CHAPTER FIVE
Scarlett
Sunday
The details between Thursdayand today are a bit blurry considering I spent most of my time spinning in circles like a tornado as I chucked everything I own into mislabeled boxes. I shipped as much as I could, donated some, stored my furniture in a rental unit, and packed the necessities into a couple of suitcases. Now, here we are, getting ready to land in Charleston, South Carolina.
Without saying goodbye to anyone, since I hadn’t given a thirty-day notice, I left our final rent check and the key in an envelope under the landlord’s door and headed to the airport.
I press my forehead against the window, staring out into the blinding sun and array of palm trees. It’s beautiful.
This was the right choice, I think to myself. Leaning back in my seat, I consider the fact that I owe Brendan a big thank you. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have taken this leap.
I twist my neck and glance over at him. He’s asleep with his head cocked over his left shoulder, so I place my hand on his arm and squeeze gently as I tell him, “We’re about to land.” This man is the deepest sleeper I’ve ever met, but when I manage to wake him up, you’d think I threw him in front of a speeding bus.
“Brenny,” I call out a little louder. I give his arm a shake and lift it from his lap, but when I release it, it falls back to its place. “Brenny!” I slap his face with a little force—the kind of force I know it takes to wake him. He gasps, his head shoots upright, and he looks around like he’s lost in the middle of the dark.
“It’s okay,” I say gently. “You’re on the plane, and we’re getting ready to land.”
He slaps his hand against his chest and finally looks over at me. “Why the hell did you startle me like that?”
I raise my brows. “You can’t answer that question on your own?”
“Scarlett, there has to be some gesture in between lightly tapping my arm and slapping me across the face.”
“How would you know if I attempted an in-between gesture or not?”
“I know you.”
“And I know nothing less would wake you up, so I’m sorry.”
An elderly woman sitting in the row beside us leans forward and peers in our direction with a small, wrinkled smile. “You two look so young but you sound like you’ve been married for twenty years.” She chuckles. “How long have you been together?”
Before I can let out a response, Brendan replaces his hand on his chest. “Oh, no, no, no, no, we aren’t married. That would never work out. She’s so controlling. Plus, she has that whole Boston-girl attitude going on.” He curls his bottom lip over his top, closes his eyes and shakes his head as if I were the nastiest creature in the world.
“He’s so sweet, isn’t he?” I ask the woman.
“Oh, he sounds like a jokester, just like my Harry.”
With a satisfying grin, I feel the need to laugh at Brendan’s description of me. “He’s completely serious,” I continue. “I am all of those things, and we aren’t together romantically, but we’re close friends.”
“Well, you should snag that cutie-pie up if he’s single because I’ll tell you something. There are no good-looking single—” she cups her hand around her mouth “—straight men left in this world.”
Again, I try my hardest not to burst out laughing, but I maintain a level of respect for Brendan. “I know it’s true that good guys are hard to find, but I’m sure when I find the one, I’ll just know. Isn’t that what they say?” I reply.
“Oh, dear, no. Sometimes, you have to be frank with yourself and realize this is as good as you’ll ever get. Otherwise, you might just spend your life looking for Mr. Perfect. My sister, Rosie, did that. God Bless her soul. She’s eighty-three and still looking for a man who doesn’t exist.”
I lean back into my seat, letting Brendan take over the conversation. It’s not true. I’m still young. I’ll find someone. “She’s right, you know,” Brendan says. “You need to tone down the ‘tude and be more accepting of single candidates. You’re too picky.”
“If that’s not the biggest load of crap I’ve ever heard, I don’t know what is. Like you should be talking,” I tell him.
The old lady gasps and covers her mouth. “Good gracious, you’ll never find a man with a mouth like that.”Mymouth?
“Oh,” I shoo her off. “That’s just how we talk up north.”
“Well, aren’t you just precious.” Her smile lingers for a long second before it quivers into a straight line. I’ll take her comment as sarcasm seeing as her words don’t match the look on her face. She finally leans back into her seat where Brendan blocks the view of her blue-tinted, curly hair.
Old ladies are just so damn cute when they aren’t being know-it-alls. I sure hope they’re all like that down here. God, almighty, I’m not going to last a fucking day in this state.
