Page 1 of Planes, Trains, and Candy Canes

Chapter One

“What do you mean, it’s seventy-five dollars a bag?” Reese drained her peppermint mocha noisily, sucking on the green plastic straw like it was a Xanax lollipop. “I paid fifty each for those two!”

“Yes, ma’am, but it’s fifty per bag for the first two, and seventy-five each for anything after that, with a maximum of five checked bags. If you intend to take anything other than your carry-on and your two checked bags, Flightlife recommends you send your luggage ahead and ship it to your destination.” The woman at the customer service desk was a model of patience and politeness, her red lips smiling on her dark brown face and her holly earrings matching a pin on her shoulder.

It’s Christmas Eve eve. Everyone is trying to get home for Christmas.I’mtrying to get home for good—with next to no planning and an almost maxed-out credit card.I’m allowed to whine—a little. Right?

“I didn’t know I was going to need to bring all of my stuff. My boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—had all of my stuff packed and the locks changed. I didn’t even get to take my spider plants!” Reese swallowed the edge of a wail in her voice. “Next time, I promise I’ll ship my stuff ahead, but I didn’t have a chance. Can I please get some kind of exception? Fifty dollars for three or something?”

The clerk’s face was sympathetic. “I’m not supposed to do this—but here’s a voucher for twenty-five dollars for any food kiosk in the airport. Dinner is on us—but the baggage cost is still on you.”

With a heavy sigh, Reese pulled out her credit card. “Thank you.”

DERRICK SHOVED HISearbuds in and turned up his Chopin playlist. Chopin was passionate but orderly. Piano was the music of all well-ordered people with a big to-do list and a tight timeline.

And if he heard Mariah Carey screech outAll I Want for Christmas is Youone more time, he was going to puke.

“You can only listen to a song seventy-nine times before you go insane,” he muttered, plugging in his laptop and scooting the hard gray chair close to the outlet. “It’s that eightieth time that causes murderous rampages.”

“Whoa, there, buddy. Probably shouldn’t use those words in an airport.”

Derrick looked up, startled. A woman with long caramel brown hair, a candy cane sweater, and arms overflowing with fast food wrappers was sliding into the seat beside him.

Why me?

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“I saw the way you slammed your earbuds in. Are you Christmas caroled out?”

Even though he hated to be interrupted when he was in the midst of his carefully planned out to-do list, Derrick took a minute to smile and chuckle with the human tornado next to him. “Not all Christmas songs. Just that one. I prefer my Christmas music more traditional.”

“Mm, not me. I like a mix of everything. But still, anything played that many times in an hour is criminal. Torture.”

“Ah, might not want to mention those words in an airport,” Derrick parried and took a second look at the woman as shedivested herself of several bags, an armful of cups, bottles, and wrappers, and a neon pink laptop case.

“Touché. I think they’re playing the same four songs on repeat. The only one I like at this point isJingle Bell Rock.” The woman sank back in the seat, and her phone promptly burst into a cascading series of electric tones.

“I’ll let you take that,” Derrick said in some relief, pushing up the volume and hoping to get lost in his last few tasks before he let himself go on break for the holiday.

Finish emails to clients

Read over Greg’s proposal and give the okay to send to Accounting

Check for replies by 7 pm take-off

With a swipe of his finger, he moved from his work to-do list to his personal to-do list.

Text Mom and Dad to let them know when I’m on the plane.

Check to make sure packages are still on track for Christmas Eve delivery

Text Kevin and Marina to make sure they took in any mail and packages

“I don’t know, Mom! It came out of nowhere. No, there wasn’t a hint. Not a single hint. Mom, why would I lie? I got thrown out on my ass—what? Mom, I’m thirty-two. I say ass. Okay, okay, stop. No, don’t get Dad! I got thrown out on my butt. Huh? No, I’m not going to lose my job. I can work in Pine Ridge. I’m fully remote.”

Derrick didn’t mean to listen in. It was just that he never heard his hometown of Pine Ridge mentioned in “the wild.” It was pretty small, and he felt like he knew most people who lived there—or at least knewofthem. Most people who were flying to the Buffalo airport were staying in Buffalo—or near it. Pine Ridge was hours away and on the other side of the state. He was only flying there because his carefully planned and coordinatedschedule had him spending until December 23rd in San Francisco and all the flights from San Francisco to Binghamton were booked.

What are the odds two people from a tiny berg like Pine Ridge would end up on a flight from San Fran to Buffalo?

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