Page 42 of SnowBound

“It’s my flight. I gotta go. Now,” Abby said in a strangled voice. “I’m sorry.”

She stepped back, and we stared at each other for a long beat, neither of us brave enough to say goodbye out loud. Because it would sound like finality. And I didn’t want to remind myself it was over. Perhaps I could get her contacts, stay in touch, find a way to see her again. My chest swelled with possibilities.

“Abby—”

She pressed a finger to my lips, silencing me. “Thanks for making me feel special all night, Andy. And if you were my man, I would kiss you all the time. No promises, okay? We agreed it would be one night of magic. Only one. It would hurt too much if we made promises to keep in touch and couldn’t keep them.” More tears pooled in her eyes, and she flipped her bag over her shoulder, her fingers locked with mine until we were too far apart to touch any longer. With one last look at me over her shoulder and a blown kiss, she disappeared, and I stood there, feeling helpless, my heart broken for a girl I barely knew.

I unfroze, and without thinking, I ran after her. Our story couldn’t end like this. Whatever she said, we could fight for more. We could at least try.

I followed her steps. My heart plummeted down my chest. I was too late. The gate had closed behind her.

I tugged at my hair until the roots burned. I was too fucking late. I lost her. Forever. “I’m sorry, Abby. I should have asked for your full name when I had a chance,” I said to myself, stuffing my hands in my jeans, my feet nailed to the floor as I watched her plane fly away, taking a piece of my heart with her.

A fat tear leaked from my eyes. I had no memory of ever crying over a girl. And no memory of the last time I did shed tears just because. But something told me I would regret not holding on to her.

I shook my head.

This didn’t make sense.

It was just a holiday hookup. Nothing more.

I should put it behind me and forget all about it. That was the sensible thing to do. Regrets would lead me nowhere. And I couldn’t spend my time pining over a one-night fling.

On a chair, waiting for my own plane to take off, my guitar in hand, I wrote a song for the girl I would never see again.