Page 3 of Ms. Lead

“Alright, cugini, hop on in your seats. We’ll be late picking up Mr. Bellamy, and you don’t want Aunt B to get in trouble, do you?”

I herd them into the back of the car and their respective seats, ensuring they’re buckled in securely.

“You wouldn’t get in trouble,” Ava says matter-of-factly. “I’d protect you.”

“Me too,” Jett nods in agreement, not wanting to be left out.

These kids. I swear to God. If I didn’t have a job to do right now, I’d be a melted puddle on the floor. For an almost four- and three-year-old, the things they randomly say are so thoughtful it blindsides me sometimes. I can only hope that my own kids, whenever that happens, are as kind and sweet as these two. Normandy and Chelsie are doing something very right with them.

“Well, thank you. I appreciate that,” I’m finally able to say as I get behind the wheel. “It’s good to know I have you two on my side.” I glance at them in the rearview mirror. “Ready to go to the airport?”

They rambunctiously reply in the affirmative in unison at a decibel level I don’t think is appropriate for the interior of a car. Oh no. Mr. Bellamy is in for one hell of a crazy welcome to America.

* * *

Mischief Motors is extremely close to the airport, so I’m not really worried about being late picking up Mr. Bellamy. Being a car service, having a location nearby is kind of imperative for business.

We arrive with some time to spare, so I park and take the kids inside to meet Mr. Bellamy at baggage claim instead of the regular pick-up and drop-off spot.

We have a sign that reads “BELLAMY” that the kids argue over who will get to hold. They eventually agree to my compromise, and each takes a side of the sign. It keeps them together and, in my sight, at least.

Normandy didn’t give me a description of what this Mr. Bellamy is supposed to look like, but considering the kinds of books he writes, I’m assuming he’s an older gentleman. He’s probably a tweed jacket-with-patches-on-the-elbows kind of guy. Maybe he even smokes a pipe. Do people smoke pipes anymore?

My mind wanders as I search through the crowd of newcomers circling like vultures around the baggage carousel, anxious to get their bags first like it’s some kind of achievement. I don’t see any older gentlemen with patched elbows in the group.

What my eyes do catch on is a tall man in his early to mid-thirties, with blondish hair that’s well cut but still longish on the top, well-tamed scruff on his square jawline, and in very well-fitting jeans, with a button-down shirt and dark suit jacket. A perfect example of traveling business casual.

Our eyes meet and lock, and something happens in my chest that I’ve never felt before. I swear a million butterflies are fighting to fly free from my rib cage, and all tension leaves my body. Every nerve on my skin comes to attention, and my brain seems to stutter as we gaze at each other.

I think time passes, but maybe it stands still. I can’t tell, and I don’t care, either. I can’t restrain my smile, and he responds with his own, and it’s gorgeous. It lights up his entire handsome face. I have no clue what we’re smiling about, but we are, thirty yards apart in the middle of a busy airport and smiling like idiots at each other. What the hell are we doing?

“Maybe he didn’t come.” Ava’s voice reaches me from far away, and I reluctantly drag my eyes away from the man to glance down at her.

“What’s that?” Her words still aren’t registering in my brain. I look up quickly, trying to find the man I was just supernaturally connected to. I don’t know how else to put it.

That wasn’t just a moment we shared; it was an experience. I need to find that man again.

Immediately.

Ava says something else, maybe repeating what she just said, but it’s drowned out by my pounding heart, needing to find that person I just saw. I can’t believe I can’t locate him. It’s as if he magically disappeared as soon as I looked away. Great.

Maybe I imagined the whole thing. Maybe he was smiling at someone behind me, not directly at me like I thought he was. I turn around quickly to see if there’s someone there, and there isn’t.

Am I going crazy?

Then I find him. Or he finds me. I don’t care which. We both must have been searching out the other because our smiles are back once we reconnect. He starts to walk toward me, and I do another quick check behind me to make sure it’s me he’s smiling at, and I still don’t see anyone there.

It’s me. He’s smiling at me. Holy cow. I need to know who this guy is and why I’m reacting this way to him from out of nowhere.

As he gets closer, he notices Ava and Jett. He tilts his head to the side, rubbing his chin, and a frown erases the smile he just wore so beautifully. I don’t understand the sudden shift in moods. I also don’t appreciate the scowl he gives the kids.

Who the hell is this guy?

“I take it you’re Normandy,” he snaps, his tone edged with disdain. He doesn’t ask if I am. He just announces it.

“No, that’s Aunt B,” Ava explains in a rush, correcting him. “My mom had to go to the hospital to help Aunt C have a baby, so we came to get you. And we’re gonna have french fries. Aunt B promised.”

“I said a snack. I didn’t say which kind.” I can feel my ears turning red with embarrassment, but I will not be pressured into french fries. It’s only now that the situation dawns on me. He thought I was Normandy.

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