I texted him the moment I got service, which admittedly was still a few feet above ground. I knew he’d be here already, as his flight had been scheduled to land an hour before mine. We still have four before our last leg to Belize too.
It’s barely lunchtime, but my stomach growls. The biscoff on the plane is never enough. And what’s with them only giving out the tiny cans of soda now? My mouth sticks together I’m so parched.
Someone moves, and there’s Logan Murphy. All six feet, one inch of him. His blond hair needs a trim, as the ends curl slightly along the back of his neck. He’s built like a swimmer, with those big shoulders that can make women’s knees weak. Those narrow down his back to his waist, and he’s wearing a pair of athletic shorts with his gray tee.
He runs some type of business from a home office in Wisconsin, and he has time to run with his dog every day, make homemade meals, and text me back seemingly at the drop of a hat. Everything about him makes me light up, and this time, instead of shrieking and sprinting toward him, I take another calm moment to drink him in.
Mm, yeah, he’s good for a thirsty soul.
Surprised at my non-best-friend thoughts, I give myself a little shake. “You’re not getting into the ring with Murph,” I mutter. The very idea almost has me giggling. Number one, he’s never indicated in the slightest that he’s interested in me.
He’s dated other women in the five years I’ve known him. A Lauren once, for a few months. Then someone named Christine. She was a complete disaster according to Murph.
He doesn’t ask me about my love life. I don’t ask him about his, but he does share if he has someone he’s excited about.
Murph is the most genuine man I’ve ever met. If he’s listening to someone, he’s interested. If he texts me for my opinion, I know he wants it.
He turns, and the world narrows to only him. And in the Atlanta airport, that’s something. Our eyes lock, and Murph’s smile floods his face.
I can’t help the little shriek as it flies up my throat, and I grab onto my backpack straps and hurry toward him. Not a jog—learned that lesson a couple of nights ago. Several feet from where he stands at carousel seven—with my bag—I break into a little dance.
He laughs, the sound happy enough and deep enough to fill my whole body with a thrum. I join him, pure joy filling me as I reach him, and he envelops me in his arms. “You made it.”
“It was touch and go for a minute there,” I say.
Murph holds me like a pro, and I don’t want the moment to end. I’m suddenly trying to categorize the thrum in my system. Happy to be reunited with my best friend? The man who literally saved me from taking my honeymoon alone?
Or is this fluttering of wings in my veins built from attraction?
Can’t be, I tell myself, but I’m not sure why it can’t be. Logan Murphy is devastatingly gorgeous, a fact I note for the second time in as many days as he pulls away from me.
“The Atlanta police wouldn’t care if the man in front of you was glinting light into your eyes for hours.” His grin pulls very kissable lips back to show his perfectly straight, white teeth. He hasn’t shaved in at least a week, and the beard is…hot.
I reach up and cradle his face in one hand. “I didn’t throw the Coke can,” I say, my own smile feeling fond on my face and in my heart. “Besides, it was a mini.” I drop my hand, registering that Murph has gone completely still and silent.
He hums in the very next moment, jerks himself to attention, and pulls my bag forward. “I already got it. The line for the bathroom must’ve been long.”
I take the bag, my eyes suddenly unable to meet his. They’re dazzling and blue and glint the way pure sunshine does off open water. “Mm hm.” I drop one shoulder out of my backpack strap and let the bag swing down to my suitcase. I unzip the top, reach inside, and look up at Murph through my eyelashes.
“And…” I yank out the box of candy I had to stop and buy. “I got you these!”
His gaze flits over to the box before his laugh fills the baggage claim area again. I shake the box of Milk Duds, as if he can’t get them in Wisconsin.
Murph takes them from me, his eyes latching onto mine again. This time, I don’t look away. “Thank you, Sloany.” He hugs me again, the boxy edges of the candy pressing into my back. He takes a breath like he might say something, but then he doesn’t.
He does his hum and steps back. “Should we go get over to the international terminal? Get some lunch over there?”
I nod, my voice lodged somewhere deep in my throat. I’m not even sure why. Something churns between us, but I honestly have no idea what. I turn and take the first step, Murph falling in beside me, and then the tension flees. Just like that. Gone.
Maybe there’s nothing there. Maybe it’s just because our relationship is usually through chats, texts, phone calls, and random GIFs. Now we’re in the same living, breathing space together, and maybe it’ll just take a few minutes to normalize.
“Did you meet your deadline?” I ask as I step outside. A blast of icy wind hits me square in the face. “Wow. Who knew it would be so cold in Atlanta?”
“They’re having a storm right now,” he says. “International terminal shuttle, over here.” His long legs eat up way more distance per step than mine do, but I keep up with him just fine. We join the line to get on, and with more people gathered together, it seems less chilly. “Met the deadline. Emailed everything in last night.”
Murph grins at me, and I smile on back. “That’s fantastic, Murph.”
“You?” he asked. “Closing went through okay yesterday?”
“Done,” I say proudly. “My third house this month.”
“They’re gonna put your picture on a plaque again,” he teases.
I smile and shake my head. I did win a recognition award from my real estate agency last year, but it’s a big place, and they won’t pick me again for a while.
We get herded onto the shuttle like cattle, get bussed over where we need to go, and go through the whole process of checking in, tagging bags, and going through security again. A big German shepherd works the line, with a stern-looking cop, and I nudge Murph.
“Would Titan be able to do that?”
“Well, he is the best specimen of a dog my vet has ever seen.” Murph grins and adds, “I sent you that site with all the excursion options. Did you get it?”
“Yeah,” I say, holding up my phone. “As I landed.”
“We can look over lunch,” he says.
“Or the flight there.”
He scoffs, those baby blues dancing a jig. “Right. Please. You’ll fall asleep in five seconds on the flight.”
“I will not.” I hold my head up high as the security officer checks my passport. The machine beeps and I leave Murph to pass the test too.
Once we’re all re-shod and re-packed, he says, “Burgers and fries?”
“I’ve been counting on it.” I link my arm through his, and he presses his elbow to his side, cutting a look down at me. I keep my eyes down the wide halls of the airport. “I love this trip we take.”
“Me too,” he murmurs, and because he never says anything that isn’t true, I believe him.