“It has my shitty CAD drawings in it.”
I felt my chest go tight. “Are you an architect?” I asked hesitantly.
“That’s kind of debatable. I mean, technically, yeah. In the way that I did all the school and graduated and stuff. But do I deserve the title? Don’t know.”
I could certainly relate. Been there, failed that. “Okay, well, thanks again. I’ve got to get to Terminal C.”
I scooted his suitcase to him, but strangely, he didn’t return the gesture. Instead, he started walking, pulling them both behind him. “I’m going to Terminal C too,” he said, by way of explanation.
“Well, you’re going to get our bags mixed up again,” I huffed.
He stopped and looked at me, amused. “Oh,Iam, huh? So this is all my fault?”
I smiled, remembering how anxious I had been to grab that bag before it had even touched the ground. Okay. So maybe it wasn’tallhis fault.
He started walking again. “You know what, you’re right. I didn’t take your bag on purpose last time, but I might very well do it on purpose this time.”
I squinted at him.
“So I can see you again,” he said slowly, emphasizing each syllable.
God, was I this out of practice? I was, I knew. I hadn’t even considered that another man could be interested in me in so many years that I didn’t recognize his flirting.
“Well,” he said, as we reached the huge sign for Terminal C, “this is where I leave you.”
“Okay.” I smiled. “Off to St. Thomas.”
He laughed. “You’regoing to St.Thomas?I’mgoing to St. Thomas. Well, no. Not St. Thomas. The BVIs by way of St. Thomas.”
“Me too!” Suddenly things were looking up. But then I remembered. “I’m going on my honeymoon.”
He looked around. Then, understanding, said, “Oh, no…”
I nodded.
“You can’t fly to your honeymoon alone.” He walked to the desk at our gate, and I followed him for a reason I couldn’t explain.
“Excuse me,” he said, “my wife and I are on our honeymoon, but we weren’t able to book seats together.” He winked at me. “Is there any way you could help?”
The gate agent took our passports and typed for what seemed like an absurd amount of time for a simple seat change.
“All right, love birds,” she finally said. “I managed to get you seats together and a first-class upgrade too.”
“Wow! Thank you so much.” I took the few steps to the small waiting area and sat down in the navy seat that looked like it had the least amount of crumbs on it.
“I’m Julia Baxter, by the way,” I said as my “husband” sat down next to me. “Probably good to know your fake wife’s name in case we’re questioned.”
“I’m Conner Howard.” He leaned over. “I would shake your hand, but the gate agent might find that weird.”
I stopped, my mouth gaping and my mind racing, putting thepieces of what I knew about this man together frantically. “You’reConner Howard. LiketheConner Howard?”
The man complaining about his shitty CAD drawings was the up-and-comer in the architectural world that everyone was watching, that was making every who’s who and big voice in the industry feel threatened and thrilled all at the same time. He’d been the youngest member ofArchitectural Digest’s AD100 this year. He was, like, my age.
I was on the verge of gushing as the voice on the loudspeaker announced, “Priority, you may board now.”
Conner, looking amused, stood and led me through the line.
“Garrison Towers is my favorite building. I mean, seriously, my favorite,” I gushed as I stepped over the metal threshold and onto the plane.
