Once she was comfortable, with the lights dim and another glass of wine in her hand . . . she dialed Glen’s number.

His hello made her smile.

Chapter Fifteen

Mary packed way too much for a weekend in the city, but she’d rather have too many options than not enough. And with Glen as her tour guide, who knew where they’d end up or what they’d be doing.

She Ubered to the airport and was met by one of Glen’s pilots, who took her bag and shuffled through security as if they were living pre-9/11.

On the plane, Mary used her time to catch up on some reading and take a nap. The sun set through the window at twentysomething thousand feet. She wasn’t sure how this had become her life . . . but she didn’t hate it. All that Catholic upbringing made her feel guilty, but she didn’t dare pinch herself for fear she was dreaming.

When the plane landed, Mary expected to be shuttled on to the hotel Glen told her he’d acquired for her. Instead, Glen stood at the bottom of the stairs descending from the plane with his hands in his pockets and the wind blowing his hair.

She jogged down the last few steps and tossed her arms around him. She tilted her head toward his and greeted him with a kiss.

“Well, hello to you, too.”

“I missed you. I probably shouldn’t tell you that, but I did.”

Glen kept an arm around her when the pilot exited the plane. “Thanks for getting her here safely, Freddy.”

The pilot placed her bag on the tarmac and shook Glen’s hand. “Anytime, Mr. Fairchild.”

“Thank you,” Mary added as Freddy started to walk away.

She tucked into Glen’s side and faced the wind. “I feel like I should tip them or something.”

Glen stumbled and started laughing. “Please don’t start something everyone else will have to follow.”

“But that was the fastest trip across the country I’ve ever had.”

“It’s the same amount of time in the air.”

“Yeah, but there was no security, the plane took off almost the second I got on board. People would fly more often if it was always that easy.”

Glen rolled her bag beside him as they walked off the tarmac and into the terminal.

Mary glanced around. “Wait, how did you get in here? I thought only ticketed passengers made it this far.”

He squeezed her shoulders with one arm around her. “Did you have a ticket?”

“Oh.” She hadn’t thought of that. “You live a crazy life, Glen.”

“Can’t argue that.” He kissed the top of her head, and if she wasn’t mistaken, sniffed her hair before standing tall. “I missed you, too.”

Glen drove a Land Rover.

The drive into Manhattan wasn’t bad. It helped that it was on the tail end of rush hour.

“We have a suite at The Morrison,” he told her.

“Shocking.” Dakota’s sarcasm was really rubbing off on her.

Glen grinned. “Have you met any of Monica’s family?”

“Just you and your brothers last Thanksgiving.”

He nodded and changed lanes . . . not that one did that in Manhattan so much as attempted suicide by moving the car over with a hand on the horn and one finger flying in the air. Glen managed without the finger.

“Once you’ve met the Morrisons, you’ll understand why you can’t stay at any other hotel if they have one where you’re going. Have you ever been to the South?”

“Not really. I don’t think the Florida conference last year is what you’re talking about.”

“No. I’m talking deep Texas. Georgia . . . the Carolinas?”

“Bucket list,” Mary told him. “I haven’t even been to Dakota’s hometown.” But then, up until this last year, Dakota had avoided it like fish avoid dry land.

“Hospitality. There is no other word for it. Every person I’ve met from the South is deeply offended if you don’t take them up on the offer of accommodations or a meal.”

“Are you sure they’re not just being polite?”

“Deeply offended.”

Mary always thought Dakota had been kidding about that Southern trait. “So if I took a trip to say . . . Seattle, and didn’t ask Monica to hook me up, she’d be offended?”

“Ah, no. Monica would completely understand. But after you meet her sister, Jessie, or more importantly Jessie’s extended family, the Morrisons . . . oh, yeah. Offended might be an understatement.”

“So I’m staying at The Morrison.”

He huffed out a laugh. “You catch on quick.”

The Morrison overlooked Central Park. The corner suite had a central living space complete with a living room, dining room, and kitchenette. Mary was drawn to the window the moment she walked through the door. “Wow! What a view.”

Glen rolled her bag into a separate bedroom. “You’re in here,” he told her.

She did a tiny spin and took in the sleek gray tones of the space. An expansive marble entry melted into a plush Berber carpet. The splash of color came from the dark plum sofa and accents on the dining room chairs. Three oval glass chandeliers illuminated the ceiling. It was modern and very New York. “Where’s your room?”

He pointed to a closed door on the other side of the living room. “Door locks on this side.”

“You’re very thoughtful.”

“I’m a thoughtful kinda guy. Now grab your purse, I’m starving.”