Just a Name

by Becky Monson

  “Well, if anything goes wrong, you call me. I’ll be on the first plane out,” Alex says.

  “Wow, aren’t you chivalrous.” Bree says this like it’s a bad thing.

  “Thanks, Alex,” I say after giving Bree a questioning glance.

  We arrive at the waiting area for arriving flights. It’s a large atrium space with huge vaulted ceilings and windows all around. A large cardboard cutout of Mickey is front and center holding a sign that says, “Welcome to Orlando.”

  There’s already quite a bustle of people coming and going since this is also the departures area, and there’s a large line queuing up to go through TSA. I’ve never understood why Orlando is such a tourist trap in the summer. The weather is terrible this time of year—with the heat index twenty degrees higher because of the smothering humidity, and the daily thunderstorms that, rather than cooling down the temperature, only add more moisture to the thick air.

  But people come here. By the boatloads. We locals avoid any of the tourist traps during this time because of it. You’ll find us getting our fill of Mickey and the gang during the winter months when the weather is perfect—low humidity and bright blue skies. Although you will rarely find me in a tourist space any time of year. I haven’t set foot in any of the amusement parks in a long time.

  I watch as Quinn and Joe find a place to the side where people are arriving from all over the world, Alex and Thomas are standing near them. Bree and I wander over to the large screen that shows arrivals and departures and we look up Nate’s flight, which is flashing “landed” next to it, and my stomach does a couple of flips.

  “He’s almost here,” Bree says, putting her hands together like she’s in some yoga prayer stance.

  This reminds me to breathe, so I take a big, deep, yoga breath and wonder if I should try meditation right here in the middle of the airport. It’s never worked for me in the past, but maybe this time.

  “Come on,” she grabs me by the hand before I could sink into a meditation position and leads me over to where everyone else is waiting.

  Thomas, who still has my luggage is talking quietly to Alex, and Quinn and Joe are discussing the lighting and where she should stand when she does the interview. We get a few looks from people as they pass by, wondering why there’s a news camera at the airport. I doubt if anyone knows, but maybe some of the people who work here might recognize why we’re here and the thought gives me nervous butterflies. I’d hate to draw a crowd, although when the cameras start to roll, I wonder if that’s what will happen anyway.

  “I think I see him,” Bree says, and we all turn to the crowd of people coming down the hallway. I stand on my toes and extend my neck to have a look.

  And I see him. My stomach does a sinking, flipping thing that makes me feel all kinds of strange. Nate smiles big and waves at me, and then tries to get around the crowd of people exiting, but then realizing he can’t, just keeps walking with them.

  “Oh, my gosh,” I hear Bree from close behind me. Her voice is low and she’s obviously talking through her teeth. “He’s even hotter in person.”

  She’s not just saying that. Nate approaches with his big, bright-white smile, that dimple in his chin even more pronounced, a sprinkling of shadow on his jaw, his dark blond hair tousled just right, and a perfect surfer tan. He’s . . . well, he’s definitely not ugly. He’s got on basketball shorts and a fairly fitted navy blue T-shirt. I thank the heavens he didn’t wear his “Keep Calm and Go on a Fake Honeymoon” shirt.

  “Holly?” he asks as he finally reaches us, the crowd of people walking around us as they head toward the baggage claim area.

  “Yeah, um . . . yes, I’m Holly,” I say, all flustered and ridiculous sounding. I have to look up at him as he probably has about six inches on me. “You must be Nate.”

  Nate drops his bags next to him, takes a large step toward me, and before I can reach out a hand to shake his, he’s wrapped his arms around me and spins me in the middle of the airport. I let out a sound that’s like a half growl, half scream from the surprise of the gesture.

  “Perfect,” Quinn says, and I turn my head to find that Joe has been taping the entire introduction. “I couldn’t have planned that better myself.” She looks quite proud, as if she had planned it.

  Nate puts me back down and then with reddened cheeks and flustered breath, I introduce him to everyone. He shakes everyone’s hand as he meets them, and I have to tell Bree to let go when she shakes Nate’s hand for much longer than necessary.

  First impressions are usually pretty telling about someone—barring Logan, who I’m trying not to think about—and my first impression of Nate, at least the real, in-person Nate, is I like him. I can’t say I have a feeling of comfort or that his presence helps my unease, but I’m not sure the Dalai Lama would make me feel any better about my current predicament. Nate is full of energy, and that smile of his . . . I mean, it’s a great smile. It’s definitely even better in person.

  “Okay,” Quinn says, her work persona now on. She gets very serious when she’s working. I find I like this rare version of Quinn. She’s confident and commanding. “I just need to ask you a few questions and then we’ll get you checked in and on your way.”

  Thomas, Alex, and Bree have moved over to the side behind the camera, and by the obvious glances in our direction, I know what they’re talking about. At one point Bree makes eye contact with me and her eyes go wide like she can’t believe my luck. My eyes go wide back, trying to get her to stop. I quickly glance over at Nate, whose attention was thankfully on something else and didn’t see the exchange.

  Alex is standing rigidly, his legs shoulder-width apart and his hands down at his sides, one of his hands repeatedly opening and closing into a fist. Thomas says something to him and he nods, both of them looking not too thrilled. I wonder if they’re still thinking I should have gone with Tucson Nathan Jones. For a minute, I picture him standing here, at least what I can remember of him. I know his hair and eyes were dark brown, but I can’t remember the details of his face. It feels all wrong, though. I think I made the right choice. My mind is made up, even though my stomach is still in knots over the whole thing.

  As if he could hear the thoughts going through my head, Nate reaches over and grabs my hand. He doesn’t weave his fingers through mine; it’s a simple hold. Even so, the gesture feels quite intimate for two people who have just met in person. My initial instinct is to shake his hand off, but I also don’t want to be rude.

  “Nervous?” he asks. I’m sure my sweaty and clammy hand already answers his question.

  “Yeah,” I say, taking the opportunity to take my hand out of his grasp and wiping it on my skirt.

  He leaves his hand down as if he wants me to take it again, but I can’t. It feels wrong to be holding his hand at this point, or any point. I don’t want to give him any ideas, and I need to set boundaries now.

  Boundaries make me think of Logan. I know what I mean by boundaries right now—establishing them with Nate—but I still don’t understand what Logan meant when he said it. I suppose he must have meant that he didn’t want to cross any—at least not ones that might affect his friendship with Nathan. And somehow a boundary between him and me was necessary. Although I still don’t really get it. I mean, it didn’t seem hard for Logan to be a complete arse when he was around me. Was it all just a front? A cover for how he really felt?

  And where were those boundaries when he grabbed me and kissed me like he did? And why hasn’t he tried to contact me since?

  Nope. I have too much going on right now. I’m not going to think about Logan.

  Quinn has Nate and me move over to a wall where the backdrop is a mural of modern art. It’s not far enough away from the hustle of people, and I wonder how we will be heard over the noise and if anyone will stop and watch.

  Sure enough, once the camera is rolling we get some head turns and some people stop and stand behind the camera to watch. We have to redo one question because a couple of teenagers d
ecided standing right behind Nate and me and jumping up and down would be cool. One glare from Quinn and they both ran.

  Quinn asks us if we’re looking forward to the trip and Nate answers with a resounding “Yes!” My yes is a little more reserved. I’m mostly looking forward to it being over. I’m not planning to live in the moment this entire trip. Each day will be one day closer to me being home and this nightmare being over. I know I’m supposed to be going on this trip with no preconceived notions, no planning or whatever. But I can’t help myself.

  As I look at Nate though, with his chiseled jaw, his attractive smile, and his contagious demeanor—the guy has a ton of energy after a long flight—I can’t help but hope it won’t be such a nightmare. Maybe . . . just maybe, I might actually have some fun. Can you have fun but still want it to be over?

  “One last question,” Quinn asks, angling her body toward Nate.

  “Now that you’ve met in person, what do you think of each other?”

  She puts the microphone toward Nate first, and I’m grateful because it gives me a moment to formulate my answer.

  Nate puts an arm around my waist and pulls me toward him. I let out an uncomfortable laugh—a combination of a gasp and a chuckle. “I thought Holly was great over the phone and Skyping. But seeing her in person, well, I think I like her even more.” He leans his head in, resting it on mine. The audience—yes, there’s now an audience—says “aw” practically in unison. You can see the giddiness in Quinn’s eyes even though her smile doesn’t let on. She’s got her I’m-a-TV-personality smile on, which is nothing like her normal smile. I’m sure she’s thinking this is ratings gold and she’s loving every second of it.

  She turns the mic to me. “And you, Holly?”

  I pause, thinking of what to say. How do I feel? Well, I’m a mixture of things, really. I want this trip to be over, but Nate’s quite attractive and full of energy and although I feel nervous I also feel okay—like I’m not going to die on this trip (stupid Jim). I’m supposed to be letting go, aren’t I?

  “I feel . . . the same,” I say tentatively, and then without really thinking about it, I lean into Nate, his arm around me tightening as I do. I reach my arm around him, lightly settling it on his waist, which feels taut and sinewy even under his shirt.

  What was I just saying about boundaries? Right, must establish boundaries. A side hug is a friendly gesture, isn’t it?

  As we stand together, arm in arm, a camera in front of us, an audience behind it, I suddenly feel a little as though I’m having an out-of-body experience. That my life is really not my own. Is this what letting go feels like? If so, I’m not sure I like it.

  I turn my head up to see him—and instead of Nate’s face with his rugged good looks, for the briefest of seconds I imagine Logan standing there. His lips pulled into a half-frown, his gaze casting judgmental glances at everyone around us. An odd sense of comfort washes over me and I find myself suddenly wishing it were Logan standing here instead of Nate, which ranks up there with one of the most ridiculous thoughts I’ve had. Ever.

  Chapter 22

  I survived the flight.

  Actually, I survived the flight, finding our hotel (which is a lovely little boutique hotel near Hyde Park), a half day of seeing a few things that weren’t high priority—places that didn’t require too much brain power since the jet lag was something fierce—going to bed early in a foreign place (literally), and another full day of tourist attractions.

  I’m still alive. Not that I thought I’d die the first day. I never had any notions of dying at all until Jim started up with his stupid stories.

  Also—and this is officially day one since the first day was more just trying to acclimate to the time change, so I can’t make a fully educated decision—but I think I might be enjoying it so far. Today has been fun. Like, actual, real fun that I haven’t experienced in a long time. And if I’m being honest, even in my over-caffeinated yet tired state, yesterday was fairly entertaining as well.

  Even the flight was good. I’m afraid now that flying first class has ruined me and I’ll never be able to fly any other way again. But even with all the comfort first class provides, Nate and I didn’t get as much sleep as we should have because there was so much to talk about. Nate, it turns out, is a really great listener, and a great conversationalist.

  It also turns out that Nate is more of a planner than I thought he would be. He seemed so fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants when we chatted before the trip, so it surprised me when, not long after we took off on the plane, he pulled out of his travel bag an entire list of things to do and see, and each grouped by location and travel time so we could get in as many sights as possible while we were here. He even made one for Paris.

  I mean, sure, it was written sloppily on a piece of paper that was haphazardly ripped out of a spiral notebook. Not on index cards or in the notes section of a phone like I would have done. And honestly, it looked like chicken-scratch—I wasn’t sure what most of it said—but the point is, he made a list. Nate is a list-maker.

  He scored us the London Pass, which is a prepaid card that gets you into all the major attractions and bypasses lines, saving us time and money, and he also got us the Oyster Card for transportation. Nate, I’ve found, is quite resourceful.

  I had obviously found out about all this in my research, back when the original Nathan Jones and I were supposed to be going on this trip. But I hadn’t expected Nate to find it as well. Or to even bother. Had I known, I could have sent him all my info and saved him the time. But since I was trying to throw caution to the wind—or rather, was bullied into it by my friends—I didn’t think of it. I didn’t even bring my Carrie Parker planner, and I’m only a little twitchy about that.

  First on Nate’s list for today was St. Paul’s Cathedral, which was gorgeous itself, but the views from the top of the dome were incredible. Nate was quite impressed that I made it up the stairs without needing a break. I probably did need a bit of a break, but since he was traipsing up them like it was no big deal, I made sure to keep pace with him. I faked I was overwhelmed by the beauty of it all while I caught my breath once we got to the top.

  Then we saw the Millennium Bridge, Tate Modern, and now I’m sitting at a bench near the Borough Market where Nate is off getting us drinks.

  Nate is . . . well, he’s great, actually. He’s witty, and talkative, and so freaking energetic. It’s contagious, that energy. I’ve found myself talking more animatedly than I normally do and using lots of hand gestures as I mirror him. Nate is big on hand gestures. Even when he was explaining what he thought the symbolism meant on a piece in Tate Modern that was basically a bunch of orange squiggly lines on a white background. It wasn’t until after we left that he admitted he was making it up and that he doesn’t really get modern art. Another thing we have in common. I mean, I can appreciate it, but I can’t see the meaning behind it.

  I know I compared him and Nathan in the beginning, but there really is no comparison. I mean, of course there’ve been a few times that I’ve thought about how different it would be to be here with Nathan. Nathan, who’s so go-with-the-flow and would have never made a list of things to do or see—he would have figured I’d do it (which I would, and did), and he would have been along for the ride. That’s how it always felt with Nathan. Until our wedding plans were too much of a ride for him and he abandoned ship.

  My phone beeps in my purse and I jump at the noise. I wasn’t sure if my phone was going to work over here even though I put everything into place to make sure it would. I wasn’t about to be stuffed into a rug and sent down the Thames without some way to contact the police, after all.

  When we first got here, I got a little nervous because the connection seemed shoddy when a text to my dad wouldn’t go through and I had a momentary freak-out that my team wouldn’t be able to get ahold of me, but it appears to be working now as I pull it out and see a text from Quinn.

  Quinn: Have you made out with him yet?

  Typical Qu
inn. Actually, that feels more like a Bree thing to ask. I would have expected Quinn to ask me if I got here safely, how I was feeling, etc. But apparently, she’s more interested in whether I got some action rather than all that other nonsense.

  I text back a simple “none of your business,” to let her stew over that for a bit.

  Quinn: OMG!!! You totally did!

  I roll my eyes and put my phone back in my purse. I’m not even going to answer. She has to know her best friend of fourteen years would not make out with someone she barely knows. I told her I’d let go, but I’m not going to let that much go.

  If I’m being honest, I’m finding it’s not all that hard to let go around Nate. I was nervous initially, but now I find I’m relaxing a lot around him. Which goes against his demeanor since, like I said, he’s a ball of enthusiasm. It has an opposite effect on me, though. I find his energy endearing, even if the guy can’t sit still for a minute.

  But no, there’s been no kissing. Not even a moment for something to happen. Even as we stood close together looking over the Millennium Bridge at the spectacular views of the city, Nate’s arm up against mine, our faces only inches away from each other. There was no inkling, no worry on my part that he would cross any lines. He’s been a perfect gentleman so far.

  I’ll admit I do find Nate attractive. Who wouldn’t? The guy is hot. As in H-O-T. I can’t deny that as the day has gone on, I’ve felt tinges of . . . something. Maybe it’s the jet lag. Or gas. I did eat what may have been a dodgy gyro from a food truck earlier.

  Dodgy. Look at me speaking like the locals.

  “Here you go,” Nate says as he approaches. His skin looks sun-kissed and he’s wearing a pair of tan chino shorts and a black tee that hugs all the right parts of his muscular upper body. He has a pair of aviators on and the scruff around his jaw only adds to the appeal.