Page 6

Relief floods through me, followed quickly by a pang of guilt as the girls start to whine.

“But Mom, that means it’ll take even longer to get to the lake!”

“I don’t want to spend more time in the car!”

I tune out their complaints, my mind already whirring with ideas for the pitch. This is my chance to prove myself, to show everyone at Channing Gabriel that I have what it takes to be a partner.

As Richard navigates the car through the traffic, heading back towards Chicago, I pull out my phone and start typing furiously. I have a presentation to plan, and I’ll be damned if I let this opportunity slip through my fingers.

The airport bustles with activity as I hurry through the sliding doors. I spot my assistant, Emily, near the check-in counters, her red hair a beacon amidst the crowd.

“Emily!” I call out, waving to catch her attention.

“Rachel, there you are!” She rushes over, handing me my ticket, a small carry-on, and a garment bag. “I picked out the blue suit, hope that’s ok. You’re going to crush this pitch.”

I take the items gratefully, a smile tugging at my lips. “You’re a lifesaver, Em. Truly.”

We navigate the throngs of travelers, making our way to security. As we wait in line, Emily fills me in on the latest office gossip, but my mind is already on the pitch, running through key points and anticipating potential questions. Em waves me off as I show my ticket to the TSA agent.

Once in the air, I pull out my laptop and immerse myself in the presentation, refining slides and practicing my delivery. The hours slip by, and as the plane touches down in Portland, I feel a surge of confidence. I’ve got this.

Disembarking, I reach for my suitcase in the overhead bin, my mind still running through the opening lines of my pitch. As I step onto the airbridge, a deep, mellifluous voice breaks through my thoughts.

“Excuse me, miss? I think you might have my suitcase.”

I turn to find a striking man with chiseled features and a charming smile. There are jawlines… and there’s him. He gestures to the bag in my hand, and I glance down, noticing a small red ribbon tied to the handle. Heat rises to my cheeks as I realize my mistake.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” I hand him the suitcase, flustered, and he hands me mine.

His eyes sparkle with amusement. “No worries, it happens to the best of us. I take it you’re here on business?”

We fall into step, chatting easily about the trials and tribulations of corporate life. There’s an undeniable spark, and I find myself drawn to his wit and warmth.

But as we exit the airbridge, a beautiful woman with flowing blonde hair rushes up to him, pulling him into a tight embrace. “Honey, I missed you so much!”

Reality comes crashing down, and I laugh inwardly at my foolishness. Of course, a man like him would be taken. I offer a polite nod and turn to head towards the exit, my focus shifting back to the task at hand.

And that’s when I see it. The sign that stops me dead in my tracks.

“Vacationland, welcome to the State of Maine.”

No!

This.

Is.

Not.

Happening?

My heart plummets as the realization hits me. I’m not in Portland, Oregon. I’m on the wrong side of the country.

No. No, no, no. That can’t be right. I blink hard, as if willing the sign to change. I dig into my bag, nearly ripping the zipper off as I yank out my ticket and unfold it with trembling hands. My eyes scan the fine print—Portland International Jetport (PWM).

Oh my God. PWM. Not PDX.

My heart thunders so loudly in my ears that I barely hear the chatter of the other passengers around me. I stare at the letters, trying to force them to rearrange themselves, to magically morph into the correct airport code. But they don’t. Because they can’t.