35. Isaac
Chapter 35
Isaac
J o’s eyes widen as our limo pulls away from the curb, leaving us in a cloud of exhaust. The pink tint of the tips of her ears stand out against her dark blonde hair.
Before I can explain, she grabs her luggage handle and takes off, just shy of a sprint, towards the glass doors. I hustle to follow behind her as she enters the building, but she stops abruptly, nearly causing a high-speed collision. She looks around, and her body language changes rapidly.
“Don’t know where you’re going, huh?” I stop myself, sucking my lip between my teeth. I don’t know why I push her like this. She’s anxious as-is, and I’m being a fucking asshole.
“Nope,” she mumbles, pulling her phone out of her jacket pocket. “But I’ll figure it out, dammit.” Okay, glad to see she’s coping with her anxiety.
A large painting of Chicago’s Art Institute hangs near the elevators where a family says their goodbyes to a young woman wearing a Harvard sweatshirt.
“Go Crimson!” The young woman and who I assume to be her mother both smile at me, a bit of apprehension melting from their expressions. As Jo fumbles to pull up the map of the terminals, I grab her suitcase, following the signs to the Southwest bag drop.
“Hey!” she yells from her spot thirty feet behind me, but I only slow my pace to accommodate. The stomps of her shoes against the tile floor get louder as she approaches. “You almost left me behind! What if I got kidnapped?”
“But did you?” I retort, stopping only when we reach the check-in kiosk. “Do you need to check-in?” She shakes her head, her eyes bobbing back and forth between me and the line for bag drop.
“I think that’s what I did last night—” She responds, more of a question than a statement. “The YouTube video I watched told me to.” I blow out a breath, trying my best to stifle a laugh.
Bag drop moves quickly and smoothly, though I have to give Jo a supportive nod every five seconds that she stands at the counter. Once both of our bags are ushered to their resting spot, we divert our attention to finding our gate before hopefully finding some coffee. The gate comes into view just ahead of a group of college-aged boys, all dressed in the same purple-and-white sweatsuits. Jo grabs the back of my jacket, tugging slightly until I slow my walking pace.
“Is that the Northwestern basketball team?” she whispers, trying to hide her excitement. “Why are they here?” Her anxiety disappears momentarily as we walk past the men who are all deep in conversation outside the bathrooms. “Wouldn’t they fly out of O’Hare? Or a private plane even?” She continues asking questions I can’t answer as we approach our gate.
“I figured they’d fly private too. Liam always did at Berkeley.”
We stop at a row of blue chairs and Jo collapses into one, setting her backpack on the floor in front of her. My eyes catch on the bright orange logo of a Dunkin’ across from us, and I set my own carry-on in a seat next to hers. “Coffee?” Before I can pull my wallet out of my back pocket, she’s handing me a gift card that she pulled from her cross-body purse.
“Chloe said we’d need coffee.” I nod, taking the plastic card from her.
“I’ll be right back. Can you manage to not get kidnapped in the meantime?” I tease, and she rolls her eyes, but I don’t miss the smirk that fights its way onto her face.
The line is short. I have just enough time before I reach the counter to glance back and see Jo rearranging the bun on top of her head. Another one of her nervous habits. I’m impressed that she’s held it together thus far, but I’m fairly certain she’s hiding from me, at least in part.
“What can I getcha, sir?” I glance down at her name tag and then back up.
“Two large hot coffees with cream and blueberry syrup, please.” She nods, swiping the gift card and handing it back to me. “Thank you, Sam.”
I’m not a religious man, but I’ll take the signs where I can. Two coffees appear on the counter and I smile, grabbing one in each hand and turning back to see Jo wearing a large pair of pink headphones. She’s locked in to a video playing on the small screen of her cell phone. Careful not to startle her, I walk around and approach from the front, holding out her coffee until she glances up, tapping the screen to pause her video. She sets the phone down on her thigh and pulls the headset off her ears and down onto her neck.
“Thank you,” she acknowledges the coffee, taking hold of the paper cup with both hands. I scoop my backpack off the chair next to her and take its place. The number of people at the gate has tripled in the last few minutes—it’s going to be a full flight.
I glance over her shoulder at the paused video. “Whatcha watching?” I ask curiously, but she only shrugs in response. Taking a sip of her coffee, she smiles gently.
“Blueberry.”
I nod, fishing my phone out of the pocket on the side of my backpack. “They really should start boarding us soon,” I remark, taking a sip from my own coffee. My phone vibrates in my hand, Liam’s name illuminating the screen.
Don’t fuck it up.
Sage advice from the brother who insisted on eating earthworms in the garden after every rainstorm when we were kids. Sure glad he grew out of that one. I stuff my phone back into my backpack just in time for the middle-aged woman at the gate to call for boarding group A.
Jo stands, and my stomach plummets.
God dammit, of course.
She probably checked in at the first possible second. I glance down at my boarding pass, and the giant C43 stands out like a flashing neon sign above a chapel on the Las Vegas strip.
“C’mon, let’s get in line.” She looks down at where I’m still seated, confused as to why I’m not following her lead. I clear my throat, her anxiety now rubbing off on me.
“Well, you’re gonna hate me, but I’m boarding group C. You’ll have to go and try to save me a seat.” She sucks in a deep breath, holding it in her cheeks before blowing it back out with frustration.
“God damn shit,” she says, emotionless. “God damn shit.” She grabs her backpack, swinging it over her shoulder, and leaves me without another word. My predictions about her check-in strategy were proven correct as I watch Jo continue to the very front of the boarding line, behind just one other passenger. She’s bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet as she waits, biting the skin around her fingers.
I need to get this woman something else to put in her mouth.
Jesus, Isaac.
She hands the boarding pass to an attendant, and then she’s gone.