I drop the old receipt in the trash can, and when I turn back toward my suitcases, stop.
A man is standing halfway down the stairs.
One hand resting on the silver railing, his back leg lingers on a step behind him as though having been busily on his way down when stopped abruptly. The look in his eyes confirms it. The thing that had stopped him was me.Me.
There’s a light in his eyes, almost as bright as the shiny bronze bell at the end of his emerald-green hat. In fact, from his head to his toes he’s in emerald green, save for the black leather slippers curling at the ends. Sandy-blond hair curlicues beneath his hat, and his cheeks, well, they look as ruddy and innocent as if he were a live-in-the-flesh elf himself.
While he stands there, smiling at me through his gingerbread-brown eyes, I can’t help but feel a tingle run through my spine.
Although, to be fair, at the moment the reason is cut down the middle on whether this is because I may have run into a psychopath, or because... well, something much cozier.
“Excuse me,” he says, and his voice is rich and deep as though he isn’t in fact wearing an elf costume but instead is a dignified businessman in a trench coat who just had to stop and talk to the beautiful woman. He holds out a hand. “I just have to commend you. That is one of the most striking Arrival Day ensembles I’ve ever seen.”
Then he beams at me. Actually beams, as though I fulfilled and exceeded every task.
For the first time in a long time, I feel a funny feeling on my cheeks as two warm, no doubt bright, spots form. “Why... thank you,” I say, then wave at him, “And you... you have a lovely Arrival Day ensemble on too.”
We smile at each other for one infinite moment.
He glances at the watch hidden beneath his gold-threaded cuff. “Say, we have a little while before the train comes. Want to grab a cup of coffee?”
And just like that, the Jonas blinders have flown off.
Chapter2
All Aboard!
“Ian’samazing,” I whisper, ripping off a paper towel beneath the fluorescent lights of the station’s restroom. Hastily, I drench it under cold water.
“Sweetie—”
“And sosweet.” I lean in until I’m two inches away from the mirror for a full examination of my makeup.
“Now just hang on—”
“And we haveso much in common. It’s unbelievable, Elodie! He loves traveling. Talked for nearly twenty minutes about his absolute passion for all things planes, trains, or automobiles. And yes,” I add, before she can protest, “I know I haven’t exactlytraveleda lot, but I’ve alwayswanted to. Oh! And his heart for animals”—I clutch the soggy paper towel to my chest in memory of the sweet conversation of his dog (or was it cat?), Chaucer, with whom he is so inseparable theynot only share the bed but breakfast—“andreading.” I swoon internally at one of my favorite reminders. “Ian says he doesn’t evenowna television. Says he’s always preferred literature as the ‘paramount form of entertainment for his mind.’ Tell me, Elodie, when’s the last time you’ve ever heardanyman prefer a book to television?”
“Willow,”Elodie cuts in sharply.“When I gave you that little pep talk an hour and a half ago about finding other fish in the sea, I didn’t mean to find theliteralfirst human being you spot and reel him in.”
“I know that.” I blot at a mascara spot beneath my eye. “I know. It’s just... he’s perfect.”
“Noooo.” Elodie’s voice slides on the word until it hits a note a full octave higher. “See, what you actually have is a grown man in an elf costume who bought you a crappy cup of coffee in a train station. And what I have on my hands right now is a sleep-deprived, emotionally unhinged roommate who’s been so dispossessed of proper treatment in the relationship department that she’s ready to hitch her wagon to the first guy she meets. Donotget yourself too entangled with this guy. Remember, you are rebounding, sweetie.Rebounding.You can’t trust your instincts right now.”
I frown at myself in the mirror as I begin swiping beneath the other eye. “This isn’t rebounding.”
“Honey, this is thedefinitionof rebounding. If I were leading a class on the art of rebounding, you would be my example.”
A janitor walks her yellow bucket and sopping mop intothe bathroom, and I lower my voice even further. “It is only rebounding if the man doesn’t turn out to bethe one.”
A string of French curses ensues, followed by, “Willow Renee Fairbanks. Do I need to come down thereand get you?”
This follows with one long lecture, along with whole sections of untranslated paragraphs I can only assume were repetitions she felt were so important they needed to be included in two languages. I’m fairly used to these ramblings at this point in my life, and while she carries on, I finish reapplying some mascara, do what I can to retwist some curls that are already coming undone, and give my cheeks a couple life-lifting slaps.
“Elodie, I love your concern for me, but I gotta go,” I interject at last, slipping my purse over one shoulder and giving a parting smile to the janitor as I leave.
“Donotelope with this guy!” Elodie replies, as though sliding in that last-second warning just might save me from imminent disaster. “Or make any last-minute decisions of any kind. You hear me?Do not make any big decisions of any kind.”
I finish the call and cross through the open exit, where Ian’s face immediately comes into view. He’s standing at a polite distance from the restroom, not so close that it’s creepy, but just close enough that it’s clear he’s waiting for someone.Me.Guarding my suitcases, he holds both of our second cups of coffee.
