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A sly grin spreads. “Because someone told me I never do anything spontaneous.”
She’s silent a beat. “Oh please tell me. I can’t wait!”
“Someone said that I haven’t truly smiled in a very long time.”
Knowing she is that person, she shouts with glee, “Where are you!!!”
“Atlanta.”
Pure confusion. “Why Atlanta? There’s no water there.”
A lover of the wet stuff is my best bud, and since we live in Venice Beach, California, she has no lack of it. I’m her surfing companion, and have the tan to show for that. In the winter, we’re all about wearing the body suits. Come springtime, which is now, bikinis, rain or shine. And it’s been allshine so far this Spring.
“Don’t you think I’ve had enough water?”
“Never!”
“Hang on. My bag just flopped onto the belt thingy.”
“Willow, why are you in Atlanta!!!”
Shoving the phone in my dress-pocket and my body through crowd, I tell no one and everyone, “Excuse me. That’s my bag!” A teenager dressed in hip jeans and hoodie reaches for the navy-blue suitcase I pointed out, from where it sits propped precariously atop two others — one black, one red and tattered — and snatches it to freedom with ease.
“Here ya go.” He smiles at me, and I see a light spark in his eyes. He thinks I’m cute. I’m also thirty-one and it’s never gonna happen.
“Thank you!”
“No problem. You live here?”
“Excuse me,” Pulling the handle up on my suitcase and my phone from my pocket I motion, “On the phone with my lover.”
“Oh…” he frowns, and I never see him again.
Ever.
“Gemma, isn’t it funny how you can have a moment with someone and then neversee them again in your entire life? The world is filled with so many people. I’ve never been more aware of that than right now in this crazy mosh pit of an airport.”
“From the muffled sounds I was hearing, you had me in your pocket, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve never felt closer to you.”
I burst out laughing, rolling my bag toward the exit, and feel my ear vibrate, Brady’s name lighting the screen. “He’s calling through again.” She’s not my lover, but we joke like we are because it’s funny to us.
“Why is Brady blowing up your phone?”
“He’s watching Thor.”
“Why am I not watching Thor?!”
“Because then it wouldn’tbe a surprisewhen I called you from the airport.”
“Why are you in Atlanta!!!”
I spot, standing centered near multiple sets of electronic double-doors, a handsome older man with sandy-brown and silver hair, denim shirt stretched tight over muscular arms above well-loved jeans and cowboy boots, holding up the sign I’m looking for: Sunflower Retreat.
“I booked a ten-day retreat an hour north of Atlanta.”
