Page 33 of Unexpectingly Happily Ever After

For a moment, I think he’s going to take my winnings, and frantically begin stuffing quarters into my purse, my pockets…some even go into my bra. I glance over my shoulder, feeling the staring, unable to stop the grin.

If Sophie was here, she would be racing around to pick up every last coin. And Ben would follow her, his hands open to hold them for his sister. Lucy would be cheering…

I wish they were here to see this.

″I found a few for you,” a deep voice behind me says. Still crouched on the floor, I look up, way up. He’s tall, he’s built, and he’s very bald. And he’s holding a handful of quarters.

″Thank you.” I stumble to my feet, my hands full and useless. I look at him helplessly and laugh. “I don’t know where to put them all.”

″You can exchange them over there.” He nods to a wicket in the corner of the casino.

I stuff the coins in my hands in my purse, which is already overflowing. “I don’t have time,” I admit. “I have to pick up my girls at the airport.”

″Your girls? Like, kids?”

″Girlfriends,” I correct. “My kids are at home. Two girls and a boy.” I give my head a shake. “You don’t want to know that. I’m here for a stagette.”

He smiles knowingly still holding a handful of my winnings. I have never seen broader shoulders on a man. He’s about the size of a tree, with arms the size of my legs. “You keep them,” I say impulsively. “Thanks for being a nice guy and not stealing them.”

″Are you staying at the hotel?” he asks. I nod. “I’ll find you later. Here.” He drops the handful of quarters in his pocket before handing me a colourful flyer.

″I can’t…You want to sell me something?” I stammer, clutching my oversize purse with two hands, so he reaches around and tucks it into the back pocket of my pants with a rueful smile.

″Sorry to be so forward. It’s for a show tomorrow night. Bring your friends. And have fun.”

I stare at him, mouth open as he walks away. Then with a last glance at the floor to check for runaway coins, I turn and race to the front doors, only to find my cab ready to leave without me.

″Wait, please,” I cry, my hands full so it takes a moment to open the door. “I need to get to the airport.” Coins fall out of my purse as I throw myself in the car. “Thanks.”

The driver turns and glares at me over his shoulder. “Is someone going to be chasing us for that money? Because I charge extra for that.”

″What? No, this is mine. I won it–”

″Why in such a hurry then? Going to the airport with no bags? Suspicious, wouldn’t you say?”

My mouth falls open. The last ten minutes have been plenty unbelievable, but this? “Uh, I had a few minutes before I had to leave. I’m meeting my friends at the airport, not leaving. I just got here this morning, so even though I miss my kids, I’m not ready to go home.”

The realization surprises me.

″And I was playing the slots and all this money came out because I won but I didn’t have time to cash it in because Brit and Morgan’s flight gets in…” I glance at my Fitbit. “Like now. So can we go? To the airport, so I can meet them? Not run away?”

The driver turns. “Fair enough.” Without another word, he pulls away from the hotel, leaving me staring after him.

Did he just accuse me of stealing the money?

I spend the twenty minutes rearranging my purse so the coins fit, without another word to the driver. He doesn’t get a very good tip.

In the airport, it’s easy to find the line of burly guys in chauffeur uniforms holding up signs. Brit mentioned she’d have a car waiting, but I never expected this. It’s just like in a movie. The driver for Brit is on the end. “That’s not for the real Britney Spears, is it?” I ask worriedly, gesturing to the sign that says, Ms. Spears.

There’s a small group behind the chauffeurs, tittering excitedly.

Brit’s full moniker, including married names, is Britney Annabeth Spears Smith Dover Hart, but she still goes by Brit Spears.Since then, she’s had a hate on the singer, even refusing to talk to me for a day when I casually mentioned that I would have liked to have seen her show in Vegas.

It’s too bad. I like her music.

″I don’t know if she’s real or not,” the chauffeur says with a bored expression. “I’m only supposed to hold the sign.”

But then I see Brit and Morgan walking towards us, talking and laughing. I push down the FOMO feeling that I should have changed my flight to be with them, and rush towards them from behind the line of chauffeurs.

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