I walk right up to him before he notices me. “Tremaine?”
“Oh yes, Ms. Tremaine?” he asks.
“Woods, actually, but Cindy is fine,” I tell him. “And you are?”
“Bruce Anthony Colombo the Third, but you can call me Bruce.”
“Good to meet you, Bruce. Are you new to Erica’s team?”
“I wouldn’t say new, but newly exclusive.”
Erica’s success has skyrocketed in the last four years, so it shouldn’t surprise me that she now has a private driver.
“I’ve got a luggage cart.” Bruce motions to the baggage claim. “Shall we?”
I smile sheepishly. “Um, you might need two of those.”
We stand there waiting for ages. (Tip for LAX first-timers: Never—I repeat—never check a bag. Sadly, I had no choice.)
“Stuck in baggage claim inferno, huh?”
I turn around to find Prince Charming, a little wrinkled from the long flight and hair rumpled from fingers running through it.
“You too?” I ask.
He points to his carry-on. “Just here to meet my driver.”
“Excuse me,” Bruce says, “Ms. Cindy, it seems that a piece of your luggage was damaged in travel. It appears to be duct-taped together, and I think we might need to speak with the airline. All these airlines are the same. Can’t even get a bag to the place it’s supposed to be in one piece.”
Damn it. I hope I didn’t lose a shoe. There’s nothing worse than an unmatched pair. “Oh, okay, yes, I’ll be right there.”
Prince Charming chuckles. “So that’s your name. Cindy.”
“I meant to introduce myself,” I tell him.
“Well, I’m Henry,” he says.
Bruce clears his throat. “It appears another bag—”
“You better take care of that,” Henry says.
I nod. “Yeah, well, nice to meet you, Prin—Henry. Thanks for saving me from the lava and the world’s worst seatmate.”
He nods. “And don’t forget the lost-and-found shoe service.”
“Never!” I call over my shoulder as I follow Bruce to the customer service desk.
Erica Tremaine is a household name in this town. When I was in tenth grade, theHollywood Reporterdubbed her the new reigning queen of reality TV. Her specific flavor and real moneymaker is reality dating shows. She started out on a late-night MTV dating show in the early ’90s where one person drove a taxi around a major city while they went on a speed date with the person in the back. They picked up and dropped off multiple passengers, and at the end they picked the person they wanted to date. Things really took off for her when I was in middle school and she pitched a show calledBefore Midnight. Now she pilots an entire franchise, includingBefore Midnightand its various spinoffs.
She’s not what I would call warm or even maternal, but my dad loved Erica and her two daughters, Drew and Anna, so I love them too. Not for what we have, necessarily, because they still feel like strangers to me in many ways, but for what our relationship symbolizes—my last living connection to Dad.
When Bruce pulls into the half-circle driveway in front of Erica’s sprawling and completely renovated midcentury modern home in Silverlake, I see one of the triplets peeking through the curtain of the large picture window before someone yanks them back.
“Uhhh, just a minute…” Bruce mutters as he fumbles with his phone.
I peer over his shoulder and see him type in all caps:THE BIRD IS IN THE NEST.
My eyes well with tears as I put two and two together. I might be devastated to be leaving New York and my chosen family, but being home—even if home is a guest room in Erica’s swanky new house that I only stayed in for a few days over Christmas break—makes me emotional.
