Regret set in as soon as Helena turned the corner out of sight. She was being silly of course. A handsome stranger offers her a coffee, to be polite, and she swoons. Her mother was right: she needed to get out more. Besides, he wasn't that handsome. Okay, maybe he was. But he was probably full of himself. Yes, way too confident, she reassured herself.
She attempted to be cheerful as she stepped out onto the shuttle bus pick-up. She just needed a few hours of sleep to set her straight. She glanced around the bus stop. It was completely vacant, save a rumpled old man sitting on the solitary bench. He glanced her way. Out of habit, she gave him a friendly smile. He took a long pull on his cigarette and turned away. New York City was certainly a far cry from sunny, friendly L.A., she thought. She was sure she would grow to love it...eventually. As if on cue, a gust of wind plastered her dress to her body, and raindrops began pelting her face. She pulled her sweater tighter and waited for the shuttle to arrive.
Fortunately, she would not have to wait long. In a few minutes, she saw the headlights of a bus turning the corner. The huge mammoth of an automobile pulled up alongside the curb and Helena clambered in, carting her weighty sack of books.
New rule of travel: paperback only, she promised herself.
The driver looked her up and down with a frown. She looked away quickly and scanned the bus for an empty seat. It was dark inside the shuttle, and all she could distinguish were the shadowy outlines of a few passengers. She'd gone halfway down the aisle when she heard the driver shout something after her in a heavy accent. Taken off guard, she spun around, nearly knocking a man in the head with her carry-on bag. Again.
"Excuse me?" she asked politely.
The driver repeated himself in the same unintelligible accent, only more loudly. Helena hesitated a moment, unsure what to do.
"I'm sorry," she said finally. "I didn't understand you."
The man grew irritable and shouted at her again. Helena thought she had heard the words, "Runway Inn", but the rest was a string of garble. They had still not left the bus stop, as if the driver were awaiting something from her.
"I think he's trying to say the Runway Inn is full," someone from the back of the bus offered helpfully.
"But I have a voucher!" Helena tried to explain.
The bus driver unsnapped his seatbelt and stood up, gesticulating emphatically.
"I think he wants you to get off the bus," whispered an old woman seated nearby.
Helena could not believe this was happening. She was being verbally abused by a linguistically challenged bus driver. Of course, she supposed this was a rather unexceptional occurrence in New York City. But why would the airline have issued her a voucher for a hotel that was full? She wondered vaguely if all the passengers ahead of her in that line were not resting peacefully in their beds at the Runway Inn. Or maybe they were being beaten up and mugged, judging from the picture on the pamphlet.
Meanwhile, the rest of the passengers were so impatient to be on their way, they were ready to shove her out the emergency door. Helena felt as if she were being voted off the island in one of those ridiculous reality TV shows.
With a sigh of frustration, she gathered up her things and stepped back out onto the curb. The bus took off immediately. The chilly air bit through the thin fabric of her dress, and the angry rain pellets stung her cheeks as she watched the bus disappear down the road.
Thoroughly irritated, she trudged back into the terminal and called the phone number on the back of the Runway Inn pamphlet. A cheerful hotel clerk picked up on the other end and offered her assistance. Yes, the hotel was booked. No, it did not matter that she had a voucher. On behalf of the Runway Inn, she sincerely regretted the hellacious night Helena would spend fighting bag ladies over the only cushioned bench in the terminal lobby. In conclusion, the helpful employee wished her a pleasant evening.
Helena hung up and stood there for a moment, listless. She had no choice now. She was going to have to stay the night in the airport, alone. Then she recalled the handsome stranger in the terminal, and her face illuminated. She was going to get to stay the night in the airport, alone...with a handsome stranger she'd not ceased to think about since she'd left him.
She headed back toward the terminal with a new spring in her step. She was going to see...what was his name? She'd forgotten to catch that, she thought sheepishly, but now she had a second chance. She smiled a silly, happy smile...
She reached security and her optimism took a nosedive. A big sign was mounted above a barrier of red, velvety rope: SECURITY IS CLOSED.
Helena noticed a night guard arguing with a harried looking woman laden with baggage.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but security is closed for the evening," he explained, growing impatient.
"Officer, please," the woman interrupted, trying to conceal her frustration. "I was just in there fifteen minutes ago..."
"Security's closed until tomorrow morning, 5 a.m.," he interrupted curtly. "You can come back then."
Helena was standing right behind the woman now, and she sensed the woman growing more and more exasperated. Helena waited to see how the situation would play out. Perhaps this woman would be able to convince the night guard to let them back in. Helena clung to the hope.
"Listen," the woman was saying, "I missed my flight. I only left because they gave me a voucher for a hotel, but then there weren't any rooms..."
This was sounding strangely familiar.
"...and the shuttle bus driver kicked me off the bus—"
"Listen, lady," the guard cut in. "We've all got a sob story to tell. That doesn't change the face that," he pronounced very slowly, as if she were some kind of moron, "SECURITY...IS...CLOSED."
The woman stood there a moment, reluctant to give up. Finally, with a huff, she turned away and headed toward the lobby doors. Helena looked back after her with sympathy. She could honestly say she knew exactly how she felt.
Helena let out a sigh and began to turn away as well.
"Sorry about that," the guard said with a smile.
Helena spun around. Was he talking to her?
"These people think they have the run of the place don't they?" he said as he opened the divider belt to let her through. "Have a good night."
Helena stood there for a moment, uncomprehending.
The guard smiled. "Go ahead."
Still not understanding why she should be the object of this special treatment, she decided not to argue. She went through the divider, breezed past the metal detectors and made it all the way around the corner before she finally got it. She gasped and stopped dead in her tracks.
The security badge! Goodness, she'd completely forgotten she was wearing it. She picked it up and stared at it in disbelief. He'd thought she was an airport security guard. A ripple of panic coursed through her stomach. She'd just committed a federal offense! Evasion... or trespassing...or terrorism...the lawyer guy from the airport would probably know. But she hadn't meant to! She wondered if she should go back. But what if she got in trouble? They would probably take her to some little interrogation room and accuse her of trying to blow up the place. Maybe it would be wiser to just let it be. The guard suspected nothing. And who else would know?
Helena hesitated another moment, then decided to keep going. Subconsciously, she ran a finger over the badge at her chest. Apparently the gift from her handsome stranger was a good luck charm.
A short distance away, she spotted the young man sitting in his seat reading his newspaper. Helena held her breath. Would he be happy to see her, or indifferent?
At the sound of her shoes clicking against the floor, he glanced up from his reading. He stared for a second, as if he couldn't believe his eyes, then shot up from his seat.
"You're back." From the look in his eyes, Helena was reassured. That was definitely not indifference.
She recounted the events of the past half hour. He was infuriated by her treatment from the shuttle bus driver. He was about to storm the airline help desk and demand the driver's name, but Helena was thankfully able to stop him. Then she told him how she got past security, and his mood lightened.
"Evading transportation security officials with false identifying documents?" he teased in his insolent Bronx accent. He looked her up and down. "I would never have guessed you were the type."
Helena rolled her eyes with exasperation. "I didn't realize at first why he was letting me through! It was all because of this badge you put around my neck."
"Well, I can't pretend to regret it," he said quietly. His eyes settled on her for a moment. Butterflies fluttered through Helena's stomach and she couldn't find anything to say.
"Rest assured, though," he said, breaking the silence. "If you're indicted for federal crimes, I'll represent you." "Pro bono?" Helena asked.
"Well, we can get into the details later. My people will call your people..."
Helena grinned. "I'll be reading the fine print, though, Mr...."
"Eros," he said with his impish grin. "Jason Eros."
The rest of the night flew by like a dream: Eros' puckish laugher, his endless teasing, his hand accidentally brushing against hers, subtle flirtations, early morning bagel run, last call flight 59 to Dulles, Washington, lingering good-byes at the gate, settling for a handshake, a long, dark trench coat vanishing around the corner...the most intriguing man she had ever met out of her life forever.
...You can find Garden of Nymphs on Amazon, as well as the next two books in the Helena Thessaylia series: Hiatus and Gold in the Dust.
https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=garden+of+nymphs+julie+arnold
Thanks for reading!
Julie