Page 93 of Her Counterfeit Christmas
He smiles as he nods. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I have a complicated relationship with money and I didn’t want you to pick me because of what was in my bank account. I should have been honest. Are you mad?”
I’m shocked is what I am. I also feel a fool. I didn’t think he had the money to help me pay for Nana, and he probably has enough in his bank account to purchase a hundred assisted living homes outright.
“Layla, what are you thinking?”
Good question. What am I thinking? I’m thinking about how much I want to kiss him.
“I’m not mad you didn’t tell me. Honestly, it’s better you didn’t. Now that Nana is taken care of, I don’t care about your bank account. All I care about is you.”
He has me in his arms in seconds. His lips land on mine, but only for a moment. I want them back where they belong, but he’s using them to speak. “Layla, I love you. Thank you for not marrying my cousin. Family reunions would have been the worst.”
I laugh and then get lost in his eyes. I run a finger through his beard. Over his lips. Under his eyebrows. Owen is mine. I can touch him whenever I want. Laugh with him. Hug him. Kiss him. All wonderful things that I don’t have to feel guilty about. I savor his arms around my waist. The warmth of his skin. His soft brown eyes drinking me in. They skip down to my lips. Mine veer in the same direction.
“Are you going to kiss again?” someone says, shattering our moment.
We both turn toward the teenager sitting in the next seat over. Right. We are in an airport terminal, not alone. Something I should have remembered sooner.
“If so,” the teen continues, “Hurry it up. They just called for section three. If you take too long, you’ll miss the flight.”
The line for boarding is half as long as when Owen showed up, but we still have quite an audience.
Owen turns to me. “Actually, I think I want to miss our flight. I’m not ready to go home. Will you stay in Boston with me? There’s an Italian restaurant I would love to take you to. We can do whatever else you want. A museum or the freedom walking tour.”
I’m reminded that Harvard University is in Boston. Owen lived here for three years going to law school. I want to see the city through his eyes.
Except … Spencer was generous and gave me a first-class ticket. It feels wasteful not to use it, especially since I deserve the economy section.
“What about our tickets? I don’t want to waste Spencer’s money.”
Owen turns to the teen who is listening to every word of our conversation. All she needs is popcorn to truly enjoy the show.
“Who are you traveling with?” Owen asks her.
The girl points to the woman sitting beside her. “My mom.”
From her mom’s wide eyes and interested smile, she’s enjoyed my reunion with Owen just as much as her daughter.
Owen takes my hand and pulls me up to standing. “Let’s see if we can get these lovely women in first class, shall we?”
“Really?” The girl’s squeal is so high, I’m sure the service dog down the corridor heard it.
It doesn’t take long to have our seats transferred and to rebook a flight for tomorrow night. The whole time, Owen is touching me or I’m touching him. Almost as if we can’t believe this is happening; we’re free to be together.
Our suitcases are on their way to Salt Lake City, but Owen contacts a friend to pick them up for us so they aren’t sitting in baggage claim for a day.
We leave the airport hand in hand. Snow falls in fat flakes. The tops of our heads are quickly covered in white.
“Ready for an adventure?” Owen asks.
A hundred times, yes. A thousand. A million. But first …
“In one second,” I tell him.
Before I get too distracted by Owen and the city, I send my roommates a quick message.
LAYLA:Sorry I haven’t responded this week. Maine has been a surprise in more ways than one. I’ll explain everything when I get back tomorrow. Sorry if I worried you!
I zip my phone in my Boudron and ignore it as it buzzes. Right now, I want to be with Owen.
