Page 1 of Booked Solid

Chapter One

Wyatt

October 15th…

I’m not trying to be weird, but I can’t stop watching the woman who’s trying so valiantly not to cry. But I can see it in the quiver of her mouth, the rapid blinks as if forcing the tears that dare to form away. In my defense, she is breathtaking, but it’s her sadness that’s really garnered my attention.

I may not be able to hear what the employee at the counter is saying to her, I’m notthatfar gone, yet I don’t need to in order to understand it’s not making her happy. The white knight syndrome my grandma swore ran through every King male as surely as blood did has me silently easing closer, the stranger so focused on the staff member that she doesn’t notice me.

That’s saying something about the content of what she’s being told since my height tends to be intimidating. If that doesn’t do it, the sleeves of ink covering each arm does. And they are both on full display right now. Factor in the obvious motorcycle attire I’m wearing, despite the fact my bike is, unfortunately, not even in the same state as me, and eyes tend to wander toward me. Curiosity, disdain, and so forth are just some of the reasons behind them.

I need to get back in line, hand over my ticket, and board the plane. Otherwise, my reunion with my bike will take even longer. Except I don’t. I’m shocked at my reluctance to leave her. How can I be invested in the troubles of a random person I’ve never met and will never see again?

I don’t know the answer to that, only that I am.

“I’m sorry, miss,” the man tells her with what sounds like sincerity.

“But it’s a mistake,” she implores him.

“I understand you think that,” he begins, only to have her interrupt him.

“Iknowthat,” she stresses, though she’s not making any leeway with him. The politeness he’d been displaying before fades as she continues to plead her case.

“Be that as it may,” he responds, his focus already moving from her to the next customer as he bids them forward, “there’s nothing I can do.”

“There’s nothing you will do,” she corrects him with a huff as she steps aside. He pleasantly greets the patron, the woman already forgotten in his quest to just get through his shift. She, however, is struggling.

I follow her to the bench where she promptly collapses and withdraws a cell. A few taps later, she takes a fortifying breath while I assume it rings, as if needing it to share whatever she just learned.

“You on your way?” A male asks on the other end. Yes, I’m close enough to hear him and yes again, I don’t care for the fact her first thought was to call a man.

“About that,” she answers with a slight tremble of her lower lip.

“Ash? What’s wrong?”

It pours out of her, as if his question broke the dam holding it back. “I’m on the no fly list, so I can’t board. How could that happen in the week since I arrived here?”

He laughs and I suddenly don’t care who he is, only that he’s upsetting her even more than she already was. I know many ways to cause pain, most undetectable to those not trained as I was by the military, and I find that I’m okay using them one more time when I’d sworn I was done after my discharge. Honorable, thank you very much.

“It’s not funny, Corbin,” she hisses. One clue to uncovering his identity.

“It kind of is,” he corrects her. “You won an all-expenses paid trip to California, which I t old you was too good to be true, and look. I was right.”

“You’re such a bother, I mean brother,” she intentionally slips on the word with a grin. Okay, he can live. I’ll just give him a temporary limp. That thought appeases me. Not only because I feel like I’m avenging her, but it also means I’ll see her again. Can’t very well hurt him otherwise. “I need to find another way home. Probably have to drive, which will take a while. You might have to decorate the shop without me for the Harvest Festival.”

“Perhaps I can be of assistance,” I chime in, unable to resist stepping in any longer.

“Excuse me?” She inquires, her head turning to see me. Seeing her face full on, her honey colored eyes, leaves me speechless. “Hello?” She subtly slides to the right a little. Away from me. Can’t have that. I move, erasing the miniscule distance I’d allowed her to create.

“Yeah, I’m here,” the guy, Corbin, says.

“I’m not talking to you, doofus.”

“Ashton?” What a lovely name, even with the suspicion clouding her sibling’s tone. “Is somebody there?”

“Many are,” she responds with a mischievous grin. Clearly they have fun poking at each other and the fact she still can, while being so upset, is a sign of her resilience.

Deciding to head off the obvious question to follow, I inform her, “I’m Wyatt King, at your service.”

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