STAFF Feature: Laura DeBow
A collective groan ripples through the concourse as overhead speakers announce that all flights are cancelled until further notice. The world’s busiest airport is shut down. I gaze through floor-to-ceiling windows at the rare Georgia snowstorm outside, and sigh at the unlikely sight.
“Is it as bad as all that?” The hottie I’ve been trading glances with across the gate area as we awaited our flight’s fate slides into the seat next to me. His charming smile melts my frustration, and my own lips curve up.
“I suppose it could be worse. We could be on a plane in all that.” I tilt my head toward the windows and smirk.
“That’s the spirit.” He places a hand flat on his chest. “I’m Beckett.”
I smile. “Ivy.” I study his jade green eyes, fringed with thick lashes, and his tousled, dirty-blond hair. Gah, he’s nice to look at.
“Ivy…” He seems to be testing the feel of my name in his mouth. I certainly like the sound of it in his deep, resonant voice. “Ivy, it’s nice to meet you.” He extends the hand on his chest to me, and I place mine in it. Chills move up my arm, and I bite back a gasp.
“You too, Beckett.” My voice is breathy, and I don’t even care. The electricity between us is powerful, and it emboldens me. “What do you think about walking around a bit? We could be stuck a while. Not sure if the Plane Train is running, but the airport has underground walkways connecting the concourses.”
“You read my mind. I’m in. Is that bag all you have?” He indicates my large tote.
“Sure is.”
Grabbing our carry-ons, we strike off from our gate. We ride an escalator down and stroll toward the other concourses as he tells me he’s from Boston, which is less than two hours from my home in Hartford. We talk more about our relatively close hometowns and laugh over the irony of both being from New England but getting snowed in down in the South. He shares that he’s on his way to Orlando for a work conference, and I tell him about my cousin Rose’s wedding there that I’m heading to.
We continue wandering the underground corridors, talking the whole time. Beckett explains he’s a project manager at an IT consulting firm, and the annual Orlando conference is his favorite. I tell him about my social media freelance business and share funny client stories.
Beckett slows, sweat beading on his upper lip. I put my hand on his arm and pull him to a stop over to the side. “Hey, are you okay?”
He looks confused for a moment. “Yeah. I’m, uh, hypoglycemic. I was so engrossed in our conversation…”
“What does that mean—you need to eat?” His previously golden skin is noticeably paler. I wait for his response as I dig through my tote, searching for a protein bar.
“Yeah, I need food. My bag…”
“Here, sit.” As he slides to the floor, I finally locate a mini protein bar in my bag, rip it open, and hand it to him as I drop next to him. “Eat this.”
He takes a bite and chews, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes.
“I think that bar’s just a band-aid. You need real food, don’t you?”
He nods and takes the last bite. I pull out my phone and search for an airport restaurant directory while he drinks water he pulled from his backpack.
“Is that enough to get us to a restaurant?” I study him.
“Yes. Ivy, I’m sorry—”
“You’ve nothing to apologize for. C’mon.” I lay my hand on his arm and wave my phone. “I’ve got a list of every restaurant here pulled up. Let’s find some food.”
Easier said than done. Every restaurant we come across is swamped. I’ve been so enraptured with Beckett, I didn’t think about how many hungry travelers are stuck at the airport with us. At the next place we arrive, I decide we’ve searched long enough. Beckett is looking peaked again.
Reining in protectiveness that rivals a mama bear, I paste on my best smile and ask the hostess who told us there’s an hour-long wait to speak with the manager. I explain Beckett’s needs to the manager, who thankfully agrees to accommodate us immediately.
Once Beckett takes the last bite of his burger, he looks more like himself again. “That’s the best burger I’ve ever had. Thanks for making this happen.” Giving me a slow, sexy smile, he puts his hand on mine. Tingles again zip up my arm, and heat floods my face. “Seriously, Ivy, thank you. I’m usually on top of things and never let myself get that bad. I can’t believe I forgot to restock my backpack with snacks.”
“I’m relieved you’re feeling better.” We sit staring into each other’s eyes with big smiles on our faces until the server clears his throat.
There’s still no change in the storm or the airport’s status, so we decide to walk some more, this time, holding hands. I can’t believe how comfortable I am with Beckett. And the attraction between us is undeniable. We’ve only spent the day together, but it feels like we’ve known each other forever, and I tell him so.
Beckett confesses he feels the same. “Hartford and Boston aren’t so far apart. Can I see you again when we’re both back home?”
“I’d really love that.” I peek at him through my lashes. “Actually, I could still bring a plus-one to Rose’s wedding. When is your conference over?”
He gives me that slow, heart-melting smile. “Thursday. When is the wedding?”
“Saturday. Think you could change your flight?”
“I’m not booked to go home until Sunday. I’m planning to hang around Orlando through the weekend. I’m in as your plus-one.”
My goofiest grin overtakes my face, but what’s a girl to do? “Perfect. It’s a date.”
When not dreaming up characters, figuring out plots, or tinkering with words, Laura can be found spending time with her husband of 21+ years, cheering on their teenagers in multiple sports, reading, cooking, or doing something active.
Connect with her on Facebook, Instagram, or her website.
Spark Flash Fiction 