I watched him leave, then made my way through the line at the ticket counter, only to find out I wouldn’t be getting out of here for a few more hours. The snow had finally stopped, they were clearing the runways, but the airlines had a huge backlog of people to move. I inquired for Maggie’s destination and was told the same thing. I found out we would actually be on the same flight until we got to Calgary. There, she’d get off the plane, and I would continue on. Knowing I had more time with her somehow made the wait seem less tedious. I was still smiling as I slid down the wall beside her a short time later. Our bags were piled beside her, and she was resting against them, only opening her eyes as I nudged her with my foot.
She accepted the coffee and the news, neither of us upset for the further delay.
I grinned as I showed her my boarding pass. “We’re on the same flight.”
“How?”
I shrugged. “Charm, mostly.”
She giggled. “No, really. How?”
I laughed with her. “She offered me a direct flight earlier, or this one.” I hesitated but continued, “I chose this one.”
She seemed genuinely surprised. “Why?”
Wrapping my hand around hers, I squeezed her palm. “So I could have a little more time with you.”
She smiled at me, leaning forward. I closed the distance and brushed my lips to hers. “Is that okay?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “So okay.” She winked. “Stalker.”
I bumped her shoulder. “Only for you. You have to go and get your pass. She’s holding the seat beside mine for you.”
“Charmed her for that, too?”
“My charm works on mortal women, Maggie. It’s just you airport angels that it fails on.”
She stood, brushed off her pants, then grabbed her ID and ticket. She looked at me, a small frown on her face. “Your charm more than works, Sebastian. Trust me.”
Then she turned and hurried away.
Even though I knew she’d be back, I hated watching her leave.
She brought back bagels and more coffee—obviously, she was as addicted to the stuff as me. All around us, the airport was coming to life—the tarmacs were being plowed and salted, more people started arriving for flights, and the counters were bustling. Planes were preparing to take off soon. We still had a few hours before we would depart, and I was content to sit with my little angel, people-watching and talking.
We talked about anything and everything. I was amazed how much we had in common. We both liked the same types of music and books. We liked the company of others yet enjoyed being alone. Maggie filled her hours reading, while I wrote music. She even convinced me to play a song for her on my guitar. Watching her expression as I strummed quietly and sang to her caused my heart to clench. Her eyes were misty when I finished, and she leaned close, this time kissing me, her lips soft against mine. “You have a gift,” she whispered. “You can’t give it up. Find a way of holding on to it, Sebastian.”
Her quiet, sincere words made me smile. They also made me want to say things I couldn’t. I felt overwhelmed by her and by the emotions she stirred within me. Knowing our time was drawing to a close made me edgy.
Time seemed to be going by far too quick.
“Tell me about the place that made you feel like home.”
She sighed. “It’s a tiny town about two hours outside Calgary called Riverstoke. One of those small places where everyone knows everyone, you know? People walk more than they drive. You can smell the forest, see the stars, and hear the birds in the morning.”
“Sounds great.”
“I love it there.”
“And your house?”
“It’s average size. Three bedrooms, a nice-sized living room, a big eat-in kitchen, and a small bathroom. Dad tried to keep it up, but it needs updating and a lot of work. He wasn’t a good handyman.”
“Will you stay there?”
“For a while. I have to decide what to do. See if I can find a job, if I can afford to fix it up and stay, or sell it.”
Her voice sounded sad, and I frowned at her. “What do you want to do?”
“I want to stay. Settle down and make a life. I’ve always liked it there. It’s a small town, but lovely, and the people are friendly. If I can stay, I will. It always felt like home, you know?”
“If Chris and I were there, we’d help you.”
“Is that what Chris does?”
“Yeah—he’s very good. He works for a home-building company. If they’d been hiring, I could have tried to stay. I’m pretty handy.”
“It must be hard on your hands, though?”
“At times—but at least I could have done both. Now, the only time I’ll be playing my guitar is when I’m alone. Part of my father’s conditions. No music.”