“I finally slept with him two nights ago, and I really messed things up, and I just adore him and he’s leaving for Belize for twelve weeks, and I told him something that really hurt him, and I just can’t let him leave without telling him something else: that I actually lo— And, well . . . that’s when you stopped me with your wand.”

“Uh-huh.” She nodded, looking me over carefully, then said into her walkie-talkie that she was escorting someone to checkpoint C.

I looked at her warily. “Is that bad? Is checkpoint C where you take—”

“Just walk with me, sweetie,” she said, rolling her eyes.

We approached the glass wall, Lucas following on his side, still looking confused, and we walked along the edge until we came to the baggage claim area—where people could walk out, but not in.

There was another agent sitting there, and she stood up when we walked over.

“Stephanie, why don’t you take your break,” my agent said. “I’ve got this for a while.”

The other agent nodded and ambled off.

Settling herself behind the podium, Monica spotted Lucas waiting on the other side, backpack in hand, looking very worried.

“Hey, Louis! C’mere! Your girl wants to talk to you,” she shouted, waving him over.

When he arrived, she said, “Okay, Louis, this girl wants to talk to you bad enough she almost committed a federal crime to do it. Although now that I get a look at you, I can almost understand,” she said, appraising him. Turning to me, she said, “What’s your name, sweetie?”

“Chloe. Chloe Patterson.”

“Uh-huh. I’ll remember that. Okay, Chloe Patterson. Hit it.”

I started to walk forward, and she raised her hand. “Don’t make me get my mace out. Without a boarding pass, you can’t go past this line.” She pointed to the red line on the linoleum floor.

“Chloe, what the hell’s going on?” Lucas asked.

I walked up to the line, keeping my toes just on it, and when my TSA agent nodded, I took a deep breath.

“I’m so sorry to do this right before your trip. And I’m so sorry to have been such an idiot the other morning, after we . . . well . . . after that amazing night.”

“Chloe, I—”

“No no, let me say this.”

“Let her say this, Louis,” Monica said.

We both looked sideways at her, then I pressed on. “I don’t want to be your rebound.”

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding—”

“Louis!” she yelled, and he held up his hands.

“The other night was incredible, and I want every night to be like that. You’re sweet and kind and wonderful and funny and you let me eat pudding. Which I need to stop doing, because I almost couldn’t run through this airport.”

He just stood there, jaw clenching. But he was listening, so I rushed forward.

“And I don’t care that you’re leaving for twelve weeks, but I want to be here waiting for you when you come back. And I don’t want you meeting any pretty young veterinarians down there just because I didn’t tell you what I should have told you before.”

I looked at my TSA agent for courage, and she nodded.

I took a deep breath and looked into those gorgeous blue eyes. “I don’t want to be your rebound. I just want to be yours. And I’m so, so sorry for not telling you sooner about the way that I left Charles. I should have and it was stupid of me not to. I lied to you and I hate that I hurt you, when that’s the last thing you deserve. Because you—” My breath caught, and my throat got tight. “You’re it for me.” Then I crunched my eyes closed, because I couldn’t bear to look at him anymore. Because if he didn’t want me to be his . . .

“Chloe,” he said, and I opened one eye.

“I . . .” I held my breath. “Can’t.”

I opened the other eye, not entirely sure what he’d just said.

“I just can’t do this.” He shook his head. “I appreciate you coming down here, really I do. But I just can’t have another woman lying to me again. I’m sorry.”

And as they called his flight, final boarding, he gave me a thin sorry smile, and ran for his plane.

“But, I came to the airport,” I said, mostly to myself.

“What did you lie to him about?” Monica asked.

“Just one thing, but it was a big thing.” I sighed, wrapping my arms around myself. I can’t believe he was leaving. I thought for sure if I poured my heart out, he’d . . . he’d . . .

“You thought if you came down here and spilled your guts and apologized, he’d sweep you off your feet and kiss you stupid?”

“Something like that,” I admitted, not seeing even a flash of red hair in the crowd. He was well and truly gone.

“You’ve been watching too many romantic comedies,” Monica said. “Come back in twelve weeks. Maybe he’ll have cooled down by then.”

“Thanks,” I said, turning to leave.

“And Chloe Patterson?” she called, and I looked over my shoulder. “You ever try something like this again, and I’m going to redline you. You don’t want that, believe me.”

I nodded, my head feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds, and headed back toward the ticketing area. Where Dr. Campbell senior was waiting for me.

“Well, that was embarrassing,” he offered.