“Samantha, then.” My eyes shift downward, to the small blonde shadow hovering a step behind her mother’s wide-legged pants. “And this must be MissSophie.”
I catch a flash of platinum pigtails and hear a muffled giggle before the little girl ducks behind her mother, so she’s fully hidden fromview.
“She’s a bit shy,” Samantha says apologetically. “We’re hoping this trip will help her get overthat.”
“I was pretty shy myself, when I was her age.” I smile as the little girl sneaks a peek at me from behind Samantha’shipbone.
“She’ll warm up, once she gets to know you,” Samantha assures me. “Isn’t that right,sweetie?”
In response, Sophie gives a small nod and twines her fingers with her mom’s. A pang shoots through my chest as I think of my own mother. With all the drama at baggage claim, I haven’t even had a chance to text her. She’ll beworried.
“Come, sit with me and chat,” Samantha says, leading Sophie to the sectional and gesturing for me to follow. “We’re still waiting on one more person beforetakeoff.”
I follow hurriedly, sliding my backpack to the floor by my feet. My ungainly plop onto the cushion is a stark contrast to Samantha’s elegant motions. She doesn’t walk; sheglides, barely disturbing the air. I wonder if that kind of grace is something that can be learned, or if you’re simply born withit.
Her smile is warm. “How was your flight fromBoston?”
“Oh, it was fine.”Besides a bickering couple and a coffee-boob stain.“Somehow, I have a feeling it won’t compare to this one.” My eyes travel to the private jet, parked on the runwayoutside.
Samantha’s gaze follows mine. “Ever flown privatebefore?”
“Actually, I’d never even been on an airplane until about seven hoursago.”
Her smile widens. “Well, you’re in for a treat, then. Flying private puts first class toshame.”
I think it’s best not to mention the fact that I spent my first leg of this voyage sandwiched in a middle seat insteerage.
“Any problems with your luggage?” sheasks.
“They took it from me at the curb.” I pause. “Some rude guy did try to swipe it at baggage claim earlier,though.”
“Really?” Samantha’s eyebrows lift in two perfect blonde arcs. Her nose wrinkles, as though she can’t fathom a world in which one might handle their own luggage, let alone have it nearly snatched off the conveyerbelt.
Okay, so technically I was the one doing thesnatching.
Whatever.
“He was extremely rude.” I flush again at the memory of his intent green eyes. “I thought he was going to rip the bag right out of myhands.”
“Oh my,” she murmurs, shaking her head. “Did you talk to airport security abouthim?”
“No, it wasn’t worth going to all that trouble. In the end, I got my bag. That’s really what counts.” I shrug. “And… he wasn’t violent, just—” Anutter ass.“—a bit hotheaded. Thankfully, I’ll never see himagain.”
“Still, I’m sorry to hear your trip started on such strange footing! I promise, it’ll all be downhill from here. You’re going to adore the SouthPacific.”
“I really can’twait.”
After another moment of pleasantries, Samantha excuses herself to go speak with her husband, who’s still fully entrenched in a business meeting with his co-workers from the Flint Group. My eyes move to Sophie. She’s sitting directly across from me, studying my every detail with narrowed, periwinkle blue eyes. Her cute-as-a-button face cants at an angle as she considersme.
I hold her stare and await herjudgment.
Aside from dogs and horses, I’ve always thought kids are the best judges of character on the planet. Tiny bullshit detectors — they can see through you in an instant. Generally speaking, if you don’t like kids… it’s probably because kids don’t likeyou.
“What’s in your backpack?” she asks, breaking her silence as curiosity finally gets the best of her. I hide a grin as I pull the bag up onto the coffeetable.
“Want tosee?”
Shenods.