The heat hits me the moment we step off the plane.
It’s not oppressive yet—we’ve landed in the early evening—but there’s a quality to it that’s different from New York summers. Dry. Ancient. Like the air itself has been here for thousands of years, unchanged and unchanging.
I pause at the top of the stairs, looking out over Jumayah City.
The airport is modern, all glass and steel, but beyond it I can see the sprawl of the city: white and sand-colored buildings climbing up gentle hills, minarets rising like fingers pointing to heaven, the last rays of sunlight turning everything gold and rose. In the distance, barely visible through the haze, are the mountains my grandmother used to describe.
My chest tightens.
I’m here, Grandma. I finally made it.
“Mr. Aarons?” Ollie’s voice crackles through my phone. I called him the moment we landed. “Everything go smoothly?”
“Yes. We just arrived.” I start down the stairs, my team following behind me. “Have you confirmed the hotel arrangements?”
“All set. Three suites, fully stocked. The rest of the team arrives tomorrow morning.”
“Good. Email me their details again. I want to review everyone’s credentials before the meeting.”
“Already in your inbox. Anything else?”
I pause at the bottom of the stairs, looking back. Georgia is carrying Ella, who’s awake now and looking around with wide, curious eyes. Lois is right behind them, moving carefully down the steps. Georgia’s hair is pulled back in a messy bun, and there are wrinkles in her linen shirt from the flight. She looks tired but alert, taking in the surroundings with what’s undoubtedly excitement.
I remember the way she lit up in her house when I mentioned Jumayah. How she looked like a spark had been ignited in her soul. It made me want to know more about what draws her to this land, about why she became involved in this work in the first place.
But all of that’s inconsequential. She’s here to do a job, and I’m not going to distract her from it with small talk.
“No, that’s everything. Thanks, Ollie.”
I hang up as they reach the tarmac.
“Welcome to Jumayah,” I say, gesturing toward the terminal. “We’ll go through customs, then we have a car waiting.”
Georgia adjusts Ella on her hip. “It’s beautiful.”
There’s genuine wonder in her voice, and something about it eases the tension in my shoulders. At least she appreciates this place. At least she understands why this matters.
Customs is smooth. Money talks, even here, and I’ve made sure we’re expected. Within thirty minutes, we’re in a hired SUV, our luggage secured, pulling away from the airport and into the city proper, me seated next to the driver, and Lois, Georgia, and the baby in the back.
The driver, a man named Rashid, navigates the evening traffic with practiced ease. Cars honk constantly—not angry, just communicative, a language unto itself. Motorcycles weave between lanes. A donkey cart trundles along the shoulder, its owner unbothered by the modern chaos around him.
We pass through a commercial district first, driving by storefronts with Arabic signage, cafés with outdoor seating where men play backgammon, women in colorful hijabs bargaining with street vendors. The smell of grilling meat and spices wafts through the open windows, and despite my jet lag, I feel invigorated.
Ella makes a happy sound, bouncing in Georgia’s lap.
“Look, baby, look at all the colors!” Georgia points out the window at a fabric shop, bolts of brilliant cloth stacked floor to ceiling.
I find myself watching her in the rearview mirror. The way her face lights up when she explains things to Ella. The enthusiasm in her voice. She’s a good mother, I think. Her love for her daughter reminds me of my grandmother, the closest thing I ever had to a mother.
The golden light catches in her hair, and I notice for the first time that it’s not just brown; there are auburn and honey tones threaded through it too. The wind through the window whips loose strands around her face, and she laughs, pushing them back.
She’s… lovely.
I snap my attention back to the road, jaw tightening.
No. Absolutely not.
I don’t mix business and pleasure. Ever. It’s a rule I’ve maintained for years, and it’s served me well. Relationships are complicated enough without adding professional entanglements. And this project is too important to risk with personal drama.
