It isn’t the end of the world,I tried to tell myself even as two more tears streaked down my cheek.Stop. I needed to stop and get it together. I wasn’t going to waste tears over being left. Iwasn’t.
I had mycreditcard.
Plenty of people traveled bythemselves.
I had a cellphone.
There had to be a hundred hotels I could stay atcloseby.
There were worst places to get stranded at. At least there was a beach. It was summer. I had a bathing suit and plenty ofsunscreen.
I coulddothis.
Icould—
Two more tears slipped out of my eyeballs, and I heard more than felt myself suck in a choppybreath.
I had to get it together. I couldn’t cry. It was fine. I was fine. It wasn’t a big deal that Aaron hadn’t shown up. I should have known better than to let myself get disappointed. When had I ever had good luck with guys tobeginwith?
Never.That’swhen.
Aaron not showing up… being stranded alone in a city I’d never been with limited money… none of it was the end of the world. I wasn’t going to cry over being ditched. We were friends—had been friends—and he didn’t owe me a thing. Itwasfine.
I wasn’t going todwell.
Notme.
I had my credit card, my good health, and plenty of people back home who loved me. This didn’t reflect on me. Aaron letting me down had nothing to do with me. He was the one who had chickened out, not me for once, and that was supposed to be a victory I could celebrate when my organs didn’t feel like they were getting stabbed repeatedly with anicepick.
He’d left me, but it was going to be okay.Itwas.
This small part of my brain tried to tell me that maybe something had happened to him. That he wouldn’t have left me here at the airport for no reason. Part of me vouched for the man I’d gotten to know over the last few months, telling me he wouldn’t do somethinglikethis…
But the biggest part of me said I was beingnaive.
Three more tears came out of my eyes, and I wiped at my cheeks with the back of my fingers, fighting the urge to cry more because my body sure wanted to do that.Get it together, Ruby. Figure it out and stop standing here crying in public. You’re better than this.It’sfine.
I was getting aheadache.
I had to wipe at my face twice more, and when I looked at my fingers, I found black marks from my runny mascara smeared on them, and it just made me even more upset. It made my head hurt worse,instantly.
All right.I could do this. First thing, I needed a taxi, and I could ask him to drop me off somewhere close to everything. I could find ahotel.
I had just taken a deep breath as a group of six that had been on the same flight as me walked by, when I heard distantly, “Rubes?”
I stoppedbreathing.
I almost didn’t look up, my vision bleary, but I made myselfdoit.
Standing not even five feet away, with a torn-out piece of notebook paper in his hands that said RC SANTOS in thick, scribbly red letters, was a man. Not a boy. Not a man-boy. A man I could have looked at all day for the rest of my life. With neat, short, golden blond hair on his head that I noticed first thing, and a deep tan covering every inch of his exposed skin, I stopped breathing. Deep-set eyes, high cheekbones and a mouth that was pretty darn full for any gender, seemed to tie in together to shape a face that was too good-looking.
Way too good-looking.
He looked like a model. If this was him, it was no wonder he’d had so many girlfriends and they’d all been nuts. Nobody gave up this kind of guy without a fight. But it couldn’tbehim.
There wasnoway….
Nofreakingway.
