“I need a ticket to Oregon,” I say, slightly out of breath.
She blinks. “Oregon?”
“Wolf Valley area. Whatever is the closest airport.”
She types quickly. “There’s a flight boarding soon. Really soon. Gate twelve.”
“Perfect.”
She gives me a look like she has a hundred questions, but I don’t care. I swipe my card, and a minute later, I’m running through the terminal with my boarding pass in hand.
Gate twelve.
I scan the crowd, searching for Fern’s familiar head of blonde hair. Then I see her.
Fern. My Fern. Sitting in one of the chairs near the gate, her carry-on at her feet, staring out the big windows at the runway. Her blonde hair falls over her shoulders, the morning light catching it. She looks small, tired, and sad. My chest tightens.I’m still pissed that she tried to leave without me, but I can’t stand to see her looking that way.
Hell, no.
I storm across the waiting area, my boots hitting the floor hard enough that a few people glance up. Fern doesn’t notice until I’m right in front of her.
Her head snaps up, and her blue eyes widen. “Jackson? What are you doing here?”
I grab her by the arms and haul her to her feet. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I growl.
Her mouth opens. Closes. “Jackson, what?—”
“You just leave?” I cut in, my voice low and rough. “You just walk out of that room like none of this meant anything?”
Her eyes flash. “I left you a note.”
“Yeah, I saw your damn note. Thank God I woke up in time.”
She stares at me like she can’t believe that I’m really here.
“You think two damn sentences count as a goodbye?” I demand.
Her cheeks flush. “I didn’t want to make things harder,” she admits softly.
“Harder?”
“Yes!” she bursts out. “Jackson, this was supposed to be a fling. A few days. Something fun before I went home.”
I stare at her. “A fling? That’s what you think? When did we agree to that?”
“I… I just thought that…” She trails off, her eyes filling with tears.
“Bullshit. This was never a fling for either of us. It damn sure wasn’t for me, and I know it wasn’t for you either.”
Her breath catches.
“You don’t run from a fling,” I continue. “You don’t look like your heart’s breaking when you leave.”
Her chin trembles. “You don’t know that.”
“I know you.”
“You met me a week ago.”
