The Layover - Softcover

Waldon, Lacie

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0593328256 ISBN 13: 9780593328255

Verlag: Penguin Publishing Group, 2021

Inhaltsangabe

The Unhoneymooners meets The Hating Game in this breezy debut romantic comedy about life--and love--30,000 feet above the ground.

After ten years as a flight attendant, Ava Greene is poised to hang up her wings and finally put down roots. She's got one trip left before she bids her old life farewell, and she plans to enjoy every second of it. But then she discovers that former pilot Jack Stone--the absurdly gorgeous, ridiculously cocky man she's held a secret grudge against for years--is on her flight. And he has the nerve to flirt with her, as if he doesn't remember the role he played in the most humiliating night of her life. Good thing she never has to see him again after they land....

But when their plane encounters mechanical problems, what should have been a quick stop at the Belize airport suddenly becomes a weekend layover. Getting stuck on a three-hour flight with her nemesis was bad enough. Being stranded with him at a luxury resort in paradise? Even with the sultry breeze and white sand to distract her, it will take all the rum punch in the country to drown out his larger-than-life presence.

Yet the more time Ava spends with him under the hot Caribbean sun, the more she begins to second-guess everything she thought she knew about him...and everything she thought she wanted from her life. And all too soon, she might have to choose between keeping her feet on the ground and her head in the clouds....

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Lacie Waldon is a writer with her head in the clouds--literally. A flight attendant based in Washington, D.C., Waldon spends her days writing from the jump seat and searching the world for new stories. The Layover is her debut novel.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter 1
 
I don’t know what city I’m in. The alarm on my phone is blaring the Rocky song, lighting up the room just enough for me to see the shadowed outlines of walls and corners. I blink, trying to orient myself. There’s no strip of hallway light coming from under the door. The sheets are silky, not worn-down cotton slept on by millions of bodies. They’re probably not even white. This can’t be a hotel.
Someone groans beside me, and my stomach sinks with realization. I’m at home, where I promised not to use my Rocky alarm anymore. Alexander says it gets into his dreams. I grab for the phone, but it’s 3:30 in the morning—too early for coordination. It crashes to the floor, an electronic trumpet encouraging me to jab at the air with curled fists. Staying beneath the covers, I dip my head over the side of the bed and silence the noise before easing myself back up.
I should go, but instead I peek across the king-sized bed toward Alexander. I just want to see his face, to make sure I haven’t managed to annoy him before I leave for three days. But the blackout curtains make it impossible. I can’t even spot his outline through the darkness.
With a sigh, I slip my legs toward the edge of the bed. The chilled air outside the duvet hits one foot, and I steel myself for full-body contact with the icy conditions Alexander requires to sleep. An arm shoots around my waist, dragging me into a cocoon of hot skin and muscles. I exhale my relief and melt into him.
“I’m sorry about Rocky,” I whisper.
“It’s okay.” Alexander’s voice is husky with sleep. He presses a kiss against my bare shoulder. “In my dream, I ducked at exactly the right moment. Then I came back up with a right hook that sent the other guy flying. Knocked him clean out.”
“Of course you did.” A smile tugs at my mouth. Even in his dreams, Alexander triumphs. Some people might call this arrogance, but I recognize it as the confidence it is. There’s a reason the other lawyers at his firm refer to him as the go-to guy. Alexander is reliable. He’s unflappable. These are the qualities I appreciate most about him. “I wouldn’t have expected anything less.”
“His face was blurry,” he says, “but I’m hoping it was a predictive dream about McMurphy. I’m up against him in court today, and to say I despise that man would be an understatement.”
“It was definitely him. I’d recognize that stupid face anywhere.”
“You were in my dream?”
“Oh, yes.” I wriggle deeper into his embrace. “Right there on the sidelines, cheering you on.”
“You’re such an odd little duckling.” Alexander laughs softly against the back of my head. His voice turns serious. “But he really does have a stupid face, doesn’t he?”
“The stupidest.”
He sighs and presses another kiss against the back of my neck. “I’ll miss you while you’re gone.”
“It’s only a few days.” The reminder of work makes my leg twitch. It’s probably been three minutes since my alarm went off. Maybe even four.
“Still.”
“I know.” I get it. I do. Nobody likes being left behind. It’s only a few days, but it’s the dinners we’ll eat separately. The nights we’ll go to bed without each other. Large bodies of water will separate us. “I’ll miss you, too.”
“It’s the last time, though.” There’s no question in his words. It’s a fact that’s been decided, was agreed to this weekend, the moment I accepted his proposal. “We should celebrate when you get back. An engagement dinner. You land late on Thursday, right? Let’s do it Friday. We can toast to the end of one chapter and the beginning of another.”
“Yes.” It’s a lovely idea. Perfect, actually. What better thing to toast to than the ending of a nine-year career and the start of a marriage destined to last much longer? “Let’s do it.”
“I’ll make a reservation,” Alexander says, loosening his hold. “And you’d better go. You’re way behind on the schedule.”
I smile at his words. Of course Alexander would realize the value of the moments I’ve lost. He runs his entire life with the precision I reserve for work mornings. It’s one of the things that most attracted me to him in the beginning. That and the set of his shoulders, so firm and self-assured. I can’t believe he’s going to be my husband. I, Ava Greene, am getting married. It’s hands down the most permanent thing I’ve ever committed to.
“I love you.” I press a kiss to his forearm and scramble out of the bed. “See you soon!”
I grab my phone and check it as I ease the door shut behind me: 3:34. Sure enough, I’ve already used four of my twenty-five minutes allotted to getting out of the house. On tiptoe, I sprint down the moonlit hallway. Chicago’s December wind howls against the windowed walls of the tenth-story condo, making me feel like I’m at risk of being swept away. It’s the perfect start to a trip, like I’ve already taken off and am coasting through the clouds.
Security lights outside provide the kitchen with enough light that I don’t have to flip the switch on the wall. I beeline it toward the kettle I brought with me when I moved in. It looks ridiculously out of place next to Alexander’s restaurant-grade espresso machine. No more so than me, though, racing past the black marble countertops in my bra and panties.
Alexander would be appalled if he could see me flitting around like a half-naked pixie in the moonlight. He’s chastised me more than once about my tendency to go in search of coffee before putting on clothes. He has such concern about these nameless neighbors and their ability to spy on us. As if, out of all the people in our city, we are the show they want to see.
There’s very little chance of being caught by him now, though. Even if he can’t get back to sleep, I know he’ll stay in bed and try. Alexander gets into bed at 10:30 and rises at 5:30, because Alexander believes in consistency. He’s never said it aloud, but I know my moving in has been much harder on him than he expected. It’s difficult to adapt to someone’s presence when every time you start to get used to them, they disappear.
With a flick of my finger, I start the kettle. I filled it with water last night to save precious seconds this morning. My other hand reaches for my food bag. The movements happen without thought; this is a routine I’ve performed a thousand times.
The fridge is perfectly organized except for the little piles of food I’ve left. I set them up yesterday, balancing the baggies of cherries and grapes on rolling string cheeses in a way that would inform even the most casual of observers I’m not destined to be an architect. There’s another pile of individually bagged meals in the freezer that I lay across the top of the bag. Since they’re frozen, they can function as ice packs until I eat enough food to make room for a bag of ice from the plane. I zip up my large black mesh adult lunch box, grab the coffee, pour too much of it into the French press, and race to the guest bathroom.
It’s the one place in this condo I’ve taken over as my own. The official reason is I don’t want to wake Alexander up on mornings like today. Secretly, though, I like having a spot where I can leave things on the counter and don’t have to worry about...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Penguin Publishing Group
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2021
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0593328256
• ISBN 13: 9780593328255
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 336
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar