“A masseuse?” I sputter.
“Uh-huh. If you’re a platinum elite or flying first class, you can get a free twenty-minute massage. I take advantage of it every time I can.” He laughs.
I have a new theory. If Fernando flies so much, he must be a consultant. I don’t know why I didn’t consider it earlier. That would explain the travel. And if the head office is on the East Coast, it also explains why he’s up at the crack of dawn. It all fits. I pat myself on the back for solving that mystery.
We follow the signs for the Pacific Rim Club and take an elevatorup a level. As the doors open, two women sitting behind a large marble desk greet us.
“Welcome,” one of them says. “I can help you guys over here. Do you two have your boarding passes and IDs?”
Fernando approaches the counter. “We do.” He pulls out a fancy metallic card and hands it to the woman. She swipes it. “And I’d like to use one of my guest passes today.”
The woman’s cheeks color. “Oh sorry, Mr. Alvarez, but this lounge no longer accepts the guest passes. They were discontinued at the end of September. Unless your friend has a business-class or first-class ticket, she’ll have to pay the fifty-nine-dollar fee if she wants to enter.”
Fernando’s face falls. “I was told the passes were good through the end of the year.”
“It’s a, er, newer policy the airline implemented.”
Another nail in the coffin for Pacific Skyways.
“But I never received any notification.”
She hesitates as if there is something she wants to say, but thinks the better of it. I can tell she’s been put in a difficult position by her company. It’s one of the many reasons I’m grateful to be my own boss.
“Business-class ticket holders can use the lounge?” I ask.
The woman nods.
“I wish somebody had told me that earlier,” I mutter under my breath.
“They should’ve at check-in,” she says.
I keep my thoughts to myself and instead place my hand on Fernando’s arm. “I appreciate the trouble you’re going to for me, but I can use this.” I hand over my ticket and passport. “Here.”
Crisis averted, we enter the lounge and grab a table near the window overlooking one of the runways. It’s a larger place than I’d imagined. In some ways, it reminds me of a mall food court.
Chairs, tables, and a few private booths are spread out across the room. Taking up the entire far wall across from us are the kitchenand cafe area. I see a refrigerator stocked with soft drinks, a barista, two rows of steaming hot dishes, and a dessert bar.
“I’m so sorry about that, Ava, if I had known it would be so much trouble?—”
I hold up my hand to interrupt him. “Don’t worry about it. It’s no big deal. I’ve never been inside a lounge before and didn’t know what I’d be missing. It’s more about spending some time with good company.”
My gaze travels up to a man in a business suit carrying a steaming plate of spaghetti and meatballs. I can smell the garlic and spices, causing my mouth to water. “But now that we’re here, how about giving me a tour. I’m curious about what else is in this place.”
“Of course.”
As we turn, someone tugs on my bag. “Ava, what are you doing here?” Dylan asks from a nearby table.
Chapter Eight
My eyes widen and my feet refuse to move. It’s as if I’ve been petrified and turned into a statue by Medusa.
“Ava, are you okay?” Fernando asks in a concerned tone. “You’re ghost-white.”
I open my mouth, but no words come out. From behind Fernando’s broad back, Dylan looks up, and for the briefest of seconds, our eyes meet. He looks the same as the day he left Sequoia Valley for Fort Collins, with a little more scruff coating his jawline.
“I’m, uh, just passing through Denver,” I say softly. “What about you?”
“I’m here with my girlfriend,” he says matter-of-factly. “We’re headed to Europe.”
