Page 116 of Deliverance

Oh no, not today, I groan inwardly, slipping out of bed to make some coffee and finish packing my bag.

The message alert comes in shortly after.

Zander: A car is on the way to pick you up. See you in a bit.

There’s a blushing emoji at the end of the sentence. I can’t imagine Zander feeling remotely nervous, let alone blushing. Especially not after I finally confirmed that he’s absolutely shameless when I sated my growing curiosity and indulged myself in several hours of the band’s concert footage.

Thank God for small favors. Like YouTube and HD videos.

I put it off for as long as my sense of self-control was willing to cooperate, but the fact that I would eventually be one-on-one with The Deviant’s drummer made me reconsider my decision not to stalk the man’s public persona online.

At quarter after four, I get a call from the driver, who’s waiting for me downstairs in front of the building. What I don’t expect is the unnecessary luxury. It’s a slick all-black town car with tinted windows, and before I even get a chance to start my approach, a tall man in a suit rounds the vehicle and grabs my bag.

“Ms. Kadence, good morning.” He smiles and after carefully depositing my luggage into the trunk, holds the door as I get inside.

To my shock, a fresh cup of coffee and a note greet me.

“Let me know if you’d like some privacy, ma’am,” the driver offers, settling behind the wheel, but I’m too stunned by the contrast between the opulence of leather seats and the sight of a venti Starbucks cup with a trickle of steam coming from the small opening in the lid.

The car drifts past the empty sidewalk and once we reach the closest intersection, it merges with the light early morning L.A. traffic.

The city is still dark and half-asleep and so are some parts of me, but the coffee is too tempting, so I take a tentative sip and then read the note.

Sorry for waking you up so early. I hope this helps.

There’s no signature, but I don’t need to see Zander’s name to know it’s his doing. What is he up to, anyway?

It only takes me forty minutes to find out. As soon as I notice road signs for the Burbank Airport, my pulse quickens. Minutes later, once we get closer, I’m surrounded by the roar of the jets and the noise of traffic, and there’s no doubt in mind, we’re going somewhere fairly far away, perhaps out of state, if we’re taking a plane.

When the vehicle finally drops me off near a small terminal, I’m on pins and needles and I don’t realize the man in a plain black baseball cap, sweater, and a gray bomber jacket who steps out from behind a line of people to greet me is Zander. The cap sits so low on his forehead that all I see is his mouth and a five-o’clock shadow covering his chin.

“Hey.” He slips his arm around mine and gently pulls me aside, away from the traffic and crowd.

“Oh, hi.” Grasping my coffee, I look up at him and then back at my bag, but one of the attendants has already grabbed it.

Zander leans in and his lips linger on my cheek, our breaths suddenly one. I feel warm all over.

“Let’s get out of here, okay?” he says softly, guiding me into the terminal and out of sight with his hand resting on the small of my back.

I’m not sure if he’s trying to avoid being recognized or if he simply doesn’t like airports, but we walk fast and in complete silence until we reach some double doors at the other end of the building and then quickly go outside.

I slow my pace; my eyes and ears can’t take the onslaught of sounds and visuals. Perhaps because I’ll always associate airport madness with leaving Illinois. Leaving Rhys.

To my surprise, we don’t board through the jet bridge.

A shuttle car swoops in and picks us up. The noisy wind rips at my skirt and hair as we buzz past the tarmac lanes and the buildings until we reach a small aircraft parked away from the major airlines.

Zander grasps my hand as the shuttle comes to a stop and yells over the racket, “Where’s your jacket?”

“It’s in my bag.” I nod toward it, feeling underdressed in my lightweight button-down maxi dress with no sleeves. I packed everything he said, including one nicer outfit. “Are we going to Alaska?”

“Not today.” Zander grins and helps me to the ground while I balance my purse and my coffee.

He doesn’t let go of my hand until we finally board the plane and take our seats. It seems so surreal that it doesn't hit me until we’re in the air.

We’re flying. We’re going somewhere and I’m not privy to the destination, and for the first time in my life, the unknown excites me.

I doze off an hour into our flight and wake up from a hard jolt sometime later, only to realize my head lolled to the side and claimed Zander’s shoulder. It’s warm and oddly comfortable.

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