Page 2 of Wylder Ranch
From the moment we met at the jukebox, I’ve been under her spell. As much as I might want to convince myself otherwise, she was more than a hookup during an intense week where I did my best to bury my feelings about this particular time of year.
Haven is the first person who’s understood how I felt. Someone who didn’t judge me when I told her why I hated Christmas. That losing my dad was a weight I would always bear, no matter how many times I was told it wasn’t my fault.
Haven had also lost her parents, but she chose to celebrate them instead of wallowing in self-pity. In the time since their passing, she’d almost worked herself into the ground to keep their legacy alive and their business afloat, and there wasn’t a part of her that resented them for it.
Haven and I are opposite sides of the same coin, brought together by a mutual loss.
My sister, Clementine, would call it fate. But it’s hard to find the positive when you’re consumed by a decades-old guilt that you inadvertently caused your father’s death. If it hadn’t been for me, my mother would still have a husband, and my younger siblings would have grown up with a dad instead of remembering him throughphotographs sitting on shelves.
But my melancholy is interrupted by a reflection in the glass, and I turn to find the same server making her way over to me.
“Lord Burlington, your flight will be open for pre-boarding in fifteen minutes.”
“Thank you,” I reply with a smile and a nod. Genial, but not enough to make her think I’m interested in a quickie before my flight.
The untouched glass of champagne fizzes away as I grab my bag, sling it over my shoulder, and walk out of the British Airways lounge into a terminal teeming with people.
Couples ready to spend the holidays together. Families heading off for Christmas ski trips. Loved ones.
Christmas trees. Decorations.Music.
I’m lucky I haven’t broken out in hives by the time I reach the gate and hand over my passport to the airline steward to scan with my boarding pass.
“We hope you enjoyed your time in the United States. Come back and visit soon.”
Taking my documents back, I manage a smile and walk through the gates. “That’s the plan.”
In front of me is a vaguely familiar guy dressed all in black and wearing sunglasses, and I follow him onto the plane, where I’m guided to seat 1A.
Easing my bag into the overhead locker, I settle in for the long haul.
Somewhere in the distance, a baby is crying, and I thank God I’m sitting up front. It appears to be child-free, though I’m exhausted enough that I’ll crash out the second we’re wheels up. I rarely fly commercial, and I hadforgotten how long it takes between boarding and takeoff, while you wait for the plane to fill with the rest of the passengers. It’s a minimum of thirty minutes of restless energy you need to expel when you could already be on your way.
Sunglasses guy sitting across the aisle from me has the right idea, ordering a double whiskey from the steward, so I do the same.
I fall back into distraction mode, flicking through the movies available and pretending to check the menu for dinner, but I barely pay attention. I’m too fidgety, and I can’t stop thinking about Haven. It doesn’t help that I can still smell her on my skin, like she’s buried herself under it.
The smooth metal of my phone slips between my fingers as I turn it over and over. The air steward has been by twice to check I’m okay and see if there’s anything else I need, but by my calculation, we’re still fifteen minutes out before the doors are shut.
That’s fifteen minutes of self-torture to endure. Fifteen minutes I need to fill. Sunglasses guy has replaced his eyewear with a sleep mask.
I glance down at my phone when it vibrates, for a split second forgetting Haven can’t message me because she doesn’t have my number, and my heart splutters and sinks.
LANDO: It’s your lucky day, I’ll collect you from Heathrow in the morning. Have a good flight.
ALEX: I’m honored, Your Grace.
I stare at the screen in my hand while my brain andheart war with each other over what I should do.
I’ve called her twice.
Perhaps the third time will be a charm.
I can’t help it. My heart wins out. I try Haven one last time, only to have the same voicemail pick up.
Fuck it.
“Hey, Haven. It’s me . . . Alex. This is . . . um . . . I know we said we’d meet in a year . . . call me crazy, but I can’t wait that long. I was thinking . . . how are you fixed for New Year’s Eve?”
