MyheadspinsasI hustle up the jet bridge to get away from the embarrassment of my accidental overdose. If all of that happened before even setting foot at the retreat, then I don’t want to imagine what insanity my curse might still have in store for me.
I push aside the thought when I am greeted by a Dunkin’ Donuts in the middle of the terminal. An enormous coffee is exactly what I need right now to clear my mind and try to get back on track before I turn right back around and purchase a ticket for the next available flight back home.
I head towards the line for coffee, noting the rain that hammers the glass walls that surround the terminal, and consider it a silver lining that I was unconscious for the landing in this inclement weather. Just as I take my place in line, my phone buzzes in my pocket again, this time with a local Charlotte number.
“Hello?” I try to say, but the yawn that comes out the second I open my mouth muffles the words into a strange sound.
“Hi, is this Drew?”
“Yes, this is she.” I stand up straighter in response to the voice on the other side of the call.
“I’m here to pick you up from the airport,” the man with a deep, velvety voice says, sending a strange sensation straight to my lower belly. I open my mouth to respond, but the Dramamine is making my brain fuzzy, so nothing comes out.
After a moment of silence, he speaks again. “Drew, are you there?”
“I’m here,” I squeak, as my cheeks blaze hot at the sound of my name being said a second time by a voice that could makea lotof money from those hotlines that charge by the minute.
He chuckles, and the sound raises goosebumps on my skin. “My name is Cameron. I am here to get you to the retreat. Have you made it to the baggage claim yet?”
I pull the phone back from my ear to look at the time, impressed with how quickly Gabe got the ride set up. “I am just in line for coffee,” I say, but count at least six people still in front of me. “On second thought, can you take me through a drive-through on the way? It might be quicker.”
“Of course. I’d be happy to.”
“Great!” I smile and dig through my purse to make sure I have cash so that I can tip him later for the detour. After I locate a twenty-dollar bill, I start walking in what I think is the right direction. “I just need to find my way out of here.”
“I can help. What terminal are you in?”
“Terminal A. I think. I was just at Dunkin’ Donuts.”
“Do you see the big silver tail fin ahead of you?”
I walk a few steps past the escalator. “Yes.”
“Head that direction.”
I do as I am told, keeping the phone to my ear.
Just as I am about to tell him that I made it, he speaks again. “Now take a right, and walk for a very, very long time until you see the Starbucks. Then turn left and follow the signs for baggage claim. Don’t be tempted to stop at the Starbucks, though. The place I am going to take you to is going to blow your mind.”
I giggle involuntarily, likely a residual effect of the Dramamine overdose, and start the trek. Cameron wasn’t kidding; the walk is lengthy, and my carry-on is feeling heavier by the minute. I groan at the pain in my shoulder and plop it on the floor for a break.
“You doing all right?” he asks.
“I’m fine,” I say, embarrassed that he has likely been forced to listen to my labored breathing as I’ve been lugging my bag along. Why didn’t I hang up? “I’ll call you when I get outside.”
“Sounds good.”
I end the call, and I shake my head a few times to clear it. I probably should have waited for the coffee back at Dunkin’ so that I could be coherent enough not to giggle like a schoolgirl anytime my driver speaks.
As I lug my bag past more shops and people inexplicably sitting in white rocking chairs, as if they have nowhere else to be, I can’t help but wonder what Cameron looks like. Knowing Gabe, he probably called some ex-Secret Service tactical driving company to pick me up, so that I would accept a ride without fear of my curse hurting them in some way.
Cameron’s voice is deep enough to fit the description, but there was a warmth to it that didn’t give off bodyguard vibes. Still, I would not be surprised if I walked out of here to find Cameron leaning against a black SUV with a tight suit and dark sunglasses.
I finally make it to the baggage claim area and try my best to avoid slipping on the wet floor to peek outside. The rain isstill coming down in a steady stream, but the pickup lanes are covered, so I step out of the humid airport and into the cool air outside to look around for a person who matches the image I have created of Cameron in my head. After ten minutes of searching and multiple SUVs zooming past me to pick up other people, I grab my phone to call him.
“Hey, are you outside?” he asks, and my breath catches in my throat at the sound of his voice again.
I mentally scold myself for being so affected by this man who is just trying to do his job.
