Give In

Clover
I have a system for airports. Coffee, carbs, and a wall to put my back against. It’s a good system.
It did not survive Heath.
He was two seats over on the last plane of the worst travel day of my life. Older, silver-foxed to an unreasonable degree, and looking at me like he had nowhere else to be. By landing I’d told him about every job I’d ever lost and my personal theory about sobbing widows. He laughed at all of it. The real kind, with the lines at the corners of his eyes and everything.
One thing led to another. It was the best night of my life.
And then I found out he was the father of my sister’s groom.
Here’s the thing about being me: I have a long and distinguished history of fleeing before things become something. But Heath is standing in my hotel room telling me this wasn’t nothing, and somewhere between a plane over the Atlantic and a wedding reception dance floor, I think I may have done the one thing I’ve never managed.
I didn’t run.

Heath
I saw her in the airport before we boarded. Wild red curls, dragging her carry-on sideways like she’d given up on the wheels entirely. By the time we landed I knew she was the most interesting person I’d met in years. By the time I got her to my suite and held her while she cried about a travel day that would have broken most people, I knew she was more than that.
I’ve made one significant mistake in my life. I married a woman I didn’t love, and I spent years paying for it. The only thing worth keeping from that marriage was my son. I raised Leo to be careful with his heart.
I am apparently less good at following my own advice.
She’s the maid of honor. I’m the best man. Our family members are getting married. This is, by any reasonable measure, a complication.
I’ve never been less interested in being reasonable.