Page 6

“Oh, that’s alright,” she said, taking note of the growing line of passengers frowning behind him. “I’ll just wait until everyone else is gone.”

“Ah, you’re being too polite. Come along, or you’ll never get off.”

A tight-lipped woman stood directly behind him, staring daggers at Claire.

Having a feeling that the man would wait until Claire finally folded, she swiftly stood, swung her backpack over her shoulder, and skirted past the empty seats in her row.

“Thank you,” she said hurriedly.

“Have any luggage I can fetch for you?” the man asked next, motioning to the overhead bins.

Claire glanced again to the scowling woman and nodded. “Yeah, just the black carry-on at the far right.”

He reached up and pulled down her carry-on with a swift tug, placing it at her side. She expressed her gratitude again, and the man smiled warmly at her. “Welcome to England, luv. And have a merry Christmas.”

Her heart warmed, despite the impatient huffs from the other passengers. If he wasn’t the nicest man she’d ever met. Were all Englishmen like this?

She returned his smile and faced forward, awkwardly trundling down the aisle with her backpack and carry-on bouncing against the seats until she finally exited the plane.

Excitement propelled her legs faster, the rolling of her luggage’s wheels trilling loudly across the ribbed carpet.

Claire: Heading to Customs now.

Melody: YAAAAAY!!! Aunt Tasha and I are waiting by the pick-up area. The cost for parking is out of control here. See you sooooon!

Claire thumbsed-up the message, hesitating before she pulled up the text thread to her mom. She really ought to message her and Dad. They probably wouldn’t respond for a few days, but any parent would want to know his or her daughter was safe, right?

When she’d told them she’d booked a flight to England over Christmas and wouldn’t be returning until after New Years, they had been ecstatic. Though she couldn’t be sure if it was for her sake or their own, as they could now be on their cruise guilt-free. Not that they’d ever felt guilty for leaving her behind. They’d both traveled enough for work and now as retirees to have given up that remorse a long time ago.

She kept her eyes on her phone, moving with the throngs of people to the line forming at Customs.

Claire: Hey, Mom! Just wanted to let you know I landed safely in England. Hope you and Dad are enjoying yourselves. Love you both. Call me anytime.

She sent the message, then put her phone away, determining to set aside any thoughts of her parents just as readily. She was happy that they were happy, and she would leave it at that.

Inch by inch, she moved through the line until she was free to go to the baggage claim. She smiled to herself as she passed garland hung up across windows and a few twinkle lights twirled round nearby stands. Purple candy bars and shiny, red Christmas crackers were on display at the front of a few shops, and English accents filled the air, a jolly chorus of propriety and perfection.

Everyone around her seemed to be getting into the Christmas spirit with smiles and nods of greeting. Or perhaps that was simply her own attitude extending to what she chose to notice. She’d been traveling for over twenty hours, her makeup was no-doubt smeared, and her hair, a mess. But she was in England, and she wouldn’t be alone for Christmas—and that was something to celebrate.

Reaching the baggage claim, she watched the empty, rotating carousel, anxiously awaiting her larger suitcase’s arrival. With still no sight of the luggage, she glanced to the large ad propped up beside her, featuring a photo of a red telephone booth and a green-scarfed woman grinning up at it.

Explore London at its best—during the holiday season!

Claire took a quick picture of it, pulling up Instagram to post to her feed for the first time in months, now that she actually had something worthwhile to share.

So crazy to believe I’m actually here. Can’t wait to finally see with my own two eyes what this country has to offer!

“Excuse me.”

A smooth, deep voice spoke directly beside her, and Claire jumped, looking up from her phone in surprise. Who in the world would be speaking with her here? Had she forgotten her bag? Was she standing in the wrong place? Did she…

Her questions melted away like the first flakes of a snowfall as she finally registered the man standing nearly a head above her. He boasted a thick head of hair as dark as obsidian, with a short, neatly trimmed beard. His sharp cheekbones were clean-shaven, and his strong brow hovered over dark eyes—eyes void of any friendliness as he scowled down at her.

Wait, why was he scowling? She shifted uncomfortably under his inert gaze. “Can I help you?”

“I believe that’s mine,” he said, his smooth voice slightly breathless, as if he’d been walking too fast before speaking with her.

His English accent surprised her, though she didn’t know why. Had she already forgotten she was in England?