A Bar In Paris by Imogene Nix

Author:Imogene Nix [Nix, Imogene]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Love Books Australia

Chapter Eight

Even in the cool morning, the airport was loud and busy. I hurried over to the desk, hoping to get any flight possible and head home. If I was lucky, I could be home before dawn. As I scanned the board, my heart dropped in my chest. The next flight of the day would be another couple of hours away at just after six AM. But that flight had a longer duration. If I waited another hour, I could be home some time after peak hour settled. I headed for the desk and the woman looked harried as she smiled at me. “Can I help you?”

“I need a one-way flight to London. The first available flight.”

She looked at me and I realized I must look like some kind of wild woman. “Just one moment.”

She tapped away at the screen. “I have one seat on the next Brit Air flight. But all I have left is a business class seat.”

“I’ll take it.” While the woman filled out the details, I tapped my foot on the floor, feeling anxious to be away. Finally, ticket in hand and suitcase handed over, I made my way to the business lounge. There I could have a glass of wine or a coffee, if that suited, while I waited for my flight.

The room wasn’t cozy, it was too devoid of personality to be called that, but it was quiet, muted really, and I dropped my bag and coat on the first available plush, red seat and headed for the barista.

Cradling my coffee, I settled in to wait. Now and again there were announcements, and I focused on them, hoping to avoid the agony that squeezed my heart. Though I refused to give in to the pain and watched the board, the television, and the people coming and going, it didn’t diminish the grief that stole my breath. It stayed there, sneaking up whenever I dropped my defenses.

Even boarding the plane was difficult. I looked out the window, thankful there was no one in the seat beside me. The engines rumbled to life and I turned away, unable to handle the jolt of grief that came with the knowledge that down there, somewhere, was Johnathon. Lying, cheating scumbag that he was, my heart felt as if it had been cleaved in two.

I got through the flight, accepting a hot coffee from the hostess and drinking it during the hour long trip. When we finally landed, I breathed a sigh of relief, and stumbled off the plane. “Thank you,” I mumbled to the crew member as I stepped through the portal.

The bags were unloaded. I called for a vehicle to take me home. The sense of numbness was leaching away and the sting of betrayal and loss was there. My eyes burned and my chest thudded rather like a panic attack.

I spied my bag, yanked it from the carousel, and moved quickly, thankful to see my car waiting. I bundled in, gave my address, and then stared determinedly out the window, needing to avoid talking.

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