This was it.
This had been my only requirement which Madeline (said best friend and slave driver) didn’t understand. No matter we’d been friends for almost two decades, she still didn’t ‘get me.’ She didn’t understand my pathological need to be alone after months of belonging to other people.
I’d agreed to eight singing venues; I’d bowed to her every whim of newspaper interviews, blogger podcasts, and high-society power dinners. But I’d stood firm on two things.
Number one: I refused to share a hotel room with her. I loved her but after monopolising my time eighteen hours a day, I needed an empty space. It was my recharge station after others drained me dry.
Number two: I wanted to travel back on my own.
Alone.
Just me.
For seventy-two days, she’d tried to convince me to amend my itinerary and celebrate with her in Bora Bora. In her mind, the money pouring in from endorsements and a newly signed record deal meant we should live large. In my mind, I should save every penny, because, as fast as luck had shined on me, it could eclipse me just as quickly.
Look at how swiftly death had visited when supposed perfection reigned.
I hadn’t budged—no matter how hard she moaned—and here I was.
A single person in a whitewash of crowds and mayhem.
Slamming to a stop, I narrowly avoided a bulldozer conveniently dressed as a man. He charged past, sweaty and swearing, obviously late for his flight.
Not me.
I had plenty of time to meander through security, grab a coffee, read my book, and then slip quietly onto the plane to unwind on my journey home.
I sighed in bliss.
Feeling much happier, I dragged my suitcase to the Fiji Airways check-in desk. They’d been the best value in ticket prices when I’d booked from Sydney three months ago. The aircraft had been clean and staff attentive. And the fact that the service had been half-full made me happy. Fingers crossed they’d be quiet on the way back, too.
There wasn’t a line, which made my day even brighter.
“Hello, Miss?” The elderly gentleman waved me toward the first class check-in, even though I wasn’t first class. “I can check you in over here if you’d like.”
I’m going home.
I smiled as genuine joy and relaxation fluttered. Carting my heavy suitcase to his counter, I fumbled in my handbag for my documentation. “Thank you.”
He grinned, tapping a pen on the keyboard. “Don’t mention it. Happens I don’t like being bored and you’re the first one to check in. I’m assuming you’re on the service flying to Nadi?”
I managed to yank my passport and ticket from my overstuffed handbag without turfing out every other item and handed it over. “That’s right.”
The man eyed my paperwork. “Going onward to Sydney from there?”
“Yes.”
His blue eyes warmed. “Been there myself. Great place.”
“Yes, it is.”
Small talk...once again, I sucked at it.
I’d adored every minute of meeting my agent and recording manager in New York—doing my best to chat about important things. And now, knowing I was only two plane rides away from my own bed made my willingness to engage with strangers more bearable.
“I’m dying to get back to the Northern Beaches. That’s where I’m from.”
The guy beamed, treating me like his new best friend. “It’s a special existence having the ocean so close. I live in Venice Beach and there’s something about waking up and seeing an empty horizon that helps balance city life.” Pointing at the scales, he said, “If you can put your luggage there, I’ll get you sorted.”
I placed my weighty suitcase—full of gifts from aspiring songwriters and appreciative listeners—onto the scales. At the same time, I subtly shoved my carry-on behind the counter where he wouldn’t see. Most of the heavier stuff was in there.
Glancing at the scales, his eyes crinkled. “Glad to see you’re under the maximum weight.”
“Me too.” I laughed softly.
That had been another argument with Madi. She couldn’t understand why, after the success of the tour, I hadn’t upgraded my economy class ticket for business. She’d shaken her head as if I were a freak for not spending my new wealth. But I couldn’t. It didn’t seem real. If I was honest, it didn’t feel like I’d earned it.
I’d made it doing something I loved. Weren’t you supposed to scrimp and slave in a job you hated to save up as much as I’d made in the past year?
Either way, I wouldn’t waste a penny. Economy class was good enough for me—just like it had been for the past twenty-five years of my life.
Tapping on his keyboard, Mark, according to his nametag, said, “Your bag will go all the way through to Sydney, so you don’t have to worry about it in Fiji.”
“Great. That’s good to know.”
He focused on his computer screen. His smile slowly morphed into confusion. “Eh, are you sure you have the right day?”
“Yes.” Nerves quivered in my belly. “I’m one of those people who has to check a bazillion times. I even woke up three times last night to make sure I read the time as a.m. and not p.m. I’m very sure.”
He looked up. “You don’t have a reservation, I’m afraid.”
“What?”
He pointed at the screen I couldn’t see. “It says here your ticket was cancelled.”