Example of an Airport Meet Cute

The delay was three hours. Then four. The gate area had devolved into a refugee camp of laptop chargers and neck pillows and people FaceTiming too loudly. She was sitting on the floor next to the only working outlet, back against the wall, eating pretzels that tasted like cardboard. "Is this outlet taken?" He gestured at the second plug. Tall. Glasses. A carry-on that looked like it had been to every continent. A boarding pass sticking out of a book she'd just finished last week. "It's all yours." He sat down beside her. Plugged in his phone. Opened the book. She watched him read for approximately ninety seconds before the question won. "How far are you?" He looked up. "Chapter twelve. Don't spoil it." "I won't. But chapter fourteen is going to wreck you." "In a good way?" "In a 'you'll miss your boarding call because you can't stop reading' way." He smiled. It was a quiet smile — the kind that lived mostly in the eyes. "Where are you headed?" "Denver. If the plane ever materializes." "Portland. Same problem." "Different cities. Same purgatory." He laughed. She offered him a pretzel. He took it. They sat on an airport floor eating terrible pretzels and talking about books, and then about cities, and then about the particular loneliness of traveling alone, and then about things that strangers don't usually tell each other — like the fact that she was flying to Denver to start over, and he was flying to Portland because he'd already tried. Two hours passed like twenty minutes. "They just called Portland," she said. She didn't know why her chest felt tight. He looked at the gate board. Looked at her. "I don't want to get on that plane." "You have to get on the plane." "I know." He pulled out his boarding pass. Wrote his number on the back. Handed it to her. His handwriting was small and careful. "In case you ever need someone to talk about chapter fourteen with." "We live in different cities." "Phones work in different cities." "This is insane. We met an hour ago." "Two hours. And those were the best two hours I've had in a long time." Final boarding call, Portland. The gate agent's voice was firm. He stood. Shouldered his bag. Looked down at her on the floor. "Call me when you land," he said. "Or don't. But I hope you do." He walked to the gate. She watched him go. She looked at the number on the boarding pass. She looked at the gate. She saved the number before the pretzel salt smudged the ink. She called him from Denver. He picked up on the first ring.

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