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The harder part was Mom.
She insisted she’d be fine. Her neighbor promised she’d check in every afternoon, and Jake swore he’d stop by after closing if she needed anything. They’re both probably offended that I wrote out three pages of instructions before I left.
I know they’ll take care of things.
Doesn’t stop me from wondering if I should’ve stayed anyway, but Rowan asked. And I will always show up when someone I care about needs me. That’s something I do know how to be—useful. Dependable. The guy who gets things done.
The security line is mercifully short this early, and I make it through in minutes. I check the departure board and walk at my own pace to the gate, ignoring the frantic energy of travelers rushing past. No point in hurrying just to sit and wait. The terminal’s waking up around me with overpriced coffee brewing, flight announcements crackling, and people weaving through shops filled with neck pillows and junk they’ll forget before landing.
I keep my head down and stay in my lane. As I round the corner to our gate, I spot Whitley immediately.
She’s perched on the edge of a chair, one leg bouncing in a restless rhythm, her copper hair falling in waves around her shoulders, her mouth moving a mile a minute. She’s talking to an older woman who’s grinning right back at her.
That’s Whitley. She’s sunshine with a megaphone. She talks to strangers like she’s known them forever and makes connections in seconds flat, like it’s easy.
I don’t know how to be that open. I wouldn’t even want to.
But I’m about to spend five days in close quarters with her, pretending like I don’t notice the way she fills up a room. Pretending like she doesn’t get to me.
I hang back, watching her from a distance. She hasn’t noticed me yet, which gives me a moment to steel myself.
The airport speakers crackle to life, and a tired voice announces, “Attention passengers of flight 1428 to Colorado Springs. Due to severe weather conditions in the Denver area, this flight has been canceled. Please proceed to the service desk for rebooking options.”
A collective groan ripples through the gate area. Whitley’s head snaps up, her conversation with the older woman forgotten as she scans the crowd. When her eyes land on me, surprise flickers across her face before she’s on her feet and coming at me like a missile with a target.
“Did you hear that?” she asks, no greeting. “Canceled. Our flight is actually canceled.”
I nod once. “I heard.”
She runs a hand through her hair, messing it up even more. “They’re going to be backed up for days with this storm. The wedding’s in five days, and we need to be there in three, at the latest.”
“We can drive,” I say, the words out before I’ve even decided if I mean them.
Whitley whips her head around I’ve just suggested we hitch a ride on a tractor across the country. “Drive? From Kentucky to Colorado? Are you having a stroke?”
She’s already pulling out her phone, thumbs flying. “That’s—yep—thirteen hundred and sixteen miles. Nineteen hours, minimum. Without bathroom breaks. Or food. Or one of us committing murder.”
“You got a better idea?”
She glances over at the airline service desk, where the chaos is gaining volume. People wave boarding passes. A kid cries somewhere in the background. Someone shouts in what might be German.
Her shoulders sag. “No,” she mutters. “But that’s a hell of a long ride with someone who answers every question like he’s being charged by the word.”
I lift my duffel and shift the strap. “Two days. We’ll get there with time to spare.”
Her eyes narrow, hazel and way too perceptive. “Please tell me you drove that beautiful Mustang.”
I shake my head. “Truck”
“Does it have music, or is it just your internal monologue about how much you hate company?”
The corner of my mouth lifts. Not a smile. But maybe close.
“Truck works fine,” I say.
Whitley sighs dramatically. “Fine. But I’m driving for at least half of it.”
“We’ll see.”
