Refresh. Seven minutes.
The flight tracker showed the tiny airplane beginning its descent, dropping toward the runway like my stomach was dropping toward my shoes. In seven minutes, he’d be on the ground. In maybe twenty, he’d be walking through arrivals, expecting to board a team bus, and definitely not expecting to find me waiting.
I should text him now.
Give him a heads-up.
Give him a chance to tell me to go away and let him leave with his mates like a normal player.
My thumbs hovered over the keyboard, paralyzed by indecision.
What if he didn’t want me here?
What if this was too much, too intense, toosomethingwhen we were both pretending it was nothing?
What if I’d misread the situation and he’d been texting me out of boredom, killing time on a long road trip, while I’d been over here catching feelings like an idiot?
The flight tracker updated without me hitting refresh.
LANDED.
I typed before I could talk myself out of it:
Me: Don’t get on the team bus.
Me: Come to arrivals pickup instead. I’m here. Surprise.
I stared at the screen, watching the “delivered” notification appear, then the “read” notification, then the three little dots that meant he was typing.
The dots danced for what felt like an eternity.
Then:
PuckingSkylerShaw: Wait what?
PuckingSkylerShaw: You’re HERE here? At the airport?
Me: Um. Yeah.
PuckingSkylerShaw: Holy shit.
PuckingSkylerShaw: I mean.
PuckingSkylerShaw: Yeah. Okay. Give me like 15 minutes to grab my stuff and escape Murph.
Me: Take your time. I’ll be the Honda Civic that looks like it’s having a nervous breakdown.
PuckingSkylerShaw: That describes like 40% of the cars in Florida.
Me: The saddest one. Look for the saddest one.
PuckingSkylerShaw: See you in a few.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.
He was coming.
He hadn’t said, “That’s weird,” or “Why are you here,” or “I’ll take the bus, thanks.” He’d said, “See you in a few,” like this was normal, like friends surprised each other at airports all the time.
