Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
You can’t afford this.
This is reckless!
Stupid!
Impulsive!
You have no place to stay! No one you know! What’s your plan?
“Credit card,” the lady says, waving her hand impatiently.
I blink my eyes open, conscious of the ever-growing line snaking into infinity behind me. Someone pointedly clears their throat. No one is patient in an airport; I get that. But, like, hello, some of us are making major life decisions here!
“Card,” she prods again, shifting her weight and no doubt fighting an eye roll.
“Okay, um . . .” My hand shakes as I try and slip my card out of my wallet, stalling.
Then the line shifts to my left, and someone new steps up to the counter beside me. I catch a whiff of the person’s perfume, and I immediately freeze. The scent is so familiar; of course it is—my grandmother wore it every day of my entire life.
Chanel N°5.
I look up quickly, expecting to see my grandmother standing there beside me, an affectionate smile on her face, but it’s not her. It’s a stranger. This woman is older than my grandmother, shorter—oh, and alive. A laugh bubbles out of me.
It’s a sign, though, right? It has to be.
I grab my card and slide it across the counter. Then I hike my purse higher onto my shoulder and ask with a determined tone, “Which way is security?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
CASEY
I know I’ve made the right decision, and here are my two foolproof reasons:
1. The flight attendant just announced our flight was less crowded than usual, and she invited us to spread out. (Uh, score.)
2. I snagged an aisle seat as planned, and the young woman who arrived to claim the window seat in my row was wearing headphones; she gave me a quick smile but then kept moving and otherwise made no attempt to engage with me.
This is meant to be. I feel good about my decision, which is a relief because there’s no going back now. Not only has this airline snatched a thousand dollars from my bank account, but I’m also already on board the plane, buckling my seat belt, getting comfy. Soon, we’ll all be skimming over the Atlantic.
I expect a wave of panic, something akin to my freak-out on my suite’s balcony that first day aboard Aurelia. Any minute now, I’ll have to drop my head between my knees and think happy thoughts, but . . . I feel oddly calm as I settle back against my seat and watch the last few stragglers trail down the aisle. I’ve already perused the in-flight menu and settled on a selection of the carb heavy hitters. My companion in the window seat has her neck pillow on, and she just popped a Xanax; she means business.
I want to ask her if this will be her first time in London, too, but I don’t want to break this perfect, peaceful quiet we’ve created for ourselves, so instead, I turn to the screen mounted in front of me.
I’m just starting to flip through movie options when a flight attendant walks down the aisle, thoroughly inspecting passengers as she goes. I bet she’s about to chide someone for not properly stowing their carry-on items. Just as a precaution, I kick my bag further under the seat in front of me. When I glance back up, she’s looking at me with narrowed eyes. I go rigid, then slowly offer up a shy smile. She keeps studying me long enough that I look over my shoulder to see if maybe there’s a rule breaker seated just behind me, but, no, it’s me she’s staring at. She continues walking, then stops just short of my seat and bends down.
Her eyes spark with something. Is that . . . excitement? Why?
Does she love reprimanding people? Maybe it’s her favorite part of the job.
“Casey Hughes?” she asks.
I only now register her slightly strange smile.
“Uh . . . yes?” My reply is cautious, mostly because I’m scared I’m somehow in trouble. They can’t kick me off the plane. I’ve already torn into my complimentary snack mix. “How did you know my name?”
Is that standard?
She shakes her head and laughs. “Oh . . . it’s just—ma’am, I’m so excited to let you know that you’ve received an upgrade!”
“An upgrade?” I frown, taken aback. “There must be some mistake. Do you want to see my ticket?” I’m already bending down to dig in my purse for my boarding pass. “I’m not like a frequent flyer or anything. Maybe you have me confused with—”
Her smile widens. “Nope. I have it exactly right. If you’ll collect your things and follow me, I’ll lead you toward your new seat in first class.”
I gulp. No doubt the blood drains from my face too. I lean in and lower my voice. “I can’t afford that particular upgrade, so thank you, but no. I’m happy with the seat I have.”