Minute by Minute. Jo Leigh
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[DCWatcher] Meg, you’re stalling. Listen to me. We both need this. I’m tired of just looking at that picture of you, although God knows, you look great. I want to see you. I want to hear your voice, listen to your laugh. It doesn’t have to go anywhere. Hell, it can’t. I’m in D.C., you’re in L.A. But for just five days and four nights, can’t the twain meet?
[MtnVet] The twain, huh? I’ve never heard it put quite like that before.
[DCWatcher] Man, do you have a dirty mind.
[MtnVet] Me? You’re one to talk.
[MtnVet] Would you really sleep in the loft?
[DCWatcher] If necessary.
[MtnVet] And this bungalow. It doesn’t have a TV?
[DCWatcher] Nope. But it does have room service. And a masseuse.
[MtnVet] Oh, God. That sounds like heaven.
[DCWatcher] So what are you waiting for?
[MtnVet] Alex, what if we hate each other on sight?
[DCWatcher] How could I hate you? You’re what I look forward to most every day. I leave the damn computer on all the time, just listening for that little tone announcing I’ve got mail. Don’t you get that by now?
[MtnVet] I’m grinning like an idiot here.
[DCWatcher] That’s a good start.
[MtnVet] And that picture of you in the Washington Post? You did say it was a recent one, yes?
[DCWatcher] Yep. If you weren’t sickened by that, we should be okay in person.
[MtnVet] Well…
[DCWatcher] Come on, woman. Take a risk. What’s the worst that could happen?
[DCWatcher] Meg?
[MtnVet] Wait, I’m imagining the worst. It’s pretty horrible.
[DCWatcher] Tropical island. Warm breezes. Pure white sand on a private beach. Drinks with tiny umbrellas in them.
[MtnVet] Stop. I can’t stand it. Okay. Yes. I’ll go.
[DCWatcher] It was the umbrellas, wasn’t it?
[MtnVet] You do know me too well.
[DCWatcher] So for real? Yes?
[MtnVet] Yes. Wow.
[DCWatcher] Wow, indeed.
1
IT WAS NOON ON THE dot when the plane, a little propeller job that had flown so close to the ocean Meg could have jumped without a parachute, landed on the island. The view, of rocky cliffs, crystal clear blue waters, and vegetation so green it almost hurt, had stolen her breath, and she wondered if she’d ever get it back.
It didn’t help that she was scared spitless. Not about the plane; she loved puddle jumpers. He was, theoretically, already here. Since her birthday, she’d hardly been able to think of anything else. She was going to meet Alex Rosten in the flesh. After an entire year of talking to him online in private chats, they were going to be face-to-face in, like, thirty seconds.
Meg waited until everyone else had cleared the aisle, and then she got her travel bag from the overhead compartment. Her body fairly quivered with tension. Although she was trying to be very Zen about the whole experience, she was failing miserably. She wanted to like him. She wanted to be attracted to him. She wanted him to sweep her off her feet.
Problem was, she also wanted not to like him so much, to find him more a friend than a lover, and she needed to keep her feet firmly on the ground.
For a woman whose biggest single risk up to this point was going to UC Davis instead of UCLA, this little vacation was monumental.
Her whole life had been swallowed by her work. Since her father had died and left her his veterinary clinic in Diamond Canyon, she’d been working six days a week. But because she was always on call, time off was more a concept than a reality. Her only personal time was when she was online with Alex.
If they blew this, if the chemistry wasn’t there, then what? What would she do on those nights when by some mysterious grace he was there when she was there, and they talked until they both got stupid with tiredness? Until they laughed at the most ridiculous things ever?
She needed Alex. Needed to find him on the other end of the computer, needed the possibility that she’d find him. She’d been so fiercely protective of their relationship that they’d never even spoken on the phone. He’d asked, she’d debated, but in the end it seemed safer just to keep the status quo. Which this little trip shattered all to hell.
“May I help you, Miss?”
She turned to the steward, sharp in his khakis, thick eyebrows raised. “No, thanks. I’ve got it.”
She pulled up the handle on her case and rolled it toward the door. Would Alex be on the tarmac or inside? Would she know him immediately, and he know her? And, oh, God, was she supposed to kiss him? Hug? Shake hands?
Pushing her hair back behind her shoulders, she straightened, took a deep breath and stepped onto the portable steps.
Blinking in the tropical sunlight, she scanned the small group of people standing in front of the terminal. The heat hit her hard, not because it was so different from the cold Los Angeles winter but because her fear and anticipation had chilled her deeply. When she thought of the things she’d told him in the late hours, the fantasies she’d revealed in lurid detail…It was hard to breathe as her gaze went from one face to another.
He wasn’t there. The impatient noises behind her sent her forward. It was only eleven steps down, and not that far to enter the terminal, but she had to consciously make her legs move.
Maybe he’d chickened out. It was possible, right? She’d hear her name over the loudspeaker, a message at the desk.
Not likely. He’d sent her an e-mail yesterday with his flight information from Dulles. He’d sounded so excited. Which wasn’t fair. Shouldn’t he be sweating this, too? He probably figured in five days and four nights, he was bound to get lucky, so why worry? What she didn’t understand was why she couldn’t see things in exactly the same way.
Going by his picture—well, pictures—he was a nice-looking guy. Although the photo of him from the Washington Post was too grainy to see him fully, when she’d Googled him, she’d found others. Him with politicians, him getting awards, him being important. He rarely smiled, but there’d been this one…He was alone, leaning against a brick wall, and he looked happy. She remembered finding that picture and thinking about his smile. Such a good smile. Not to mention his expressive eyes and his dark, thick hair. She already knew the most important things about him—that he had a great sense of humor, and that he was really smart, and kind. She should be filled with anticipation—good anticipation, not this sick dread.
If only she hadn’t been quite so open. If only she hadn’t told him all of her secrets…
HE SHOULD HAVE GONE outside. Alex ran a hand through his hair as he paced underneath the huge circular clock above the terminal doors. The plane had landed, and he knew she was out there, so what was he doing in here?
He was behaving like an idiot, like a teenager. At thirty-three, he’d had his share of blind dates, and he’d never given them a second thought. They’d clicked or they hadn’t. No sweat. Of course, he’d never been in a situation like this one.
He liked Meg more than anyone he’d met in a hell of a long time, but it was all online, and that wasn’t the truest test. Not by a long shot.
His buddy Craig had met a woman online. Through Match.com. They’d talked for three months. She’d lived in Brussels,