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That’s why he had narrowed his search field to cities with Olympic training facilities.
Brian stretched out his long legs and loosened his tie slightly. Fully half an hour before his flight would be called. Might as well relax some. He thought with satisfaction about the fine wines served on these flights. He was looking forward to a nice glass or two of pinot noir—none of that cheap chardonnay stuff. He deserved a little pampering after all he’d been through.
Mentally he checked his prior locations off in his mind. Of course Lake Placid, an easy distance from NYC, had been his first stop. He’d also tried St. Louis and Atlanta. His method was fairly straightforward. With his credentials and reputation, no one found it odd that Brian was visiting Olympic training centers. To the managers, he simply explained that he was looking for the best area for his athlete, Addisyn Miles. Sometimes this statement elicited blank stares, sometimes gasps of excitement—“Oh, that kid who almost medaled in Sectionals! I saw her performance. It was—” Not yet had it brought him any shred of confirmation that she was at a particular place or had ever been there.
He’d flown to Los Angeles day before yesterday and checked the Olympic center within the city as well as rented a cantankerous Honda Accord to drive to the training complex in Squaw Valley. The only reward had been an hour and a half of battling hellacious California traffic. Now he was at LAX, waiting for his flight to Salt Lake City, another Olympic mecca.
He’d really expected Addisyn to be in LA. For some reason he kept having the hunch that she was on the West Coast somewhere. Brian wasn’t usually one to put much stock in instinct, but he was desperate for any help he could get.
She wouldn’t have left the country, would she? Brian sighed. Maybe he should try some international destinations. He couldn’t think of a lot of great choices offhand, but he did know for a fact that Montreal had an excellent figure skating presence. He should know; he’d almost taken Addisyn there three years ago for training before she’d landed the Rising Star sponsorship and been eligible to train in Whistler. It had worked out for the best, anyway, because the center in Whistler was much more—
Whistler!It hit him like a thunderbolt—so abruptly that he shot upright in the chair, gripping the arms and looking about him wildly.
How had it taken him so long? He remembered Addisyn’s love for the place, her excitement over the beautiful landscape, her adoration of the local vibe.
And her near-idolatry of the state-of-the-art arena.
She had trained there for six weeks—one of the highlights of her career. Of course she would be there now!
“LAX TO SALT LAKE CITY...DELTA AIRLINES DL TEN TWENTY-FOUR...NOW BOARDING...” The intercom blared the news.
Impatiently Brian grabbed his luggage set and leaped to his feet. Then he began shoving his way through the mass of people headed toward security.
So his flight was ten minutes early. Well, he was going to miss it.
With purpose he marched toward the ticket kiosks. He wasn’t going to Salt Lake City. No, he was going to buy tickets for what he was sure would be his final destination.
He was going to Whistler.
DON’T MOVE.
Addisyn leaned her head against the stack of cardboard boxes in the back room of Love You A Latte, trying to breathe lightly for two reasons. First, she didn’t want to inhale all the dust that was probably back here. Secondly, she wanted to hear what was about to unfold.
She hadn’t seen Darius in a week. No texts from him, no random encounters on the streets of Whistler, no Cubans on his way to work. But now, today, right on schedule, the maroon Chevy Traverse had pulled up outside.
Even now, Addisyn’s emotions darted all over her soul like runaway rabbits. The thought of seeing Darius had been completely unexpected, and in a moment of panic, she’d hustled into the back room before he could open the door. Until she could get a firm handle on her heart, it was too dangerous to see him again.
The bells jangled over the door. “Uh...hey.” Darius’s voice. “Uh...is Addisyn working today?”
So he hadn’t just come for a Cuban. Addisyn’s heart tumbled over in her chest. Maybe she should—
No. She couldn’t.
“Well. So it’s you, Mr. Payne. You certainly haven’t been around in a while.” Addisyn could envision the smirk on Chelsea’s face.
“I’ve been busy.” No surprise that his answer sounded curt. “Addisyn here?”
Chelsea cleared her throat. “You don’t see her, do you?”
“No.”
Awkward silence signaled a stalemate.
“Is she—is she working tomorrow?”
Addisyn squeezed her eyes shut. With every passing second, the struggle intensified—the struggle to stay in the back room when every word from Darius still made her spirit quiver. She clenched her fists and forced herself to stay put.
“I’m sorry, sir.” Chelsea’s answer dripped with triumphant self-righteousness. “We’re not allowed to divulge employees’ work schedules.”
