Christmas at Gate 18

by Amy Matayo

  “Here you go. I hope you and your bag have a nice flight.”

  I hear the sarcasm in her voice. I hear the condescension in her tone. But not one part of me cares.

  My heart is racing and goosebumps are breaking out on my skin as I rush to catch up to Colt.

  “Okay, why do you have so much money that you can just plunk down that kind of cash last minute? Who are you?”

  That last question fell out of my mouth. Literally. One minute I wasn’t planning to ask because I’m still not sure who actually won our Christmas gift bet, and the next minute…oops. There it was. But I’m not the least bit sorry.

  He turns to smile at me. Why is everyone hitting me with that sarcastic tone today? Can smiles have a tone? Because his totally does.

  “Are you claiming that you won our bet? I don’t remember seeing any receipts. Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”

  Okay, that tone right there. More sarcasm. But dang it if my blood isn’t pumping in all the wrong places and I’m suddenly hot in a completely different way.

  I clear my throat. “I might show you mine if we weren’t standing in a public place, but I’m not one for indecent exposure.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “I made a vow to myself never to make fun of you again. But allow me to say one last thing: I’ve already seen yours. And I enjoyed every second of it.”

  He grins when I growl at him. “That was your last one. The next time you make a crack like that, I’ll punch you in the face. Now are you going to tell me or not?”

  A shrug. “Or not. And please don’t punch me.”

  With that, he walks away.

  Why. Does this man. Keep deserting me. In airports.

  I reach for his arm just as the loudspeaker announces it’s time to board his flight. My panic doubles. Why is my panic doubling? When Colt turns around, I see it.

  The teasing expression is gone. His skin is slightly pale. His gaze darts everywhere until it settles on me. “They just called my flight.”

  “Can you wait five minutes?” Please wait. Please wait. The words play through my mind like a record skipping through the middle of a song. This man. His eyes. His heart.

  Him.

  I don’t want this to be the last time I see him, but I don’t know what to do. It’s only been three days. It’s crazy to feel this way so soon. Right?

  “I’m in first class. I’ve got to board.”

  Why is he in first class? Ohmygosh, ohmygosh, ohmygosh what is happening here and why couldn’t it have happened sooner?

  “Who are you? Tell me, Colt.”

  For a second it seems we’re locked in silence.

  Then Colt blinks.

  Sighs.

  The silence ends.

  “My dad was the executive producer of the show you won. America’s Favorite Model. He’s Harold Ross. I’ve worked for him since I was old enough to have a job, first as a runner, then as an intern, then as an assistant; that’s where I met you. First at your audition, then at the after-party the night you won. I probably looked a little different then.” He rubs the back of his neck, scans the area for a moment before setting his gaze back on me. “He wasn’t easy to work for, and I got tired of being one of his clones. It’s why I left, to figure out what I want out of life…what I want to do with myself. I’m not sure I want to take over for him, I know I don’t want to live a life of entitlement. But now I’m going home to see what he wants. He’s not the nicest guy—a bit of a tyrant, actually. Probably will demand once again that I come work for him, but who knows. All I’m sure of is that something’s happened, and now I’m headed home to find out what it is.”

  His words confuse me. Scare me a little, in fact. I’m centuries old and completely knotted together inside, outside, and all the other sides in between. None of this makes sense. Especially considering…

  Nothing ever works out this easily for me. Still.

  “I don’t understand.”

  He gives me a look. “What’s not to understand? I said my father is Harold—”

  “No, not that,” I interrupt, shaking my head, looking at the floor, the ceiling, at Colt. “It’s just that…maybe he’s going to tell you that the show just signed on with Netflix and is going national. Maybe he’s going to tell you that they were optioned for three years. I’m not sure about the working for him part, though.” I stare out the wall of windows to gather my thoughts, then look at him again. None of this makes sense, but all at once everything does. “I do know this because I’m headed there next week to interview for a spot as judge.”

  Colt’s face goes slack.

  It takes a few heartbeats and breaths to get him to speak.

  “I don’t understand.”

  I smile. It wobbles a bit. “Exactly what I said a second ago.”

  He shakes his head to clear it. “He’s been on my back for years to work for him. He’s relentless when he wants something, but frankly I’m sick of being Harold Ross’s son. Too much pressure. Too much expectation.”

  “Then don’t do it. Or do it, but make your own way. Make the job yours, on your terms.”

  “How?” It’s a genuine question from a guy with family pressure building up around him. But he’s asking me, a girl with no family to speak of. Funny how each situation seems dire when you’re looking from the other side. I start to say as much, but turns out Colt has his own answers. “I guess I could tell him I want to work under someone else. Someone not him. I could learn to direct instead of produce. Or maybe learn the cameras, all the hands-on, behind the scenes parts of the show. The money’s good, that’s for sure. So maybe I could—”

  I can’t help laughing. He’s so cute when he gets excited. “I’m pretty sure you’ll figure it out. Family pressure or not, your life is your life. Everyone has to make their own way eventually.” I grin at him. “But if this helps, I have a thing for cameramen. Just so you know.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “What ‘thing’ for cameramen. More importantly, what specific camera man? What have you not told me? Who am I competing with?”

  I laugh again. “Only with yourself. I just happen to think cameramen are hot.”

  He tugs on the hem of my shirt to bring me closer. “Then starting today, I’m officially a camera man.”

  I play with a button at his waist. “Don’t you think you should talk to your father first?”

  “No. This is the new me, remember? Assertive. Take charge. I don’t give a crap what Harold Ross thinks. Or anyone else for that matter.”

  I meet his gaze. “Turns out I have a thing for assertive too. But can I ask you something?”

  “No,” he says. Then he grins. “I mean, yes. Just trying to be forceful.” His expression is playful, and frankly it’s pretty adorable. Harold Ross’s son. I remember him now, the night we met. He handed me a glass of champagne, then congratulated me on winning the show. I figured he was hitting on me and turned away. Knowing Colt like I do now, I was probably right. Still, I should have taken the glass and engaged him in conversation. If I had, maybe we would have found each other sooner.

  I smile. We found each other now, and that’s all that matters.

  “Can you pick me up at the airport? I land on January first at noon. And then if you could drive me to your dad’s office, that’d be great too.”

  The loudspeaker rings with a second call for boarding, but this time I’m not as sad. Something tells me this isn’t the last time I’ll see Colt Ross. When I see his face change into one of amusement…of interest…I’m sure of it.

  “That’s a bit presumptuous of you, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t know, do you have other plans?”

  He pulls me closer, and my heart gives a little flip. “Plans better than offering a free ride to a hot model who’s so desperate for my help?”

  I scowl at him. “I’m not desperate, and I’m not—”

  “Give it up, Rory. Own what you do, and be proud of it. You’ve made your own way. Not everyone can say that.”<
br />
  He’s right, I have. From this point on, I’m Rory Gray. I model upscale clothing—and yes, sometimes upscale lingerie—for very successful designers that nearly every woman in America wishes they could afford. There’s no shame in it, at least not for me. Not anymore.

  “You’re right. From now on I’ll own it. I’m a model, and I’m darn good at it.”

  “On behalf of every man in America, let me say that I wholeheartedly agree with you.”

  “Shut up, Colt.”

  But I can’t stop the blush that sets fire to my face.

  Are all models as bashful as me? Something tells me they’re not.

  When Colt’s hands work their way to the base of my spine, I stop trying to figure it out. Has he always been this built? My gosh, his chest is like marble. Like the statue of David, and it’s all I can do not to run my hands over it. When the woman announces a final boarding call, I go ahead and feel up his pectoral muscles a little. I’m only human, even if he isn’t.

  “I’ve got to go,” he says, “but I’ll pick you up on the first. Until then, I’ll text you.”

  I make a mental note to rename him David the glorious in my phone and anchor myself to his arms.

  “Okay.”

  The word is final, but it isn’t. For a moment we stand there looking at each other. Goodbyes have never been my strong suit despite having to say them so often. Thank God a new hello is coming soon.

  When he presses his mouth to mine, I want to blink the next week away like a genie making a wish. When he pulls me closer, I know I can endure the time apart, because I’ll have some really fun things to think about.

  We stay that way for a few seconds, a slow kiss that builds and pulls and makes me desperate to keep going. It’s like I won the kiss lottery with Colt Ross, and I have a stack of quarters to keep playing. I want to keep playing, keep feeding them into the machine. I want his fingers to keep sliding up my back and his tongue to keep doing nice things to my mouth and his quickening breath to keep doing weird things to my pulse and—

  “The gate will close in one minute. This is the final boarding call.”

  I want that stupid woman to be sucked away in a freak Christmas hurricane.

  He pulls away to kiss my forehead, then brings my chin up to look me in the eyes.

  “Grab your phone. I’ll text you from the plane. And Rory?”

  “What?”

  “Next time I see you, that backpack better be upgraded. Leather at least. That sad, nylon thing is ridiculous.”

  He points at me, and for one brief second I clutch the bag to me. But as I look at him, everything in me settles. I’m going to tell him everything about me, and I’m not afraid. For the first time in six years, I find myself actually looking forward to it.

  He notices. His eyes light up on a smile.

  And with one last wink at me…

  Colt Ross is gone.

  Epilogue

  Rory

  This is what I’ve learned in the last two weeks. No one should try to live life alone. There’s no honor in living behind a shield of defense. In acting like the tough girl, pretending no one can touch you, that pain isn’t chasing you, that clutching on to memories long past will somehow keep them in the present. Memories are just that—memories. Nothing can take them away from you, yet no amount of wishing and holding tight to artifacts will make them come back to life.

  The only thing we have is time. It runs out fast. On us, on our loved ones. We all need to find a way to keep living and moving forward no matter what life hands us.

  Starting now, that’s what I’m doing. I’m living. I’m here. I’m worth it. And I’m proud. I should have figured those things out a long time ago.

  * * *

  My flight landed a little late. Three hours, to be exact. But Colt was there, waiting like he promised he would be. Right before I saw him, I wasn’t sure what to think. Once when I was eleven, I went to summer camp. I made a friend there—a best friend to my little-girl heart—we spent every waking moment of those adventurous seven days together. When the week was up, we promised to write. To text. To keep up with each other until the day we both went away to college. At that point, we would be roommates and experience our newfound freedom together. With all the sincerity I possessed, I meant every word I promised.

  We wrote to each other once. Now I don’t even remember her name.

  With Colt, I worried I would be just another friend from camp gone by the wayside after a few hours sleep.

  But he was there. When he saw me, he smiled.

  And then he held up the latest issue of Maxim magazine, the one with my black bikini-clad and oiled body showcased on the cover.

  I hated him then and I hate him now.

  If I’d been with him at summer camp, I would have drowned him in the lake.

  * * *

  “Come on now, you don’t hate me.”

  I glare up at him. “Yes I do. I think you’re a terrible person.”

  “Because I didn’t vote for you as judge?”

  “No, because you’re the only one who didn’t vote for me.”

  Our lips keep bumping together as we speak, but somehow it isn’t awkward. He smiles into my mouth.

  “You know what they say about people dating at the office. It’s never a good idea.”

  “That may be true, but then again you’re supposed to be a cameraman. Not an executive producer. What happened to not following in daddy’s footsteps? What happened to making your own way in the world?”

  “A big, fat salary. That’s what happened. Plus, the job comes with perks. Did you know it’s a modeling show? And that I get to tell a bunch of women walking around in their underwear what to do? What guy wouldn’t want that job?”

  “A guy who better not be looking at those women if he knows what’s good for him, that’s who.”

  “I’ll take that to heart. After all, I haven’t even seen you in yours. Unless we’re talking about magazines.”

  I pinch him at the waist and smile when he yelps a little. “And you won’t be anytime soon, so get your mind out of the gutter.”

  “Touche. How long until you get back to Los Angeles? I miss you already.”

  “I’ll be back in three weeks. I just need to pack and have someone clean my apartment.”

  He runs his nose along my jawline as his arms slide around my waist. I shiver a little at the smell of pine and fresh dirt, unsure how Colt always manages to smell this way. It’s a scent I’ll miss, so I really need to hurry back.

  “Okay, I’ve got to go. They’ve already called my flight three times.”

  “Alright, go.”

  He’s right there, his mouth is on mine again. Top lip. Bottom lip. Tug here. Tug there. And one little bite to make things interesting. It’s a dance we’ve perfected quite well this week, and my pulse picks up speed. I think about standing there and letting the plane take off without me, but if I don’t go clean up my Seattle life, I won’t be able to start my permanent Los Angeles one.

  Who knew a person could be so excited about California?

  Not me. Never me.

  Colt kisses me with soft lips and harder urgency.

  Well, maybe me now.

  Okay definitely me now.

  I push off his chest and take a step backward. “Meet me back here in three weeks. Don’t forget.”

  “I’m picking up a hot chick at the airport. What guy would ever forget that? Also why are we always meeting at the airport?”

  I laugh. “I have no idea. But hopefully that will be the last time.”

  I walk backwards until I reach the ticket scanner, then turn around and make my way to the plane. I’m in my seat before I realize the smile hasn’t left my face.

  * * *

  When the plane lands three hours later, I hit send on a series of texts I composed to Colt on the flight. Some mushy, some silly, one threat that if I ever see him holding another magazine with my barely-dressed image on the cover I will roll it into a tu
be and smack him on the head with it.

  Like a whipped puppy.

  Or maybe that’s me.

  I lean my head against the window and sigh. I think I might be the whipped one.

  I open my eyes and quickly suck in a breath.

  It’s snowing.

  For the first time in six years, it’s actually snowing in Seattle. It hasn’t happened once since…

  I lean back in my seat and remember the day I walked with my grandfather through the icy downtown market. He wanted to buy poinsettias for Christmas. They were my grandmother’s favorite, and we hadn’t bought any in a few years. Maybe he knew this would be his last chance. Maybe not. Maybe life is just kind enough to remind you to make a memory while you’re still able to do it.

  I open my backpack and pull out the picture we took that day. He’s wearing a thick gray coat buttoned up to his chin. I’m wearing a black stocking cap and a brown wool blanket I found in the trunk of his car because I forgot to grab a coat. My grande cup of Starbucks rests at his waist as I lean into him. A stranger took the picture in a rush because we were both so cold. In the photo, he’s smiling in that crooked way he used to. I’m smiling too, only wider. I remember it like it was yesterday. This is the first photo I will show Colt the next time I see him. It hits me then: I’m excited to show him. The sadness I usually feel has numbed into something like acceptance.

  Acceptance.

  Life moves forward with or without us. It’s our choice whether to hang back and let it leave or buckle ourselves in and enjoy the ride.

  I’m enjoying the ride.

  My mind drifts back on the past couple of weeks, and I smile. I’m pretty sure it’s the most genuine smile I’ve had since that day in the market when we bought three poinsettias and struggled to carry them back to the car. It was a good day then.

  It’s a good life now.

  Turns out I had a pretty merry Christmas after all.

  And it’s already shaping up to be a very happy new year.

  The End

  Thank you to my readers. You mean the world to me. Merry Christmas.

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