August 2015
"Why does the city look so dark and gloomy after coming back from a tropical getaway?" Halle Mendez asks rhetorically. She slaps her hand down on top of her large Away suitcase, a two hundred and fifty dollar bag, and sluggishly drags it off the rotating belt at Baggage Claim. Her long, toffee-colored hair is up in a messy bun, and both of our leggings and oversized t-shirts definitely make us look like your typical college students.
Only we're not college students. We're college grads.
I can't help but smile at the thought as Halle struggles to pick up her overpacked suitcase off the conveyer belt.
"Because everything is always much more drab when you return from an exotic island," I reply, helping her with her bag.
Damn, this thing is heavy. Why did she pack so much anyway? We basically just lounged around on the beach for the whole trip; Halle had a bikini for each day and several pairs of shoes and 'night out' dresses. I'm a much lighter packer; I lay things out that I think work well together, and then pack them by rolling them up and placing each coordinating outfit together in the suitcase. Halle says I'm a control-freak. I'd like to call it 'organized'.
"And it doesn't help that it's currently raining," I point out when we finally get the bag to the ground after forcefully pulling at it. I look behind me back towards the belt, and can see my red luggage coming around the bend. I move towards it, just double-checking that it has the small, golden ribbon I've tied around the handle. It's hard to see from the distance, but I'm sure there's a gold sliver of material wrapped around the handle.
Someone beats me to it however, and a large hand grabs it, almost flinging it from off the belt. The facial expression he wears seems a bit confused; his eyebrows furrow together as he glances down at my suitcase in disorientation.
"Um, hello? That's my luggage," I snap at him hurrying over to his location. He looks up at me, and his ocean blue eyes search mine before letting out an embarrassed chuckle.
He runs a hand through his golden hair, tousling it out of place so that it sticks up in different places. I resist the urge to laugh at him. He seems really tired.
"I'm so sorry," he apologizes upon my arrival. "I have the exact same bag, and I was wondering why it was a lot lighter than before." He hands me my bag, and takes a step back to grab his identical suitcase from off the belt. Although his eyes are bloodshot — a redeye flight will do that to you — his irises sparkle under the fluorescence of the airport lighting and I can't help but mentally acknowledge how good looking he is. He smiles kindly at me, but I'm not exactly the best at making friends.
"It's fine. There're just important things in here," I respond coolly. His gaze travels down to my hand, which is wrapped firmly around the handle of my luggage. You can't be too careful at Hartsfield-Jackson. A lot of luggage goes missing here.
A small smirk lifts the corner of his mouth up. "What? Didn't want anyone stealing your smuggled drugs?"
I roll my eyes at him with a smile. "Yeah. Something like that."
"Where are you coming from? Jamaica?" He jokes. He tries to transfer some of his weight onto his suitcase, but the bag ends up tipping over and he stumbles a little, his luggage falling to the ground with a loud thump. He looks up at me as he stoops down to pick it up, embarrassed, his cheeks turning a deep red.
"Barbados actually," I laugh, not able to contain it any longer. He's really handsome, and a little clumsy. But I think it's charming. "Is this home? Or are you just visiting?" I make conversation with the lean, and slightly muscular man. He's not too big, but a perfect size for his height.
"My family is actually from Kansas City. I was visiting them over the summer before I officially become a permanent resident of the great state of Georgia," he replies quite sarcastically.
I give him a wry smile, and raise an eyebrow up at him. "You don't like it here?" I ask him, amused.
He smirks at me. "Still getting used to it," he starts. "Although I don't really understand when people say 'bless your heart' to me after I tell them where I'm from."
I place a hand over my mouth, and fake cough to stifle a giggle.
His eyebrow raises up in question.
"It's an endearing term, but it really depends on what context they used it in. How was the sentence phrased?" I probe, clearly enjoying myself.
"Something like 'oh you've never had real barbecue because you're from the Midwest, bless your heart'." His impression of the typical southern woman is so spot on, that I literally laugh out loud.
He laughs with me, and I bite down on my bottom lip to hide the wide smile that I can't seem to shake.
"Yeah, she was insulting your heritage," I explain to him, and he chuckles again.
"I figured that much."
"Vanessa! Let's gooooo," Halle complains from her place by the automatic doors. I glance behind me, and then back to the tall, lean man in front of me.
"I'd better go, my friend is waiting." I don't know why my tone sounds full of regret.
He smiles again, and then issues a small nod as I turn to head back towards Halle. I don't look back at him as I'm walking away, but can feel his lingering gaze following me.
"One sec," I say to Halle when I reach her, and dig into my carry-on bag for my new, shiny business card. I stare at it for a second, reading the impressive words that were printed on it just a few short weeks ago:
Vanessa Lippel
Junior Graphic Designer
Blue Sky Advertising Agency
And then on the back it lists my email address and personal phone number. I walk swiftly back to the handsome, blonde man, but not too quickly that he thinks I'm over exuberant.
"Here," I breathe when I reach him again. I hand him my new business card, feeling proud enough of my accomplishments that I have the confidence to give my number to some random stranger.
Hopefully he doesn't murder me.
His expression is soft, and he takes a glimpse at the small piece of cardstock as he briefly reads over my information.
"Vanessa," he says with a grin, and I nod once at him.
Why do I still have this goofy smile on my face? Stop Vanessa. You look like a creeper.
"Jeremiah," he greets, extending a hand towards me out of courtesy. I wrap my hand around his, and try to ignore the waves of heat that travel through my entire body from the warmth of his touch.
***
"So, another date with blue-eyed blondie?" Halle teases from her seat on our navy sectional. She's eating a bowl of chocolate ice cream and watching the Kardashians. I've always hated reality television, but Halle somehow has gotten me wrapped up in the lives of these privileged white girls. I think she just finds it amusing to make fun of them while also admiring their wealth.
"Yes, I really like him Hal," I say to her, urging her to play nice. She and Jeremiah haven't exactly gotten along that well, and although we've only been dating for a couple of months, I'm hoping that eventually they'll warm up to each other.
"Don't forget to use a condom!" She shouts as I close the door behind me.
My best friend, Halle Mendez, everyone.
[ ]
Please VOTE ⭐️ if you're enjoying my story so far! Continue on to see what happens next!
Note: I know that international and domestic flights have separate baggage claim areas, just use your imagination with me here lol
YOU ARE READING
For A Reason
ChickLit"I just thought..." I begin, flustered, not really sure where my words are headed. He shakes his head. "We can't," he states, removing my hand from his. "There are a million reasons why we can't." He runs a hand through his hair, seemingly frustrate...
