Noah also had displayed a singular passion – aviation and everything that went with it. Flying. Airplanes. Weather reports. When he hadn’t been engrossed in aviation, however, he’d turned that singular focus upon her. The memory brought a flush to her cheeks.
And a familiar stab to her heart.
As the terminal train arrived at the station and the door opened to allow people to exit, it occurred to her that she could take six steps to the left, get in his train car, and speak to him. It was a much more logical thing to do than just watching him – letting him breeze by her.
Two ships passing in the night.
No. He was a ship from the past. She would let him go.
She was still mad at him.
Noah Worthington glared at the flight schedule displayed on his iPad and wondered if his lunch had not agreed with him. The terminal train at Atlanta airport was interminably slow. He wasn’t sure if he wanted it to hurry up or to never arrive. He struggled to find a middle ground as he surreptitiously looked up from his iPad.
He was seeing an apparition. He knew it had to be a vision because the girl he recognized was wearing a snug red pencil skirt with a matching suit jacket. Her black pumps, though, had matching red soles. She carried a black leather Louis Vuitton handbag in a cross-body style, freeing up her hands. He recognized the LV twist-lock – its only readily identifiable feature – on the front. The silver on the handbag matched the buttons on her suit. And the gray of her camisole. Her long brunette hair fell in loose waves around her face. Her makeup was flawless down to the shiny, but muted glossy red lipstick.
The college freshman from his indelible memory wore jeans ripped at the knees, white canvas sneakers, and either a sweatshirt or T-shirt depending on the weather. She’d kept her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. The only time he’d seen her dressed up was when she wore a dark-gray cardigan and matching shell with black slacks to a dinner with his family. She’d worn low-heeled dark-gray moto boots. He’d been impressed, at the time, by how put together and cute she looked. Her hair had fallen straight to her shoulders and though he hadn’t commented, he’d known she had taken the time to straighten it with a flat iron. Her hair was naturally wavy and thick and she hated it. Hence, the ponytail.
That girl could be the precursor to the woman who watched him now. Or perhaps she was his mind’s rendition of the girlfriend he’d so inconsiderately left behind twenty years ago. Besides, what college freshman gained no more than a couple of pounds and in all the right places after twenty years?
The vision watched him, though she didn’t know he knew. He recognized the expression she wore.
She was still mad at him.
The train rolled in, the doors opened, and throngs of people rushed out of the cars. She got into the car behind his, moving with that same lilt in her step that even he hadn’t managed to dull.
She was only a vision. Probably some random girl from California who just happened to have similar – very similar – facial features.
However, he knew the truth in the saying that one never forgets his first love to be true.
He glanced at his iPad. He had time for dinner before his flight, now delayed, took off for Dallas. He didn’t feel like going to the Officer’s Club. Didn’t feel like talking aviation. Or hearing about someone’s new aircraft acquisition. He just wanted to enjoy some peaceful time to read his novel and have a meal.
He scanned his ID and slipped into the Diner’s Club – away from the other pilots. He wasn’t exactly nondescript in his pilot’s uniform, but he’d learned over the years that the typical flyer tended not to bother the pilots. He’d never quite discerned if it was out of respect, awe, or fear. Perhaps just disinterest. Whatever it was, he’d grown to count on it when he wanted to be left alone.
He took a small table for two near the bar, his back to the room. He found it less distracting to read when he couldn’t see people hurrying to and fro.
He ordered a sandwich and water. And turned his attention back to the novel he had been reading on his iPad. It was about a man who never slept. In theory, he liked the concept, but in reality, sleep was one of his favorite pastimes.
Immersed in the story, he allowed the world to fade into the background. Which was exactly where he preferred to live these days.
“I’d like a cosmopolitan,” a woman at the bar behind him ordered. “With olives.”
Who orders olives with their cosmopolitans?
The server said something he couldn’t understand and the woman laughed.
Noah froze, and then he slowly lifted his head and turned enough to see the woman in the red suit. She had not been a vision. She was Savannah Skye Richards. His college sweetheart all grown up. He’d recognized her, but his mind had refused to accept the reality that after twenty years, she’d be standing in front of him.
He closed his iPad, laid it on the table, and silently turned his chair around so he could watch her. He leaned back, his six-foot frame appearing relaxed, disguising the cat-like tension coursing through him.
She hadn’t spotted him yet. Her gaze was glued to her phone, her fingers typing rapidly. The years had been good to her. She’d always been pretty, but now she was drop-dead gorgeous. She carried an air of assurance and confidence that hadn’t been there when she was struggling in college.
Twenty years. Then two random crossings in less than an hour. It was more than he could ignore.
She must have felt him watching her. She glanced up, typed a couple of keystrokes, and then looked up again. He could tell the moment his presence registered with her by the way the corners of her mouth twitched, a behavior he was certain that only he would notice. After all, he’d spent countless hours studying her for nearly a whole year.
Their gazes locked. He smiled. God, but it was good to see her.
He’d been working registration his senior year. She was a freshman. Her first day on campus at Auburn University in Auburn, Alabama. He’d taken one look at her and had fallen head over heels.
This time, however, instead of smiling, she was looking… displeased to see him.
He stood up, closed the distance between them, and sat at the bar next to her. “What brings you to this gin joint?” he said.
“Work,” she said, clicking off her iPhone.
“It’s been a while,” he said.
“Twenty years,” she said, as the server set her cosmopolitan in front of her. She picked it up. Sipped.
“What are the odds?” he asked.
“I don’t believe in chance.” She kept her eyes focused on her drink.
“I guess a date at the casino is out.”
She scoffed. “A date is out.”
“Savannah Skye,” he said.
“Savannah,” she corrected.
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