Page 35 of Growing Into Love

“I’m just a warm body,” Jaz says with a modest shrug.

“What?” I ask, confused, but then he sees our bags and grabs them off the line.

We leave baggage claim and see a man holding a sign with my name on it.

“Hi,” I say as I approach him.

“Cassandra Wright?” he asks.

“That’s me.”

“Right this way,” he says, taking my bag.

“What’s all this?” Jaz asks me as we follow the man out of the airport.

“Autumn,” I explain.

“Ah. Should’ve guessed.”

Autumn arranged a black town car to take us to Windy Acres. It’s quite posh, with smooth leather seats, lots of legroom, and there’s even some water and snacks waiting for us.

“The Van Der Hoek style,” Jaz notes.

“She’s a Wright now,” I remind him.

“True,” Jaz says.

“You know, I’m generally against women changing their names when they marry because it’s an antiquated tradition and also fuck the patriarchy,” I say as the man pulls the car out onto a two-lane road filled with yellow cabs. “But I love that Autumn took our last name.”

“Why hold onto Van Der Hoek with parents like hers,” Jaz says.

“God, remember the first Christmas Sparkle Ball?”

“You mean when Autumn’s mum turned up in head-to-toe designer clothes and insulted half of Hart’s Crossing in one go?” Jaz says. “Yeah, that’s not a memory I’m like to forget.”

I raise an eyebrow. “How did you know her clothes were designer?”

“I’ve watched some Project Runway,” Jaz says.

“You have?” I yelp. It’s one of my favorite shows.

He grins sheepishly. “Don’t tell Declan.”

I make a crossing motion over my heart.

Soon, we’re speeding along down a motorway. I look around eagerly as if New York City might spring up from behind the concrete barriers and shouthullo!

“How long is it to Windy Acres?” I ask the driver.

“About two and half hours,” he says. “Sit back and relax.”

But I can’t relax. I’m within reach of a city I’ve dreamt of my entire life. Also, the text has been dealt with. Now that I’ve created David the Dentist, I don’t feel so awkward around Jaz anymore. I’m all fluttery and buzzy, like a kid on Christmas Eve. I wish I’d brushed my teeth before we got off the plane though.

“Are we driving through New York?” I ask the driver.

He chuckles. “Not if we don’t have to. Have you been to the city before?”

“No,” I say wistfully.

---