Chapter 23
Beck returned on Sunday night. She and Aunt Leah were too exhausted to come to me, and because I’d just been in Charleston
on Saturday, I made excuses about not being able to make the trek again. Aunt Leah was hoping to get her cast off on Wednesday,
and then she’d be free to travel back home, or so she hoped. I promised I’d stop by before then so I could give her a proper
send-off, but I had no intention of doing so. I didn’t want to see either one of them until I heard from Penta, and that hadn’t
happened yet. Talking to them on the phone and through text messages was easy. Standing in front of my mother with suspicions
on my heart would raise her antennae.
Beck called by FaceTime on Wednesday morning; she pointed the camera at Aunt Leah, who was holding out a castless leg.
“She has a boot,” Beck said. “And she’s free to get out of my hair.”
Glad to hear Aunt Leah was better, I said, “You healed well despite my mother’s erratic driving.”
“She was careful with my van.”
“It’s a house,” Beck added. “And frankly, I don’t want to drive it anymore, but I have to take her home this weekend. Want to come with?”
I dropped my shoulders like I was disappointed. “I can’t. I thought I told you I’m going to New Orleans.”
Beck snatched back her head. “You did not. New Orleans for what?”
“A writers’ conference.”
Beck frowned. “What conference? You usually plan those for months. Actually, you don’t go to those. What prompted this?”
“It’s for my job.”
“Oh,” Beck said, seeming to be impressed. “That’s nice. Is it a teacher thing?”
“No. It’s for fiction writers. I . . .” I paused when I realized the lie wasn’t going to fly, and why was I lying? Because she lies. I shook the voice away. “Gabe invited me. I said yes.”
“Okaaay!” Aunt Leah said. She giggled. Actually giggled. Were we all this man-deprived that being around a man was worthy
of a giggle?
“Traveling together to a writers’ conference is a nice next step for two writers,” Beck snorted. “He’d better be paying.”
I couldn’t help but smile at that. “He is. I think. I know I’m not.”
“I have to teach ceramics today, but we could be there by six and have dinner,” Beck said. “You have to see your aunt.”
“I can’t. I’m teaching this afternoon, and I’m flying out after.”
“It’s fine, Beck.” Aunt Leah popped out of her seat and planted her face in front of the camera. “I’ve been seeing her our
whole lives. I’m looking at her right now.”
Beck frowned again and took a step away from Aunt Leah, hogging the camera again but talking to her sister. “But you wanted
to see her cabin.”
“She watched the video I sent.” The alarm on my phone beeped. “I’ve got to go to the center. I love you, Auntie. I’ll see you next time.”
I ended the call. Saved by the bell—or the beep. I sat down on the bed, absorbing my guilt. I was not leaving tonight. I could
have seen them. I wasn’t leaving until morning. I sent a text to Joy.
Me: Waiting to hear from Penta is exhausting.
Joy: You’ll hear from her at the right time.
Me: I suppose.
Me: Have fun on your cruise.
She’d told me she was leaving for a long one out of Cape Town, South Africa. I was definitely writing about her career.
Joy: It’s still work, but the view from my cabin is nice.
Before I could text back, the dots jumped. I waited.
Joy: I’ll be gone for 18 days. By the time I come back, you’ll have news.
Me: I hope so.
Joy: Have fun in New Orleans.
Me: I’m going to learn lots. ??
I waited, but she didn’t text again. It was almost three o’clock. I called Penta. I didn’t get an answer, and I didn’t bother
to leave a voicemail. That woman was trying to survive. If she didn’t call by early next week, I was going to call Mrs. Simon
for another lead and pray there would be one. Forty years was a long time to expect someone to be around and still have yearbooks.
Maybe a student, I thought. Maybe I could use the yearbook to compare names on Facebook.
But then a voice in my head said, Be patient.
“Good things come to those who wait,” I whispered, but I wasn’t really sure about that. Things came to those who waited, good and bad.
I zipped my suitcase closed and went to the center.
I yawned, took the last sip of my coffee, and shoved my napkin into the paper cup.
The airplane hadn’t moved yet, and I knew traveling by private jet was going to be an experience worthy of all the stars.
It was 7:00 a.m., and I was already enjoying sliding my hand over the woodgrain accents of the oversized leather seats and
stretching my legs in the abundant space surrounding them. When the flight attendant offered me a latte, cappuccino, or espresso
in a real mug, I stared a second too long. This was wildly different from cramped aisle seats. Luxury was a whole vibe. “I’ll
take a latte. Mocha if you have it.”
He smiled like she did and walked away.
“Is this how bestselling authors fly?”
Gabe finished tapping out an email and closed his phone. “Nah, first class at best.”
“Then how did this come together?”
“I beat the owner of the plane in a pickup basketball game last year. He’s owed me a favor ever since.”
I pitched an eyebrow, and he knew I wanted details.
“Noah Bloom. We were roommates in college.”
I felt my face scrunching with disbelief. “The dating app tech guy?”
“Yep. We’re friends.”
“And you apparently play better defense than him.” I scoffed quietly. “Is that why you suggested I write about a dating coach?”
Gabe laughed. “No, I wanted to get you thinking about dating.”
This time I laughed. “As you can see, all you had to do was ask.”
He turned his head in my direction, nodding. “I’ll keep that in mind for the future.”
I did not have a snazzy comeback for that. The air steward arrived with my latte and a plate full of cute canapés. They were
literally shaped like breakfast items—a sausage biscuit, eggs, a little quiche. This was too cool. I took one and said, “You
beat him at basketball and got to borrow his plane. Either that was some game or that favor has been accruing interest.”
Gabe chuckled. “Noah told me he was headed to New Orleans, and I asked him for a ride.”
“It’s not like an Uber.”
“His plans were fluid. I told him I needed a ride, and he moved up his trip.”
“You’re the keynote. Didn’t they book a ticket for you?”
“They did, but the flight was full. There was no way to get you on. I wanted us to travel together.”
I was officially living inside a romance novel: The hero goes to extraordinary effort to accommodate the heroine and treat
her special. I’d written it twenty-nine times. It was more beautiful in real life than in books. And Gabe was behaving exactly
like the heroes in books—scrolling through his phone, acting like it was no big deal. I was living out my own story.
I didn’t know what to say. And before I did say something cheeky like “Thank you for caring enough to want to fly with me,”
there was bluster among the staff.
We’d been waiting an hour for his arrival: Noah Bloom stepped into the cabin.
He was tall like Gabe, which was taller than he looked on television.
Joining us did not end the intense conversation he was having on his phone, but he did glide by us, shaking my hand and giving Gabe a pound, before he slipped into a chair and opened the laptop he was carrying.
“You know, I technically hated asking him to do this. He’s impressive. He might steal you.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “Steal me. Am I desirable?”
“If the kiss from last week didn’t prove you are to me . . .” He let his words hang.
“The kiss proved you can kiss,” I teased.
He took my hand, squeezed it, and then raised it to his lips. “Then I’ll need to do a better job of making things clear.”
The steward was back, interrupting us with a menu. I accepted mine. I stared at it much longer than necessary because Gabe
was flirting. All the time now.
And I was still shocked that he was. I, Alex Chambers, was not only sitting next to a hot dude but being wooed by him. That
rare hot dude who wasn’t stuck on himself, caught up in the high-value manscape that had been trending across podcasts. Gabe
was a man who happened to be handsome and who’d been raised right (apparently), with solid values, a good spirit, and a nice
personality. He was a unicorn.
I’d been writing about him. He was every guy in every book whom every heroine fought wanting, and who I was convinced did
not exist except in my mind.
The flight crew got us prepped for takeoff, and within minutes we were in the air. My phone pinged, and I opened it to an
email from Dana.
How are things going? Your imprint announced they signed a few new authors in Publishers Marketplace. The schedule is filling.
Somewhere between “signed” and “schedule,” the air thinned. I took a deep breath and mentally pushed the words out of my head. I closed my phone. I wasn’t going to let it ruin my day.
Gabe was tapping out a message on his phone. Noah hadn’t stopped talking, nor had he stopped pounding on his laptop. That
didn’t change for the entire flight.
When Gabe was done, he asked, “You want to watch a movie, or sprint?”
Watch a movie was on the tip of my tongue, but Dana’s email meant I needed to date with intention.
I reached into my bag and pulled out my laptop. “Work.”
After takeoff the air steward served breakfast. He stayed on the job, anticipating needs we didn’t even know we had. “Let
me set up a workstation for you.” He pushed a few buttons, and a mechanical door opened to our side. Within seconds a table
was opened in front of us.
We got to work. Even with all the peeks I stole at Gabe, I managed to get some words down on my project. Words I actually
liked. Nothing like a real live hero to inspire me.
Less than ninety minutes later, the air steward put our table away. We landed at Lakefront Airport. Noah closed his laptop
and moved to the empty seat across from us.
“Sorry. Production problems.” He smiled at me and said, “So you are Alex Chambers. It’s a pleasure to finally meet another
novelist.”
Though he was talking to me, at the end of novelist, his eyes slid to Gabe’s and the two exchanged carefully cloaked smiles.