Chapter 12 SILVER LINING
Chapter twelve
SILVER LINING
My head spins as I hustle up the jet bridge to get away from the embarrassment of my accidental overdose. If all of that happened before even setting foot at the retreat, then I don’t want to imagine what insanity my curse might still have in store for me.
I push aside the thought when I am greeted by a Dunkin’ Donuts in the middle of the terminal. An enormous coffee is exactly what I need right now to clear my mind and try to get back on track before I turn right back around and purchase a ticket for the next available flight back home.
I head towards the line for coffee, noting the rain that hammers the glass walls that surround the terminal, and consider it a silver lining that I was unconscious for the landing in this inclement weather.
Just as I take my place in line, my phone buzzes in my pocket again, this time with a local Charlotte number.
“Hello?” I try to say, but the yawn that comes out the second I open my mouth muffles the words into a strange sound.
“Hi, is this Drew?”
“Yes, this is she.” I stand up straighter in response to the voice on the other side of the call.
“I’m here to pick you up from the airport,” the man with a deep, velvety voice says, sending a strange sensation straight to my lower belly. I open my mouth to respond, but the Dramamine is making my brain fuzzy, so nothing comes out.
After a moment of silence, he speaks again. “Drew, are you there?”
“I’m here,” I squeak, as my cheeks blaze hot at the sound of my name being said a second time by a voice that could make a lot of money from those hotlines that charge by the minute.
He chuckles, and the sound raises goosebumps on my skin. “My name is Cameron. I am here to get you to the retreat. Have you made it to the baggage claim yet?”
I pull the phone back from my ear to look at the time, impressed with how quickly Gabe got the ride set up. “I am just in line for coffee,” I say, but count at least six people still in front of me. “On second thought, can you take me through a drive-through on the way? It might be quicker.”
“Of course. I’d be happy to.”
“Great!” I smile and dig through my purse to make sure I have cash so that I can tip him later for the detour. After I locate a twenty-dollar bill, I start walking in what I think is the right direction. “I just need to find my way out of here.”
“I can help. What terminal are you in?”
“Terminal A. I think. I was just at Dunkin’ Donuts.”
“Do you see the big silver tail fin ahead of you?”
I walk a few steps past the escalator. “Yes.”
“Head that direction.”
I do as I am told, keeping the phone to my ear.
Just as I am about to tell him that I made it, he speaks again.
“Now take a right, and walk for a very, very long time until you see the Starbucks. Then turn left and follow the signs for baggage claim. Don’t be tempted to stop at the Starbucks, though.
The place I am going to take you to is going to blow your mind. ”
I giggle involuntarily, likely a residual effect of the Dramamine overdose, and start the trek. Cameron wasn’t kidding; the walk is lengthy, and my carry-on is feeling heavier by the minute. I groan at the pain in my shoulder and plop it on the floor for a break.
“You doing all right?” he asks.
“I’m fine,” I say, embarrassed that he has likely been forced to listen to my labored breathing as I’ve been lugging my bag along. Why didn’t I hang up? “I’ll call you when I get outside.”
“Sounds good.”
I end the call, and I shake my head a few times to clear it. I probably should have waited for the coffee back at Dunkin’ so that I could be coherent enough not to giggle like a schoolgirl anytime my driver speaks.
As I lug my bag past more shops and people inexplicably sitting in white rocking chairs, as if they have nowhere else to be, I can’t help but wonder what Cameron looks like.
Knowing Gabe, he probably called some ex-Secret Service tactical driving company to pick me up, so that I would accept a ride without fear of my curse hurting them in some way.
Cameron’s voice is deep enough to fit the description, but there was a warmth to it that didn’t give off bodyguard vibes. Still, I would not be surprised if I walked out of here to find Cameron leaning against a black SUV with a tight suit and dark sunglasses.
I finally make it to the baggage claim area and try my best to avoid slipping on the wet floor to peek outside.
The rain is still coming down in a steady stream, but the pickup lanes are covered, so I step out of the humid airport and into the cool air outside to look around for a person who matches the image I have created of Cameron in my head.
After ten minutes of searching and multiple SUVs zooming past me to pick up other people, I grab my phone to call him.
“Hey, are you outside?” he asks, and my breath catches in my throat at the sound of his voice again.
I mentally scold myself for being so affected by this man who is just trying to do his job.
“Hello? Drew?”
“What are you wearing?” I demand, trying to get back on track, but failing miserably with that unintentionally flirty comment. My hand flies up to cover my eyes as if I can somehow hide from how odd a question that was. “I just mean, so that I can find you.”
He laughs again, and it sends a second involuntary lightning bolt straight down into my belly.
“I am wearing gray slacks and a black, long-sleeve shirt.”
So, my image of him being Secret Service wasn’t far off. And yet when I walked up and down the rows a second ago, no one fit that description. Although I was only looking at SUVs or cars that looked indestructible. Maybe he came in something else. I stand on my tiptoes to survey the rows again.
“What are you wearing?” he asks, causing my already erratic heart to skip a beat, though I just asked him the exact same question.
I look down at my daily uniform, wishing I had worn something cuter, and immediately chastise myself for even having that thought. “Jeans and a tan cardigan.”
“I’m parked in the furthest row from the building. Come back out, and I’ll look for you this time.”
We hang up, and I walk out for a second time, but have to squeeze past a crowd that has stopped to gawk at a shiny, black Audi R8 parked at the curb first. It is almost identical to the one Scott used to drive, so I understand the crowd stopping to stare.
I have never cared much about cars myself, and could never dream of affording one like that, but when Scott forced me to drive his all those years ago, I added one to my imaginary list of items to buy if I ever won the lottery.
As if I would ever be lucky enough for that to happen.
I should have asked Cameron what the make and model of his car was, because, so far, there is still no one in this lane that matches his description.
I make it to the end of the line and am about to turn back when a man jumps out of a Prius wearing a black zip-up and dark blue jeans.
When he sees me looking, he waves and smiles.
I stall for a second, stunned at how different Cameron looks compared to his voice, and how his pants are blue jeans, not gray slacks. But the man continues to walk toward me with purpose, so I move in his direction to introduce myself.
“Hi, I’m Drew,” I say, and decide that his hair is likely a toupee based on the difference in texture and color to the curly bits that hang below his ears.
“Hi, darlin. Do you need a ride?” the man asks, reaching out to take my bag. He reminds me of someone’s sweet grandpa, and it makes me feel awful for the way I was semi-flirting with him a second ago.
“Cameron, right?” I ask, noting an accent that I didn’t pick up while we were on the phone a minute ago.
“Uhh—is that far?” he asks and puts the strap of my bag over his shoulder, struggling with the weight of it.
“No, I was asking if your name was Cameron?”
“Oh, sorry. I misunderstood,” he says, plopping my bag unceremoniously into the trunk. “My name is Donnie. Nice to meet you. Where are you headed?”
“Sorry.” I step forward to remove my bag from his trunk so that he doesn’t have to struggle with it again. “My driver’s name is Cameron. When you waved at me, I thought you were him.”
“Well, darn, sorry about that. I thought you were my ride and got excited. Tell you what, I’ll hang out here for a second, and if you can’t find him, come on back and I’ll make sure you get where you’re going—”
“Donnie?”
We both turn to look up at a man who has stopped behind us, who looks closer to seven feet than six.
“Yes, I’m Donnie. Are you John?”
“Yep,” John says, then puts his bag in the trunk and folds himself into the backseat of the Prius without speaking another word.
“I’ll stall for a few minutes to make sure you get settled,” Donnie says, but I wave him off.
“I’ll be all right, I promise. Thank you so much.”
“No problem,” he says, before hobbling back to the car.
I chuckle as I walk away at how he could have seen me and thought that my name could be John when my phone buzzes in my hand.
“Hello?”
“Hey, I think I see you.”
I freeze as I remember that I am about to meet the real Cameron, the man whose voice has physically affected me in an embarrassingly strong way.
“Why do you look terrified? You were smiling just a second ago.”
I blush at the fact that he can see me, and I can’t see him. “Where are you?”
“I’m in the first car. You must have passed me when you tried to ditch me for that Prius.”
I laugh despite my nerves and walk blindly towards where he claims to be.
“Oh, that was my new friend Donnie,” I say, trying to get some control back in our lopsided dynamic.
“If you had the same level of customer service as him, then I wouldn’t have to walk up and down a hundred times looking aimlessly for you. ”
“I guess I’ll have to step it up for you then, Drew.”
I am just about to melt into the sidewalk when the crowd around the R8 from the beginning of the row parts revealing the most gorgeous man that I have ever seen leaning against it, wearing gray slacks and a black, long-sleeve shirt, and holding a phone up to his ear.