Fanfare by Renee Ahdieh

rough fibers, I noticed a small glow in the foyer.
    It was extremely faint.
    I did not have the strength to investigate it further.
    Chapter Seven
    I exhaled another metered breath of anticipation as I circled slowly past the Arrival gates at Charlotte/Douglas International Airport.
    I was looking for a man in a grey sweatshirt and dark jeans with polarized sunglasses and a blue baseball cap. He was roughly six feet tall and slender, with unkempt hair.
    I perused carefully through the crowded mass of people waiting outside to be picked up. It was incredibly important that we move quickly and not draw any unnecessary attention to ourselves.
    Soon, I saw my target breeze through the sliding glass doors towing a small rolling suitcase behind him. He moved fast and hunched his head towards the pavement in an effort to hide as much of his face as possible. The hood of his sweatshirt lay bunched against his neck to assist in this endeavor. He glanced quickly upward through the line of cars, refusing to pause for even a moment. He saw me in my Civic and shifted his trajectory in one smooth movement. Wordlessly, I popped open my trunk, and he tossed his suitcase into it. In less than thirty seconds, he had slid into the passenger seat of my car, and I pulled away from the curb.
    As we sped down the exit ramp towards Billy Graham Parkway, I turned to face my silent passenger. He pulled the sunglasses off his face and grinned at me with unabashed glee.
    “I think we may actually get away with this!” he murmured in disbelief.
    Without warning, he reached over and yanked me into a bear hug.
    The car swerved in its lane as I reacted to the electrified shock of his touch and the scent of his skin assailing my senses. His hands burned on my arms, and he smelled like a combination of sandalwood and maple syrup. I had to stop myself from inhaling deeply.
    “Would you quit it! I want to make it back alive!” I teased as I elbowed out of his embrace with a playful swipe.
    “I’m used to flirting with death when you’re driving, remember?” he responded.
    “Hah! I’m not the one who got pulled over by the cops at one in the morning last week!”
    He groaned. “Don’t remind me. It’s a good thing I didn’t actually drink anything that night.”
    I laughed. “What a lame reason to be pulled over too! Forgetting to turn on your headlights? Who does that?”
    He mock punched my arm. “I already heard an earful of that from you last Friday. It’s getting old, Cris.”
    “Not to me. Plus, you only heard an earful because you woke me up at four in the morning to relate the tale of being forced to take a Breathalyzer test. By the way, if you ever wake me up that late again, I will end you.”
    “I guess a lot of people leaving parties in Hollywood after midnight are usually smashed. I didn’t think you would actually wake up and answer the phone. I thought it would be a funny message for you in the morning. Most people don’t answer their phone in the middle of the night!” he responded without missing a beat.
    I didn’t reply as I chewed on my lower lip thoughtfully. The reason I had picked up the phone at four in the morning was simple: I couldn’t wait to hear his voice. Ugh.
    The hole I started digging for myself one blasted text message at a time grew rapidly in both size and capacity.
    “What are you thinking about?” he demanded softly.
    I shook my head to prevent a pensive cloud from noticeably settling on my disposition, then aimed a carefully constructed smile filled with carefree radiance at Tom.
    He stared back at me with an appraising look on his face. “You’re not fooling me,” he murmured.
    “Damn.” I sighed. It was alarming how Tom could read me so well. “I guess I’m just a little nervous,” I admitted in a small voice. It was true, even if I didn’t actually answer his initial question.
    “I am, too. But it gets easier each time I see you.”
    Must change the direction of the conversation . . .