Just as the doorbell rang, Cheyenne wrapped me in a hug. “You keep your pretty little butt safe down there, ya hear?”
I chuckled at her as Jenny opened the door for my sister. My chuckle died as Anna stormed into the room. She dramatically tossed her bag onto the half-moon table in the entryway. “It’s times like these that I really wish I could drink,” she murmured.
“Problem?” Jenny asked as she shut the door.
Anna looked over her shoulder. “Besides the fact that I’m going to kill that fucker when I get to L.A.?”
No one needed to ask who the fucker in question was. Pursing her lips, Jenny asked, “What . . . did he do?” Her face was blank, like there was no answer on earth that would shock her. I understood that feeling. Really, a better question for Jenny to ask would have been, What didn’t Griffin do?
Knowing what Anna’s problem was, I sighed. “It’s not that big of a deal, Anna.”
She glared at me. The rest of the girls looked at me with shocked expressions. I didn’t usually defend Griffin. “A boy, Kiera. He gave me a boy. All I asked out of this entire . . . fiasco was for him to give me a little girl, but the idiot couldn’t even get that right.”
Frowning, I told her, “It’s not like he can control—”
Her icy stare stopped my voice. As the other girls caught on to the source of Anna’s vexation, Kate gushed, “Oh my God! You’re having a little boy—congratulations! Boys are so a . . . dor . . . able.” Kate’s voice faltered as Anna’s glare shifted to her.
There was a moment of silence, then Jenny cautiously said, “I’m sure it will turn out fine.” Anna started tapping her foot, and Jenny shrugged and gave up. “You’re right, Griffin’s a tool.”
Anna immediately brightened. “I know! Right?” I had to shake my head at Anna as she went off on her boyfriend for a solid five minutes. Sometimes you just want someone to blindly agree with you, no matter what the problem is. And even if Anna was blowing her predicament way out of proportion, none of us was going to argue with the fact that Griffin was indeed a tool.
Eventually Anna simmered down enough to say goodbye to everyone and help me get my stuff into Denny’s old Honda. Well, okay, she supervised while I packed my bags into the car. I had two of them, which I thought was pretty modest for an open-ended stay. Anna had three stuffed bags and a carry-on that pushed the boundaries of acceptably fitting into the overhead compartment.
Just as I was settling into my seat and the flight attendant told us to turn off our electrical devices, my cell phone buzzed. Thinking it was Kellan, since I’d just texted him to let him know we were about to leave, I discretely checked the phone. I smiled, seeing a message from Denny on the screen. I’ll miss you, mate. Good luck, and be careful.
I had to shake my head at Denny’s never-ending thoughtfulness. I almost showed the message to Anna, to maybe change her mind about Denny, but she would look at the text and immediately assume I’d slept with him the other night. Not wanting to defend my innocence again, I turned my phone off and tucked it into my bag.
The flight to Los Angeles wasn’t long, but I bounced my feet, played with my guitar-shaped necklace, and worried my lip the entire time we were in the air. I even tried writing a little, but I couldn’t concentrate enough and eventually put my notebook away. I just wanted to be with Kellan already. My heart was hammering in my chest when the plane touched down, and I think I was breathing harder when we finally taxied into position. Anna snorted and told me, “Calm down, horn dog.” But I couldn’t calm down. And I wasn’t horny or anything, I just . . . needed him.
It was a free-for-all to exit the plane, so I grabbed my bag and darted for the door before Anna had even stood up. Even though we were seated near the middle of the plane, I was the second person to leave. Nerves skittered around my belly as I sprinted up the ramp. I wasn’t sure how I’d spot Kellan in the sea of travelers and visitors in this massive airport. I supposed I could text him if I didn’t spot him right away in baggage claim.
I burst through the corridor toward the waiting area for visitors. I took one brief sweep of the crowd eagerly waiting for friends and loved ones, then I started laughing. Kellan was standing front and center with his arms extended into the air like John Cusack in Say Anything. Only, he wasn’t holding a boombox blaring Peter Gabriel. No, Kellan was proudly holding a sign that read—in embarrassingly large black letters—MRS. KELLAN KYLE.