A harried airline employee climbed onto a chair and clapped her hands. “I’m sorry, but for all the passengers on the flights that have had emergency landings, your checked bags are not available. They will be offloaded when the storm passes. Your carry-ons are being unloaded and transported separately. We’ve arranged transportation and emergency lodging for all stranded passengers. Buses are waiting outside. Please proceed to the front entrance in an orderly fashion.”
Orderly fashion. Right.
The crowd surged toward the doors with all the order of a stampede.
So, no bag.
Dakota’s grim look betrayed her feelings, but she followed him outside.
At least the pendant was still around her neck.
The automatic doors slid open, and the storm hit them full force—warm rain, violent wind, the smell of salt and ozone and tropical flowers.
She tilted her head back and let it wash over her for just a moment. Let herself feel the reality of solid ground beneath her feet, oxygen in her lungs, a heartbeat that was still pounding too fast but pounding nonetheless.
Alive.
“You okay?” Dakota was watching her, rain streaming down his face, and the look in his eyes was too soft. Too knowing.
She smiled. Bright. Unbothered. “Never better. Nothing like a near-death experience to make you appreciate a good tropical storm.”
“That’s the spirit.”
The bus was waiting—an old tourist coach, already half full. They climbed aboard, soaking wet, and found seats near the back. Vic squeezed in beside them.
“The airline is arranging accommodations for everyone at a local resort,” the driver announced over the crackling speaker. “Don’t worry about your carry-ons. They’ll meet us at the resort. Just relax. We’ll have you there in twenty minutes.”
Twenty minutes through a tropical storm on a winding coastal road. Jayden leaned her head against the rain-streaked window and closed her eyes.
Just get through tonight. Tomorrow you can figure out the rest.
The emergency lodging turned out to be a small and rustic resort, more of a cluster of wooden cabins nestled into the hillside, surrounded by palm trees and tropical gardens. In better weather, it would have been charming. In the storm, it looked battered but sturdy, warm light glowing from the windows of the main building.
They filed off the bus and into the lobby, a cramped space with rattan furniture and ceiling fans that fought a losing battle against the humidity. A tired-looking woman stood behind the front desk, handing out keys as fast as she could.
“Single rooms only,” she was saying. “Breakfast is included. Dinner service starts in an hour in the main pavilion. Please be patient—we’re doing our best.”
Jayden waited in line, hyperaware of Dakota behind her. The lobby pressed in—too small, too crowded, too warm. Every time she shifted, her shoulder brushed his arm. Every time she breathed, she caught his scent—rain and something warmer underneath.
Sort of made her want to curl in against him. Feel his hand in hers again.
Aw, stop it. She was just tired. Or frayed.
“Next?” The woman behind the desk looked exhausted. The woman at the other counter called for Dakota. He stepped up to the other kiosk.
“Name?”
“Jayden Pierce.”
A key slid across the counter. “Cabin seven. Up the path, third on the right.”
“Thank you.” Jayden pocketed the key, and Dakota met her.
“We’re lucky—according to that front-desk clerk, they’re having to double-bunk people.” He pocketed his key. “Dinner?”
“I should probably—” What? Go sit alone in her cabin and obsess over everything that happened on that plane? Pretend she wasn’t still shaking? “Yeah. Dinner sounds good.”
The main pavilion was an open-air structure with a thatched roof and wooden beams, protected from the rain by roll-down canvas walls that flapped in the wind. String lights cast a warm glow over mismatched tables and chairs. The smell of grilled fish and coconut rice drifted from the kitchen.
