Don't cry, don't cry, I said to myself, but my eyes already stung with joy. "Thank you, Donny." I pulled him into a hug. "I can't thank you enough."
"You could by accepting my proposal."
I hit his arm and sat back, staring at my box. The box that held my dreams. Underneath the velvet was a secret compartment. I looked at him, wondering if he searched it. Not that I'd really mind. The guy knew me inside and out. Still though. The secrets under there would tell him things about me I hadn’t told even him, things I didn’t know if I could face again after all these years.
"I better run in there." He couldn't erase his smile. "I'll miss my flight."
"I'll walk you in."
We walked fast and it didn't take him long to find where he needed to go. His family traveled far more than mine. The only major vacation I remember was our trip to England. Mom and Dad and their ridiculous obsession with all of that stuff. Jane Austen and everything related. Made me want to turn my fork upside down and lower my face on it until I punctured out my eyeballs. Okay, maybe not that bad, but it overwhelmed me to the core.
Donovan stopped when I could no longer follow.
"Time for a little radiation exposure," I joked, only he knew I wasn't really joking.
He ran his fingers through his messy dark hair. Typical lacrosse player with hair flipping out at the ends. It's a wonder we stayed so close with all of our differences.
"Happy birthday, Jazzy." He gave me one last hug as my mind drifted back to the first time he called me Jazzy. We were playing in my basement while our parents talked upstairs and he thought the way I played with Barbie’s was "jazzy." I guess in his little kid world that meant weird or crazy. True though. I hated Barbie’s. So I guess I gave them mullets and dyed their hair with Kool-Aid and well, yeah, that can be a tad weird to some people.
"Thanks again, Donny," I said. "I'm serious. You're the best friend I've ever had. I love you."
"Love you too, girl." He looked over his shoulder. "Gotta go. Talk soon."
I watched him check in and disappear, then took a step back. My foot bumped into something and I almost lost my balance. I turned to find a guy flat on his face, cheek pressed against the cold, dirty airport floor
"I am so, so sorry," I said. "Are you okay?"
He stood and shook his head as though he were waking from a dream he was still trying to figure out. "How embarrassing." English accent. Sounded like Yorkshire. "I am so sorry. I didn't see you there and ... you're okay?"
"I'm not the one who fell." I quickly took in his details. Brown and caramel Asics shoes. Fitted, but not too fitted, jeans with a few not-so-deliberate worn spots. Plain black t-shirt. Nice arms. A few tattoos peeking out from his sleeves. Defined jaw line. Sandy hair. Attractive in a normal way. Not the type of guy to stand out in a crowd, but certainly not one most girls would ignore.
"I'm sorry. Mind if I buy you a cup for the trouble?" Especially the totally cliché English accent. How romance novel-ish. How ... Jane Austen-ish. I never understood why women immediately gave a man fifteen bonus sexy points just for having a foreign accent.
"I'm okay, really. I should be the one apologizing."
"You could buy me a cup then." He held back a smile. "I've only just missed my flight and I could use a bit of company. If you don't mind, that is."
"What are you here for?"
He glanced around the busy airport. "I suppose the same thing every one else is here for. To fly on a plane?"
I almost laughed, but it came out as a puff of air. "I mean, why are you in America?"
"Um, nothing important really." He swung his bag to the other shoulder. "Coffee? I could use the company."
I nodded and followed him. He didn't seem to be flirting, just friendly and apologetic, I guess, even though it really was my fault that the poor guy fell flat on his face.
We stood in the Starbucks line when he asked the inevitable. "So, what's your name?"
"Jane." I nodded as the line moved.
He stepped forward. "I'm Alistair. And no, people don't call me Al."
"Just Alistair, huh?"
"Only just? Not at all."
I laughed, not quite understanding but decidedly going with the flow. "What am I doing here? A stranger … in an airport. Recipe for disaster."
He glanced at the cashier who called us over to her. "I believe you are getting a coffee, Jane." He ushered me in front of him. "Anything you like."
"No, no," I said. "I'll get it myself."
He didn't object as I opened my wallet, but gently pushed it away when I reached for my card.
"It's my apology," he said, then turned to the girl. "I'll have a coffee with plenty of cream and just a bit of sugar please."
The girl's eyelashes fluttered at his accent until she caught me staring at her. "And for you?" she said, trying not to look at Alistair as her face flushed with pink.
"Just a vanilla latte is fine. Thanks." I scooted behind him. "And thank you, Alistair."
He paid the girl without making eye contact, then touched my back as he edged me toward the counter where our drinks would soon appear. Touchy kinda guy.
"Jane Austen?" He laughed. "Your name really is Jane Austen?"
I looked away and rummaged through the straws.
"It really is, is it not?"
"You saw my license." I shook my head.
He nodded. "So ... that's pretty weird, but what's weirder is that you people here in the States put marshmallows on your sweet potatoes, yams, whatever you call them."
"Random." I almost smiled. "What's weird about that? Not everyone does it that way, though."
"So." He took his coffee as a girl sat it on the counter, then he handed the second cup to me. "You're really named after Jane Austen?"
"Takes all I have not to roll my eyes when people ask this." I sipped my coffee and nearly burned my tongue off. "My parents are weird, like marshmallows on sweet potatoes. What can I say? I'm lucky like that."
He laughed and pointed at an empty table. I nodded and sat down.
He sat across from me and reclined into the chair. "Does your boyfriend like your name?"
"Nice try."
"What?"
"Oh, you know. Typical cheesy way to find out if a girl has a boyfriend. Or vice versa." I set my cup on the table and leaned forward. "Let's bypass all of the awkward stuff and just be realistic. No, I don't have a boyfriend. And yes, that's by choice. I don't want a boyfriend any time soon."
He took another sip and squinted his eyes. I turned my head to the left and watched people rush by, then checked my phone. Fifteen minutes until Donovan's flight was supposed to take off. My birthday wouldn't be the same without him, but maybe one of the girls would come with me to get a tattoo.