Chapter One
Claire
Sometimes yougotta fall before youfly.
—UNKNOWN
Passengers mistakenly assume I know what I’m doing simply because I’m wearing a flight attendant uniform. They couldn’t be more wrong.
I know how to arm airplane doors for departure. I know how to put on an oxygen mask. I know how to make a pot of coffee. I do not know where to find the S terminal at the Seattle airport. I’ve never been here before in my life.
Glancing heavenward, I spot a sign with letters and arrows. The letters must represent terminals, whereas the arrows clearly offer direction.
TheSis a little faded against the blue background, so I don’t blame the frazzled middle-aged woman for missing it. Maintenance needs to repaint the letter white to make it more legible.
As for my new career, I may not officially be on the clock, but the job starts now.
I smile at the woman wearing a plaid blazer and sporting a hairstyle Princess Diana made trendy in decades past. She’s carrying a garment bag, and I hope she’s heading to a wedding and not a funeral. Either way, it explains the stress she must be under.
I point past the food court with the giant wall of windows overlooking the runway and mountains of evergreens in the distance. “That way.”
“Thank you.” She squeezes my arm and takes off at a jog, dodging other passengers. “I’ve only got a few minutes,” she yells back over her shoulder.
My eyes bulge with concern. Maybe she was a track star in college.
With a shake of my head and a deep inhale of earthy-scented coffee brewing at one of the many Starbucks, I glance back at the sign overhead for directions to baggage claim. Once I’m working trips, I’ll pack everything in a carry-on, but today I’m moving into my crash pad and needed to bring some extras.
I head in the direction the arrows point me. Wheels on my roller bag click against tiles until I reach a double set of sliding glass doors leading to the outside world. The doors whoosh open, but I stop.
Passengers part from behind me to cross through the threshold ahead. They probably have friends waiting to pick them up. They might even be going home. As for me, I’m on my own in a new city.
My pulse thumps harder. I should call my boyfriend, Wyatt, before I leave the safety of airport security. I want to give him my full attention, and the moment I exit the safety of the sterile area, my attention will be on my surroundings.
This is where my true-crime obsession comes in handy. I constantly watch for suspicious-looking characters. I’m always practicing to help police find a getaway car by memorizing random license plate numbers. And flight attendant training taught us how to defend ourselves by making a weapon out of a can of soda in a sock.
As for my checked luggage, it could take up to twenty minutes to arrive at the carousel. I’ve got time.
I sidestep so as not to impede the flow of humanity any longer and pull my phone from my crossbody bag. The contact list displays Wyatt posed in front of the Golden Gate Bridge, the wind lifting his messy blond curls, and sunglasses concealing his icy-blue gaze. He’s not smiling, but he wears the knowing smirk that intrigued me in the first place. He possesses the confidence that I’ve lost.
I tap the old-school phone icon, then hold its modern version to my ear. The ringer trills. I bite my lip.
Another ring. I glance at my watch.
At least Wyatt and I are in the same time zone for the moment, so we don’t have the complication of trying to catch each other at different hours of the day. It’s almost four thirty, meaning he could be in one last meeting or trying to beat the rush-hour traffic home.
The call beeps that it’s been disconnected moments before my phone vibrates an alert of an incoming message. I read Wyatt’s text. He’s in a meeting.
I needed to hear his encouraging words. Even if he was distracted or rushed, I could have found strength in the sound of his voice, in knowing I’m not alone.
I didn’t used to mind being alone so much. I was fiercely independent.
Determined to succeed.
Until I failed.
Glancing around, I make sure I’m still not in anyone’s way before typing out a quick response.
Landed. I’ll call again when I get to my crash pad. Love you.
