The Woman in 3B - Eliza Lentzski Page 0,22

and rainstorm had brought along cooler temperatures. Lara had popped the collar of her flight attendant blazer, but it provided a poor barrier from the elements. I’d learned my lesson on previous delays and canceled flights to be prepared for just about everything. I never flew anywhere without a jacket, change of clothes, pajamas, and toiletries.

My wheeled luggage clattered on the sidewalk as I approached. There was no use pretending like I hadn’t noticed her. I announced my presence with a generic statement. “Crummy luck, huh?”

The displeased look on Lara’s face flipped to a smile when she saw me. “Oh, hey. I wondered what had happened to you.”

I hated how a simple smile from her could produce butterflies that bounced in my stomach. We hadn’t exactly dated, and we hadn’t even been fooling around for very long. I had told my friends that our parting of ways had been mutual, but that had been a lie to save face and avoid their good-intentioned sympathy. At the end of the month, when we were no longer on the same line, it had been Lara who had suggested we end our dalliances. I simply hadn’t put up a fight—too proud and too stubborn to be vulnerable and admit that I’d really liked the time we’d spent together.

Lara blew into her hands and her narrow shoulders convulsed in a shiver. “Jesus, it’s cold,” she complained.

I thought about giving her my jacket, but I didn’t have an extra one for myself. I didn’t want to come off as desperate for her approval, although I suspected that’s from where the self-sacrificing impulse had come.

“Do you want my scarf?” I offered instead.

“I’m fine,” she resisted.

“You just said you were cold,” I pointed out.

“I said the weather was cold. Not me.” Despite her words, I noticed how she continually tugged at the collar of her uniform jacket.

I arched an eyebrow, calling her bluff.

“Okay, okay,” she relented. “I would love to use your scarf.”

My lips twisted in a wry smile as I untied my silk scarf and surrendered it to her. “Was that so hard?”

Lara rewarded my chivalry with another broad smile. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I should have known that this would happen the one time I didn’t over-pack.”

“Oh, so we have you to thank for this?” I couldn’t help tease.

Lara’s dark eyes crinkled when she laughed. Damn those butterflies. She bumped her hip into mine. “Be nice,” she chided.

My reflex was to continue teasing her, maybe even make a suggestive comment about ‘being nice’ to her, but I couldn’t fall down that rabbit hole with her. I smiled, but didn’t show my teeth.

I squinted into the high beams of an approaching vehicle. A white 11-passenger conversion van veered toward the curb where our group stood. The shuttle’s brakes squeaked as it came to a jerking stop.

Lara grabbed onto my arm and leaned against me, a motion both familiar and intimate. I could feel the press of her fingers through the thin material of my jacket. “God, I hope this is for us.”

I eyeballed the vehicle, unsure if I was supposed to feel relieved or frightened.

The driver—a short, squat man with tan skin and dark eyes—jumped out of the vehicle. He rattled off our flight number to confirm that he was our ride before opening the van’s rear doors to collect our bags. I noticed then that not many people in our group besides Lara and myself actually had luggage. Most had probably checked their belongings before going through TSA. Even though no more flights were leaving that night, it was airline policy to retain passengers’ luggage—something having to do with security.

Lara continued to hold onto my arm while the driver loaded our luggage into the back of the dilapidated van. “They’re really rolling out the red carpet for us,” she cracked.

“Everybody’s flights were canceled,” I reminded her. “The airline probably commandeered every vehicle with wheels.”

I heard her breathy sigh. “You’re right. I suppose I should be thankful we’ve got a place to go. Speaking of which,” she said, dropping my arm, “thanks for the rental.” Her fingers went to her neck to remove the borrowed scarf.

I held out my hand, but instead of her dropping the scarf into my palm, she proceeded to lasso me with the silk accessory. The motion forced our bodies closer; I could practically feel the heat of her body penetrate my clothes.

She stood before me, a serious look crossing her features, as she tried to re-tie the scarf to its