Chapter 23 #2
Bailey stands frozen in the doorway, her pilot’s cap tucked under one arm, hair escaping from what was once a neat bun. Her eyes widen as they lock with mine, lips parting in surprise. Dark circles shadow the skin beneath her eyes, like she hasn’t slept since we parted.
She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“Sebastian?” My name in her mouth sounds different—part question, part accusation, part something I’m afraid to name. “What are you—”
The security guard’s grip tightens on my arm. “You know this guy?”
Bailey’s eyes dart between us. I watch her process the scene—me, disheveled and desperate in her workspace; the security guard’s hand on my coat; her coworkers staring with undisguised curiosity.
“Yeah,” she says, her voice neutral. “I do.”
The tension in the room shifts. The guard loosens his grip but doesn’t release me.
“Is he bothering you?” the tall man asks, his protective instinct evident in the way he positions himself between us.
Bailey makes a sound that’s almost a laugh but catches it halfway. “He’s been bothering me since the moment we met.” But there’s something in her eyes that contradicts her words—a spark I recognize from long nights in a cabin when the world outside disappeared.
“It’s okay,” Bailey tells the guard, waving him off. “We can talk outside.”
Her voice is neutral, but her eyes keep darting to me then away, like she’s afraid to look too long.
The security guard releases my arm, his suspicious gaze never leaving my face.
Bailey nods once and turns, not waiting to see if I follow. Of course, I follow. I’d follow her anywhere.
She leads me through a service door into a small concrete area between buildings. The roar of jet engines provides a constant backdrop, and the air smells of fuel and winter. Her shoulders form a rigid line under her uniform jacket.
“What are you doing here?” she asks. “Shouldn’t you be busy with...whatever billionaires do?”
Family expectations. Business obligations. A perfectly crafted life that suddenly felt like a prison.
“I’ve been looking for you,” I say, the words inadequate.
She turns, then crosses her arms tight against her chest like armor. “Why?”
One simple question. The most complicated answer.
I reach into my bag and pull out the first snow globe. The Chicago skyline with tiny silver flakes that dance when shaken. “Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
Her eyes fix on the snow globe, widening slightly.
I pull out the second one. The Empire State Building amid swirling white. “Because when I tried to go back to my life, it didn’t fit anymore. Because you showed me what’s real.”
Her arms uncross, hands hanging at her sides. “Sebastian—”
“I’m not done.” My voice cracks, emotion breaking through the cracks of my composure. “I have more snow globes in my bag.”
A tiny smile flickers at the corner of her mouth. “That’s...excessive.”
“I would have bought more,” I admit, the words coming easier now, “but I ran out of airports.”
The wind whips her escaped hair around her face. She tucks it behind her ear with a hand that isn’t quite steady. Something flutters in my chest at the familiar gesture.
“What about Rebecca?”
“There is no Rebecca. Not since that hotel room in Alaska.”
Bailey’s eyebrows pull together, that little crease forming between them that I’ve come to recognize as her trying to process something unexpected.
“But at the hospital, she was there. She was...” Her voice trails off.
“A mistake I should have corrected right then.” The admission comes easier than I expected. “I told my parents everything. I broke things off. I’m never going to see her again.”
Bailey’s eyes search my face, looking for the lie, for the crack in my certainty. She won’t find one.
“But your parents—”
“Don’t make my decisions. Well, not anymore anyway.”
The jet engines roar louder, forcing me to step closer still. Close enough to see the tiny freckles across her nose.
“She was never...” I struggle to find the right words, my usual eloquence deserting me. “Rebecca was what I thought I was supposed to want. But I was so caught up in what everything was supposed to look like that I never noticed I wasn’t happy.”
She looks down, scuffing her boot against the concrete. “And your perfect life? Your family? The whole CEO thing?”
“Still there.” I take another step closer, careful, like approaching something wild that might bolt. “But I don’t want perfect anymore.”
Her head snaps up. “What do you want?”
What do I want? Not what should I want. Not what’s expected. What do I, Sebastian Lockhart, actually want?
“I want someone who collects snow globes and makes sound effects for snowfall. I want someone who talks too much when they’re nervous and throws precious souvenirs at wolves to save me. I want someone who makes me question everything I thought I knew. I want someone real.”
And another step closer. Close enough to see her pulse fluttering at her throat.
“I want you, Bailey. Just as you are.”
She stares at me, eyes suspiciously bright. “I’m a lot. Too much, most people say.”
“I’m counting on it.”
Her laugh comes out shaky, barely more than a breath. “This is insane. You’re Sebastian Lockhart. You run a billion-dollar company. You wear suits that cost more than my plane repairs.”
“And you’re Bailey Monroe. You fly cargo planes and have no filter and scare off wolves with tourist trinkets.” I hold out the snow globes, one in each hand. “We make no sense on paper.”
“None at all,” she agrees.
“So?” I ask, heart hammering against my ribs. “What do you say?”
The first snow globe sits in her hands, small and silly. Her expression shifts through a dozen emotions as she stares at it.
“I can’t just jump into this because you bought some snow globes and made a grand gesture. That’s not how trust works.”
“I know.” I take a deep breath. “I’ll wait for you as long as it takes for you to believe me. A day. A week. A year. I’ll be here.”
She tilts her head, disbelief written across her features. “Here? In a cargo terminal?”
“Wherever you are.” I mean it with a conviction that surprises even me. “If you’re in Seattle, I’ll be in Seattle. If you’re in Tokyo, I’ll be in Tokyo. If you decide to fly to the North Pole, I hope you have room for a passenger, because I’ll be on that plane.”
A hint of a smile touches her lips. “That’s slightly stalkerish, you know.”
“I prefer to think of it as dedicated.”
“I have to go,” she whispers. “My flight—”
“Go. But know I’ll be there when you land. With a snow globe from every city until you’re ready.”
Her hands shake as she takes the second globe, fingers brushing mine. The touch sends electricity through me. My own hands aren’t steady either.
She looks from the globes to me; the battle happening behind those expressive eyes. Run or stay. Escape or risk. The safety of flight versus the danger of believing in something that might not last.
Sometimes the scariest turbulence happens on the ground.
The wind tosses her hair across her face. She doesn’t push it away—just stands frozen in indecision, holding my ridiculous offerings like they might shatter if she grips them too tightly.
“I have a flight manifest,” she says again, her voice barely audible above the distant roar of engines. “People waiting for their cargo.”
“I know.”
“I can’t just—”
“I’m not asking you to,” I say. “Fly your plane, Bailey. Do what you love. I’ll be waiting.”
The snow globes catch the winter light, sending tiny rainbows across her uniform. She looks down at them, then back at me.
“You’re Sebastian Lockhart,” she says, like she’s reminding herself. “You don’t wait for cargo pilots.”
“I’m Sebastian Lockhart,” I agree, my voice steady with certainty. “And I’ve never wanted anything more than waiting for my cargo pilot.”