Page 95

95

CONNOR

T he airport is its usual brand of hell.

Long lines.

Fluorescent lights.

Everyone is either late, lost, or losing their minds.

Gram, of course, is being detained at security.

“I’m telling you,” she huffs, hands on her hips, “that’s not a weapon. It’s a massage wand.”

The TSA agent blinks. “Ma’am, it’s vibrating.”

“It’s therapeutic!”

The agent glances at the screen. Then back at Gram. “Why is it bedazzled?”

“For morale!”

Allie groans beside me, covering her face. “She’s going to end up on a no-fly list.”

“She’s already on several watchlists,” I mutter.

A few feet away, Daltyn and Peyton stand off to the side. There’s space between them, but the tension is loud enough to shout.

Peyton’s phone rings. She answers, and whatever she hears makes her freeze. Her voice goes flat. “Are you sure? How bad is it?”

She nods slowly, her face pale, and ends the call.

Daltyn leans in, murmuring something only she can hear.

She nods again.

Then he turns and walks over to me. “I’m not coming back with you.”

I blink. “What?”

He glances at Peyton. “That was her landlord. The hurricane hit her place. She needs to go back, assess the damage. She’s alone in this.”

He pauses, his voice rough. “I’m not letting her deal with it by herself.”

I study him for a beat. His face is pale, but his jaw is locked. His voice steady.

I nod. “Keep me posted.”

“I will.”

Just then, Gram is released from TSA custody.

She returns like a pageant queen who just won Miss Congeniality and a tequila raffle. “Freedom! The wand lives!” she cackles.

Then her eyes lock on Daltyn and Peyton.

She gasps like she just cracked a secret Da Vinci code. “Oh. My. God. You’re a thing. You’re a secret thing. I KNEW it.”

Peyton freezes, blinking in horror.

Daltyn tenses like he’s bracing for a natural disaster.

Gram spins toward me and Allie. “I told you! The sexual tension could be sliced with a knife. I want to officiate the wedding. We can have it in a hurricane shelter. So symbolic!”

“Gram—”

“No, no. This is fate. You got married in Vegas. They’ll get married in Florida. It’s perfect! I’m crying already.”

She’s not.

But she is pulling out a pack of tissues and raving about ring tattoos and gator-shaped flower arrangements.

Allie leans into me, laughing softly behind her hand. “Do you think she’s joking?”

I sigh. “God, I hope not.”

She glances up at me, brows lifted. “You hope... not ?”

I grin. “It sounds perfect.”

A smile breaks across her face. “Maybe she’ll write erotic gator poetry for their wedding.”

A loud laugh bursts out of me before I kiss her forehead.

That wouldn’t surprise me at all.