Backstage Romance: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy Box Set Gigi Blume (fantasy books to read .txt) 📖

“Ya know. If you get caught, they'll issue you a travel ban. I’ve seen it happen.”

“Doubtful.”

“Fine.” I angled my body away from him the best I could in that tiny seat and plugged my earbuds into the armrest. Weird place for the media controls, but whatever. I’d be laughing my head off once that fierce flight attendant put Dog Man in his place.

But Reeses was swift. It was as though he could sense when someone was coming because he’d jump into his carrier (which was more like a duffle bag) and bury his head under the flap. Then, when the danger passed, he’d leap right back onto Dog Man’s lap with his cute little ears perked up.

Unbelievable!

All my efforts to find my happy place were in vain. The lady sitting to my left continued to push the call button. At first I thought she wanted to complain about Reeses, but she only wanted a pillow. Then a blanket. Then when she was told there were no blankets, she wanted the “waitress” to drape napkins over her shoulders. Of course she was a gem compared to the guy. He seemed to consider himself entitled to my armrest. His elbow pressed directly over the media controls, either changing my channel or increasing the volume to deafening levels. Each time I kindly asked him to move his elbow, he just said, “Oops.” and replaced it there again after a minute. Seriously. What kind of dummy designed those media controls?

My only consolation was the short duration of the flight. Soon we’d be in Chicago where I’d catch my connecting flight to Los Angeles and the Dognamic Duo would go to whichever circus they belonged.

But, oh! Fate was a trickster. Or at least the weather was.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking…”

3

Georgia

The ticketing agent at Fort Dodge Municipal Airport was garnering a little too much amusement at our expense. It was a nightmare scenario out of a Steve Martin movie. Chicago O’Hare runways all slick with black ice. No flights for a couple days out of Fort Dodge, Iowa. But oh, there’s a Motel 6 in town with a great continental breakfast. Happy Holidays.

I attempted to reason with the lady one last time while the line behind me grew into a collective frown.

“So you’re telling me you can’t find any flights to LAX? Or at least another airport where I can grab a connecting flight?”

She lifted one brow and peered at me over her reading glasses. “Listen, I already said…this is a municipal airport.”

“Yes, but surely they can arrange for some commercial planes to swing by and take all these people where they need to go. Or lots of small planes. It’s Christmas.”

“I don’t know what Polar Vortex means to you folk in L.A. but here in Iowa it means: All. Flights. Grounded.”

Honestly I thought polar vortex was some kind of Star Trek thing. But I digress.

“So, when you say all flights grounded, does that pertain to flights going to a warmer climate?”

She exhaled a heavy, punctuated breath. It was a statement in itself, pretty much declaring my idiocy. I was okay with that as long as my questions were answered. She held up her hand and began ticking my options off on her fingers.

“You can accept the hotel and food voucher and wait out the storm.”

Tick.

“You can catch the charter bus tomorrow morning into Chicago.”

Tick.

“Or…you can try to rent a car.

Tick

“But…” The but was accentuated with a scary plosive consonant accompanied by a spray of spit. “…they only keep eight cars in the fleet.”

I bolted. Yes, I thanked the lady, but I was running so fast she probably didn’t hear me. Eight cars in the fleet. Total? Or eight of each kind? I hoped and prayed I wasn’t too late. In retrospect I should have asked where the rental car place was but really, Fort Dodge Municipal Airport, Iowa was more like a library than a transport center. My brother’s house was bigger which kind of wasn’t a fair comparison because Pemberley was crazy huge.

I wondered as I ran through the carpeted corridors, past Native American wall art, past a life-size plaster statue of a moose, past a museum exhibit of the early aviators, how my day took such a wild turn. At this moment I should have been boarding my second flight to L.A. with a steamy peppermint latte acquired at the Chicago airport Starbucks. I’d be taking my seat, settling in for a lazy five hours in the air before I got to see my brother and his fiancé. Before arriving home for Christmas. And instead I was rushing through a sad little airport to get one of eight rental cars before people with working phones could snatch them up in the app.

What kind of lunacy was this? First thing first. Rent a car. Then buy a burner phone to call Will. Then…drive to a working airport? I couldn’t think that far ahead without my caffeine.

I found the line to the Cheap and Cheerful Car Rental before the blaring yellow sign came into view. There definitely was nothing cheerful about that line. Also, even if the travelers waiting not so patiently were four to a party, eight cars wouldn’t be enough to accommodate all those people. My chances of getting out of this place were getting dimmer than the fluorescent lights on the tile ceiling. In my desperation I thought to myself, “Surely one of these nice souls would have room for one more.” Then I thought about how my brother would react and tamped that down before the imaginary voice in my head could yell, “Stranger danger.” A businessman in an important looking suit glared angrily at his expensive looking watch then shot laser beams toward the front of the line where the clerk attended to a customer. Said customer was most assuredly thinking to himself. “Too bad, suckers. I got here first. Enjoy your lumpy oatmeal tomorrow morning.”

Or maybe it was a sweet