Megan Hart - Layover

Sometimes he commented on what she had to say. Sometimes he didn’t. Julia checked his page often, reading his infrequent but always dryly humorous blog entries and unashamedly looking at the photos he posted of trips and holidays. Sometimes she didn’t comment to him and sometimes she did, but eventually their semi-occasional-casual blog replies had turned into a semi-occasional-casual instant message.

And then, more than that.

They chatted online more days than they didn’t, though it was all still mostly bland and friendly and eventually, Julia began to think the heat between them had been in her imagination. It had to be, didn’t it? Because Graham, for all his following her on Twitter and forwarding her LOLcats, never said anything that could possibly be considered flirtatious.

At least until they’d talked about cake.

She’d written about diets and self-discipline and the seduction of chocolate cake. She’d been thinking about sex when she wrote it, about how it seemed she always wanted what was bad for her the way she always wanted chocolate cake rather than a piece of fruit. She wanted long nights and red flags instead of fields of flowers and poetry, and what kind of woman wanted that?

There’s nothing wrong with knowing what you want and having it, Graham had replied.

As in having my cake and eating it too?

As in a woman who knows what she wants and takes it instead of worrying about whether it’s good for her or not is sexy.

The conversation had veered away after that, but Julia had thought a lot about Graham’s words over the past few months. She’d known what she wanted for a long time, but taking it was something else entirely. She’d tried, in the past, but it was hard finding men who weren’t intimidated by a strong woman.

And now here she was in a Texas airport, her flight cancelled and an undetermined layover trapping her here, and who was the only person in the entire world she knew who lived in Texas?

Graham Tremaine.

Who was, she saw, with a jolt of anticipation, online right now.

Maybe it was the extra-large cup of coffee she’d consumed while waiting to find out if she’d make the next leg of her trip home. Maybe it was the devil-may-care attitude that seemed to have taken over many of the travelers whose flights were being canceled due to the horrible weather back East and were looking at spending the night camped out on the airport floor. Or maybe it was something as simple as the long, lonely passage of time and the anonymity of the Internet that made it possible for her to take the step she’d been unable to make when faced with it in person.

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