conversation than a layover in Calgary. ”
I raised a brow, not having seen that direction coming. “You’re offering to drive me all the way to Victoria? Seriously? That’s... what, twelve hours? Four of which will be us arguing about who has control of the playlist.”
“Fourteen hours or so, if we go hard and barely stop,” he corrected. “Fair warning, I have a few deliveries along the way, Ridge Heights, Lake Louise, Blind Bay, Merritt, Abbotsford, you know, scenic detours. Which will include ... an overnight stay—”
“An overnight stay?” Not that it was a big deal because at this point I was already planning on that, but still.
“So if you agree, we need to leave immediately.” He glanced at his watch. “Considering it’s nearly eleven.” A short pause stabbed the air, barely giving me time to process. “And we can take turns picking songs, as long as you promise not to select anything with Stompin’ Tom.”
“The Hockey Song is a classic, thank you very much.”
He grinned. “So is the best Ortega wine, which I have a lot of in the back of my truck. And relax, if we end up overnight somewhere, I’m sure you still have ... well, your nightlight.”
The reference slid out of him so effortlessly I almost missed it, like it had been waiting on his tongue for years.
I crossed my arms, pretending to weigh my options. “So my choices are: hotel coffee, airport chairs, and a 10:17 flight tomorrow...”
“Possible flight. The airline strike is only just beginning.”
“Hmm... or a cross-province road trip with my former best friend’s older brother, who, last I checked, once tried to impress girls by balancing a hockey stick on his chin.”
“I’ve matured since then.” He reached across and handed me my coffee. “Come on. My company, while not as exciting as a flight attendant’s safety check, will be better than watching reruns of That 70s Show.”
Which just so happened to be one of my favourite shows, but before I could argue the point with him, he’d spun and was headed toward the exit.
It wasn’t lost on me that the last time I’d followed him anywhere, I’d been barely standing upright and trying not to fall apart. But that was then, and this was now.
What would my kids say? I hadn’t been spontaneous since the early 2000s. These days, I needed three lists, a backup plan, and a family group chat confirmation before any rational decision could be made.
Besides, it wasn’t like Tristan was a stranger. We’d known each other since we were awkward middle schoolers wondering if he would ever grow into his arms, and if the breast fairy would ever visit and pump up my flat chest.
Yes, it was true how I had the biggest yet most self-contained crush on him, but he’s married, and I wasn’t worried about anything happening. Even if he was single, I wasn’t into complications, and relationships were the number one cause of complications and therefore a solid reason for avoidance.
Every sensible part of me whispered to stay put, wait for the morning flight, keep things simple.
But another part—smaller, reckless, long buried under work schedules and grocery lists—tugged me forward anyway.
Shaking my head and wondering if this was the most impulsive decision I’d made in years, I followed Tristan Graham toward the sliding doors and away from the airport.