From the Beginning. Tracy Wolff
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the front and waited patiently for the door to be opened. Simon grabbed his bag and followed her.
In only a couple of minutes, they’d collected her suitcase and then headed toward customs. More than once, he tried to start a conversation, but she shut him down every time with her absolute refusal to speak. He might have thought her voice box had suffered some terrible calamity if she hadn’t spoken clearly and politely, if a little woodenly, to the customs officer who questioned her.
After checking out her American passport and welcoming her home, he let her enter. She walked through and then it was Simon’s turn to hand his documentation to the man. After answering questions about the stories that had taken him to four continents in three weeks, he, too, was allowed in.
Amanda wasn’t waiting for him on the other side of the gate. Instead, she’d taken off, using the extra time he’d spent dealing with the customs agent to put some distance between them.
Swearing bitterly, he set off running. It was evening, so the terminal wasn’t as crowded as it could have been, but it was still busy enough that he had trouble finding her, dressed as she was in simple baggy jeans and a black tank top.
When he got to the exit doors with still no sign of her, he paused, looked around wildly. Had he overreacted, jumped to conclusions? Maybe she’d had to use the restroom? But that didn’t make sense. She would have told him if that was the case. Wouldn’t she?
Walking slowly back the way he’d come, he scanned the exiting masses carefully. If he lost Amanda here, in Atlanta, he might never find her again. No cell phone, no address to go on, nothing at all. And while he’d spent the past eighteen months without her, he’d always known where she was. The idea of never finding her again was a sucker punch to the chest. Besides, how was he supposed to put his plans into action if he didn’t know where she was?
It was on his third scan of the area that his gaze fell on a sign that read Ground Transportation, Taxis. His heart kicked up its rhythm as he took off in the direction of the arrow. Why hadn’t he thought of it right away? Of course she would try to get a taxi.
As he burst into the steamy Atlanta night, he prayed he wasn’t too late. Not that he didn’t deserve to be left behind after his total and complete stupidity. But still, he couldn’t help hoping—
There. There she was. Thank God for the delay at the taxi stand. Amanda was still five people away from getting a cab.
Weaving through the crowd, he came up on her left side. “Thanks for getting in line,” he told her nonchalantly, as he cupped her elbow with his hand.
She whirled to face him, lips tight and eyes completely blank. The blankness frightened him. He’d always been able to tell where he stood, where Amanda was emotionally, by looking into her eyes. She’d never been one to hide her emotions away, so whatever she felt—happiness, anger, sorrow, confusion—shone brightly in the varying shades of gray.
Now there was nothing. He didn’t know if it was because she’d finally found a way to lock her emotions down deep inside her or if it was because she really didn’t feel anything. Either way, it didn’t bode well for her or the tattered remnants of the relationship he’d been hoping to salvage.
“I would suggest going to the back of the line,” she told him woodenly. “Because you are not sharing a cab with me.”
“Of course I am. How else are you going to find my apartment?”
A flash of surprise in those glorious eyes. Finally. “Why exactly would I need to know where your apartment is?”
“Because you’ll be staying with me.”
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