Thompson was bound to be proud.
I caught my reflection in the plane window and sighed.
The bruise was healing as well and as quickly as it could, but it was still there. The redness in my eye was fading, but it still itched and burned. It was an annoying reminder of how quickly my life spiraled out of control.
A few months ago, the whole scene would’ve put me in a stress coma.
Now? Maybe I was maturing as much as I convinced Mr. Sterl…Craig that I was.
The plane was beginning to descend, making my stomach lurch into my throat. Only a few more minutes before my anticipatory anxiety could turn into regular anxiety.
The plane touched down in Oklahoma without a hitch, yet I stayed rooted to my seat, watching the overhead light and waiting for the finality of the chime before I found the courage to stand. I stepped into the aisle, throwing my briefcase onto my shoulder and meandering behind the rest of the passengers out of the plane.
What was really the worst that could happen? They could get to know me? Oh no! The horror!
Come on, Allegra, chill out.
I joined the slow trek of the crowd through the concourse, the rhythmic clicking of my heels echoing against the tile. The moment I stepped onto the escalator, I leaned over the handrail, scanning the arrivals hall for a Nash hat in a crowd of Oklahoma strangers.
Unfortunately, almost everyone was wearing a cowboy hat, so that wasn’t going to help my search. I wiped my sweaty hands on my pants and took a breath.
The escalator carried me lower, the wide-open baggage claim coming into full view. My eyes darted from face to face. A grandfather holding a handmade sign, a woman with dark circles under her eyes, a dad with two energetic kids and four suitcases, and a group of teenagers on their phones.
Then I sawhim.
He wasn’t standing by the baggage carousels or walking by the glass doors. He was leaning against a thick concrete pillar, near the base of the escalator. His arms were folded over his worn denim shirt,one dusty boot hooked behind the other. He didn’t have a sign, wasn’t holding his phone; he was looking straight up at the escalator.
At me.
My heart didn’t just thud; it stopped.
Colton didn’t wave. He didn’t give me his usual crooked grin. He just watched my descent with an intensity that made me feel like the only person in the airport. The soft light coming through the glass caught the sharp lines of his jaw and the messy brown hair peeking out from under his tan hat.
I swallowed hard.
The escalator ended suddenly, and I found myself fumbling to find my footing. “You’re not Dennis,” I said as soonas we were face-to-face, the words falling out of my mouth before I could stop them.
He pushed himself off the pillar with easy fluid grace. He was taller than I remembered; I had to crane my neck to look up at him. Then came his crooked grin. “Disappointed?”
I shook my head, trying to offer a casual smile back. “Just surprised.”
“How’s the cheek, Chicago?” He said, his voice lowand gravelly, vibrating right through my chest.
My hand instinctively went to the bruise. “Oh, it’s fine. Much better. Thank you.”
He threw his chin toward the baggage claim. “Do you have a suitcase?”
I nodded.
“Let’s grab it so we can get you back to the house.”
I followed him, racking my brain to remember how to have a normal conversation. I had been in so many uncomfortable situations with this job, so many powerful men and women, and yet around Colton Nash, my tongue melted, and my mind turned to mush.
“What’s it looklike?” Heasked over the crowd.
I smiled at his thick accent. “It’s, um, it’s a really light pinkycolor,yaknow?”Iwanted to smack myself.
How about, “It’s pink.” Would that be so hard, Allegra?
