Eppley Airfield was fully decked out for the holidays. Garland dangled above wide windows, and glimmering lights wrapped around fake trees that lined the walls. All it did was cause a tight pressure in Isabella’s chest. By the time she—along with her rolling suitcase and overstuffed carry-on—made it to the customer service for American Airlines, there was already a long line.
“Well, would you look at that line,” Bob said, hot on her heels.
“Right?” Isabella huffed. “This is going to take forever.”
“Why don’t you come with me to get a bite to eat and then we can make our way to customer service afterward.”
Isabella glared at him. “I don’t have time to get a bite to eat. I have to get on another plane. And fast.” In truth, missing the first few days of Eight Days of Christmas sounded amazing, but Isabella’s family already saw her as the daughter and sister who abandoned them. Storm or no storm, she had to make it home within the next twenty-four hours.
“Whoa, okay.” Bob put up his hands. “I’m sure you’ll get on another plane. But not anytime soon. You heard the captain. There’s a winter storm rolling through Denver. It’s probably gonna be a while. Maybe not even until tomorrow.”
Isabella grunted. She rubbed at the tension building between her eyes. She didn’t have time for Bob and his rational thinking. Or this line. Or to be in the Omaha airport at all. “You go ahead. I’m gonna wait.”
“Alright, alright. I think I might just do that.” He backed up, and Isabella exhaled her relief. “Check you later, Miss Bella.” He tipped an imaginary hat at her.
“It’sIsabella,” she said flatly as he, thankfully, walked away. Despite it being Isabella’s unlucky day, the customer service line for American Airlines moved swiftly. When it was her turn, she stepped up to the counter and held her head high. She needed to put on her game face. The one she used in the office. The one she used to get the story. The friendly-but-don’t-mess-with-me face.
“Good afternoon, welcome to American Airlines. How can I help you today?” The customer service representative—Ben, his name tag read—had too big of a smile plastered on his face for how distraught Isabella felt.
“Hi there. My name is Isabella Whitley. I was on flight 434 en route to Denver, Colorado, but we were rerouted here due to the snowstorm. The reader board,” she pointed above Ben’s head, “shows all flights to Denver are canceled. But are you sure the info has been updated? Because I need to get on the first available flight. Please.”
“I do apologize, ma’am. But as you just said, all flights to Denver have been canceled.”
She gritted her teeth, resisting the urge to raise her voice. Ben was only doing his job, but desperation tingled through her unforgivingly.
“Right. I understand that. But when will the next one take off? I need to get on that flight.”
“Again, I do apologize. However, I’m unable to give you that info.”
She exhaled. “And why not?”
“Because I’m unable to see the future.” His smile turned into a smirk.
Isabella recognized a smirk when she saw one. And he was definitely smirking at her now.
She narrowed her eyes and leaned across the counter. “I have to get to Denver. Today. Whatever you need to do to make that happen,Ben, do it.” She forced out a strangled, “Please.”
“Since it’s already late afternoon, what Icando for you, ma’am, is give you a hotel voucher and hopefully we can get you on a flight tomorrow morning.”
She leaned in closer, heat crawling up her neck and spreading into her cheeks. “I don’twanta hotel voucher. Iwanton a plane.”
He rearranged his expression into a jackass blank stare, as if looking straight through her. “Like I said, let me get you that hotel voucher and—”
Isabella slapped her hand on the counter. “Ben, I’d like to speak to your manager.”
“Izzy?”
Isabella sucked in a breath. Her back went rigid while her stomach plummeted to the floor. “Oh please, oh please, oh please, no.”
She turned around, slowly.
But nope, luck was still not on her side today. Because when she turned, she knew exactly who would be standing there. Not only because his voice was as familiar as her own skin, but because he’d called herIzzy. Besides her family, only one other person in this world called her by that childhood nickname.
Leo Hoffman.
“What the hell are you doing?” Leo stood in the customer service line a few patrons back, hands stuffed in the pockets of his black peacoat.
She swallowed, uncertain if she could find her voice to reply. “Leo?”
