Ahead, his Bombardier gleamed white and sleek, the stylized JK logo on the tail catching the light. Justin handed off his duffel to a member of the ground crew and stretched his sore side carefully.
A tall man in aviators and a sharp uniform stood at the bottom of the Bombardier’s stairs.
“JK!” The pilot grinned, stepping forward for a quick bro-hug. “Heard you roughed yourself up again.”
Austin was former Air Force, and the man who’d taught him to fly.
Justin huffed a laugh, slapping his shoulder. “Nothing that won’t heal.”
“Good. Everything’s ready inside. Flight plan filed, crew briefed. We’ve got a new takeoff slot in—” Austin checked hiswatch. “Thirty-six minutes. Time enough to collect our other passengers and let customs do their thing.”
He groaned. Right. His passengers. “Esther’s mom and her friend. And apparently, fans.”
The pilot smirked. “Sucks to be JK Kenzie.”
He scowled. The last thing he wanted was to share the cabin with a pair of starry-eyed, middle-aged superfans when all he craved was silence and a place to stretch out. But silence wasn’t on the menu — he’d relinquished his private quarters to the ladies. The gentlemanly thing to do.
He turned toward the low, glass-fronted building.
And hesitated.
Squinting, hands on hips, he studied the reflective glass, something about walking in there made his chest tighten.
Ridiculous. It’s just two women. Get going.
Inside, cool air washed over him. He slipped off his sunglasses.
A woman rose from one of the leather chairs as he entered.
Round, rosy-cheeked, wrapped in florals and unfiltered joy. Her eyes went wide. “Hemeltjie tog, it really is you! JK Kenzie in the flesh!”
Justin smiled, autopilot kicking in. “At your service …” He tilted his head —Suzette or the friend?— and extended his hand.
The woman clasped it with both of hers, shaking like they were long-lost cousins. “I’m Miem Steyn. Suze just went to the ladies’. We’ve watched all your movies!” Her hands fluttered like she couldn’t decide whether to shake his again or frame his face. “You look even better in person.Sjoe, I’m sweating. This is worse than meeting the Pope. Not that I’ve ever met the Pope.” Her eyes went wide. “Ag, listen to me babble. But you have — met the Pope, I mean?”
He laughed despite himself. “Once. Very briefly. I think you’re handling this better than I did.”
His gaze slid past her shoulder.
The sucker punch hit square in his chest.
For a second he forgot his ribs, his fatigue, his age. Everything. He just stood there, rooted to the polished floor like a fool, watching her approach.
He couldn’t look away.
This was Suzette. His nephew’s future mother-in-law.
She was gorgeous.
Slender. Long hair the color of sunlight on wheat, loose and wild around her shoulders. Her clothes flowed — cotton, beads, soft fabrics in muted earth tones that made her glow. A worn leather bag crossed her body, coppery bangles at her wrist.
She hesitated halfway across the lounge when she saw him, hand tightening on the strap of her bag. Her expression flickered — surprise, wariness — before she straightened her shoulders and came toward him.
She reached him, a calm smile forming as she extended her hand. “Mr. Kenzie. Or do we say JK?”
He found his voice, rougher than he liked. “Just … Justin’s fine.”
Her hand was cool against his, delicate but sure. A pulse of warmth jumped beneath his skin, gone as quickly as it came.
