We grab my bags and head toward the check-in. The holiday crowd is already thick, families dragging overtired kids and oversized luggage through security lines.
"There she is," Tyler nods toward the check-in counter.
Charliestands with her back to us, her auburn hair falling in waves down her back. She's wearing leggings and an oversized cream sweater that hits mid-thigh and even from behind, something about her posture seems tense.
"I'll leave you to it," Tyler says, clapping me on the shoulder. "Try not to overthink everything. And text me if you survive meeting her parents."
"Thanks for the ride, man." I grab my snowboard bag from him
"And remember—" He claps my shoulder
"Daily updates. Got it." I say adjusting my carry-on backpack.
"I was going to say, 'don't forget to use condoms,' but sure, updates work too."
I flip him off as he starts backing away, but we're both smiling. The nerves I've been ignoring all morning are kicking in. Nerves about seeing her again, about meeting her family and playing this high-stakes game of pretend.
I take a deep breath and make my way to her, feeling oddly like I'm about to step onto a halfpipe for the first time again—that mix of adrenaline and uncertainty, and maybe just a tiny bit of confidence.
"Mornin', Shortcake."
She turns, startled, and her expression shifts from surprise to something softer before she schools it back to neutral. "Hi. You're early."
"I like airports."
"You like... airports?" One eyebrow arches delicately.
"People-watching, remember? Best place to watch on the planet. Second only to Vegas." I nod to the family arguing three counters down, the father gesturing wildly at a violently overpacked suitcase splitting at the seams. "Ten bucks says they end up buying another bag or leaving half their stuff behind."
A reluctant smile tugs at her lips. "No bet. That zipper's holding on by a prayer."
I move closer towards her. "How long have you been here?"
"Only about fifteen minutes. I was too keyed up to sleep." She tugs at the sleeves of her sweater, a nervous gesture I've noticed before. "I got us coffee. Yours is black with one sugar, right?"
She hands me a cup from the cardboard tray on the counter, and I'm momentarily stunned. She remembered.
"Look at you, being a thoughtful girlfriend already," I tease.
She rolls her eyes. "I just didn't want to deal with you uncaffeinated this early in the morning."
I'm about to say something when I hear my name being called.
"Sebastian?"
I turn at the sound of an unfamiliar female voice, instinctively holding out my hand. The woman approaching us is unmistakably Charlie's mother—same hazel eyes, same chin, though her hair is a silvery blonde rather than Charlie's auburn.
"Mrs. Whitaker, I presume?" I flash my most charming smile. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."
"Margaret, please." She pulls me into a hug, appraising me with a warm but thorough glance that feels like she's cataloging every detail. "Charlotte's told us... well, actually, very little about you."
Behind her, a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair and Charlie's same wry expression approaches, carrying what looks like four boarding passes.
"This is my dad, Richard," Charlie says, her voice pitched slightly higher than normal. She's nervous.
I step forward, extending my hand. "Sir, it's great to meet you."
He gives me a firm handshake, his gaze direct. "So you're the reason my daughter's been so distracted these past few months."
