His mouth widens into a grin. “Nope. I just wander into airport lounges looking for women with pink luggage to impress.”
I laugh before I can stop myself. “Good to know you have a system.”
“It’s served me well so far.”
“Has it?”
“Ask me again in Hawaii.”
That releases butterflies through my stomach.
“Got delayed,” he adds. “Weather.”
“Same. Where were you before Seattle?”
“New York, visiting friends.” He tips his head. “You?”
“Whispering Grove.” I pause. “Small mountain town.”
“Sounds fake.”
“It’s not.” I huff.
“It sounds fake in a very pretty way.”
I smile. “It’s very prettyitself.”
His eyes stay on me for a beat too long. “You say that like you miss it already.”
The comment catches me off guard. “Maybe I do.”
He nods once as if he understands more than I meant to give away. Then his scent curls through the air again, and my whole body goes a little too alert. Heat glides through me, sudden and disobedient, and I have to lock my knees to keep from doing something embarrassing like visibly reacting to a man standing there talking about airport delays.
His gaze lowers, then comes back to my face. “You okay?”
“Perfect,” I say, which would be more convincing if I didn’t sound slightly breathless.
A slow, dangerous sort of amusement touches his mouth. “You don’t look perfect.”
“Wow. What a thing to say to a woman.”
“I meant flustered.” He rubs the back of his neck.
“That’s not better.”
“It was a little better.”
I should stop smiling at him. I really should.
Our flight gets called over the speaker for boarding.
“That’s us,” I say.
“Yep,” he agrees.
He appears as though he’s about to say something else, then checks his jacket pocket. “I need to grab something. I’ll be two minutes.”
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll head to the gate.”
