Page 21 of Something Like Fate

I don’t respond as we reach the check-in kiosks.

When he lifts his T-shirt to retrieve his passport from the money belt fastened to his torso, I’m shocked. Not to be a creep, but I’m incapable of looking anywhere else.

Teller.

Owens.

Has.

Abs.

ABS. Six of them, to be exact.

Let’s be clear. He’s always been the infuriating kind of lean where abs just naturally poke through without a crunch or Cinema-popcorn deprivation. A monster, really. But this is different. These sculpted abdominals aren’t there by happenstance. They are clearly hard earned.

It’s only when he catches me staring that I wrench my eyes away. Vision blurred, I stub my toe on my rucksack as I charge to the kiosk on the left, loudly humming the Elton John song that was playing in the car on the way here.What the hell is wrong with me?

“Passport, passport, where are you?” I mumble, rooting around in the massive Kate Spade tote that Mei gifted me (Black Friday blowout deal). Bianca calls it my “bag of tricks” because it holds just about everything, from an umbrella to an extra pair of shoes. My shoulder will pay for its significant weight down the road, but given my tendency to forget things, it’s nice to carry everything in one place.

“Don’t tell me you lost your passport already,” Teller says with a groan. He’d already triple-checked I had it before leaving my house.

“I think I feel it!” I say excitedly, finally locating it in the deepest of depths, next to a half-eaten protein bar.

“It’s not too late to wear the money belt,” he says. This morning he showed up with an extra money belt for me (his dad’s, apparently). To prevent pickpockets from accessing my valuables, he claimed. And to humiliate me into oblivion. It was a kind gesture, but I can’t meet my soulmate wearing a money belt. And I certainly can’t be wearing it when he goes to cop a feel.

“Never,” I say, distracted as I check in on the touch screen.

“You should reconsider. You’re a prime target for a thief,” he warns, bending over to retrieve his ticket and luggage tag from the machine. “Overly friendly, a bit aloof.”

“I’m not aloof. And it’s just not sexy. I don’t make the rules.”

“Safety is sexy. Look, it’s discreet!” He tugs at the hem of his T-shirt defensively.

I point at the noticeable bulge, only allowing my eyes to linger for a half second, lest I accidently see a sliver of abs again.Why can’t I stop thinking about them?“It’s really not. And you sound like you’re in an adult-diaper commercial.”

“With our advanced technology and discreet design, you’ll feel protected and secure, all day, every day,” he says in his best commercial voice before we both dissolve into a fit of laughter.

Despite Teller’s doom-and-gloom warnings about how long it takes to go through TSA, we’re able to check our bags, get through security, and find our gate all in less than forty minutes. A TSA agent even praised Teller for his organization and attention to detail (liquids in clear bags, etc.), which I suspect he’ll boast about for years to come. We’re so early that there’s an entirely different flight waiting to board at our gate.

“See? Told you we didn’t have to come so early,” I brag.

He rolls his eyes and plunks down in an open seat, strategically closest to where we’ll line up. “You’d have been up in two hours anyways. And it’s not typical to get through security that fast. You have to reserve time for potential delays.”

“Based on all the times you’ve traveled?”

“Based on my research.”

There’s no point in arguing, so I plop down next to him and take my phone out. “Airport selfie. Smile!” I say, pressing my cheek to his. I hold my passport and ticket to the camera.

“I’ll tag you so you can repost it. Sophie still follows you, right?”

“I think so,” he says, pulling his phone out to double-check.

“Does she know you’re going to Italy with me?”

“No, but for the record, I don’t want you to think I’m only coming to show Sophie I have an adventurous side,” he says, holding my gaze. “I’m going because I know how much this trip means to you.”

Warmth floods my insides, like I’ve just guzzled warm tea. When Teller says something, he means it.

---