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“For real,” he answers. “I’ve lived in Norway since birth.”
“But you sound so…”
“American?” he answers.
“Yeah, American. Do you have an accent?”
He laughs. “Only when I want to. So, what brings you to Norway?”
“Nothing,” I answer. “I needed a change of scenery, and Norway was where my finger landed when I spun the globe.”
His deep laugh brings a smile to my face. “That’s the best method of picking a destination that I’ve ever heard.”
“My best friend doesn’t think so. She’s convinced I’m going to freeze to death.”
His eyebrows raise. “I’ll admit, January isn’t the best time to travel to one of the coldest climates on earth, but it’s truly one of the most beautiful places you’ll ever see.”
“I don’t mind the cold. In fact, I’d rather be cold than hot.”
He smiles. “I think you’re underestimating just how cold it is.”
I shrug. “I can buy more clothes.”
Beatty holds his empty glass in the air, and the attendant brings him another without question.
“What brought you to the US?”
“Work,” he answers without elaborating. “I travel here once a year.”
“That’s interesting.” I don’t know what else to say. I slide back into my seat, slipping the personal tiny pillow I managed to stuff into my bag behind my head and pull up a familiar movie on the screen in front of me.
CHAPTER 2
Planes, Trains and What?
The flight to Atlanta is uneventful and quick. Being in first class, we exit the plane before everyone, passing next to the flight attendant from the airport. She looks down as we pass, making sure not to make eye contact with either of us.
Beatty follows me onto the ramp and into the airport. Once inside, the bright lights of the gate give me a better view of the man who took the will to flirt away from a flight attendant with a mere sentence. He’s at least a foot taller than me. His hair is dark, and the trimmed beard that covers his chin hangs neatly to his chest. I’ve never been into bearded men, but Beatty pulls it off perfectly. Bright green eyes are the perfect match for his dark hair.
“We have a three-hour layover. I’m hungry. Would you like to grab a bite to eat while we wait?”
“Sure. What are you hungry for?”
He sighs. “Anything except seafood. Not a fan of things that swim.”
“Really? You don’t eat shrimp?”
“Nope, they swim.”
I stare at him. “I’ve never met anyone who won’t eat seafood.”
“Yeah, I’m an enigma.”
The trip to our next gate involves at least a three-mile walk, a train ride, and what must be seven hundred escalators. After what feels like an hour later, we find the food court for the wing where our next plane leaves. “Are you okay with a food court?” he asks, standing at the entrance.
“Sure,” I lie. It’s not the food I’m not a fan of, it’s the fact that in my sheltered life, I’ve never eaten at a fast-food restaurant. My nannies would never allow me to eat anything that wasn’t homemade and organic. Now that I’m old enough to do what I want, I’ve kept my diet the same, for no other reason than that it’s what Piper does. She keeps everything perfect.
“How does a hamburger sound?”
