The Life That Mattered (Life #1)(90)

My good friend Jane’s getting married in Perth, Australia. My first time there, and I couldn’t be more excited.

I had two best friends until I met Jane in college. She informed me “best” is singular. There can only be one best friend. Did I mention she made this announcement in front of those two best friends?

Thankfully, at the time, all parties were deliriously tipsy in celebration of my twenty-first birthday. No feelings were hurt when I declared Avril as my best friend, since we had been friends from the first day of third grade. Erin took second place as my better friend. Avril and I befriended Erin in high school. Then the three of us met Jane in college—University of Iowa, pre-law.

Good. Better. Best.

Jane slid into my last available friend slot. The “good” friend.

After a delayed flight from Chicago, I arrived at LAX and now wait to take a later flight to Sydney, where I’ll catch another plane to Perth for Good Friend Jane’s wedding.

I haven’t seen Jane in two years. She traveled to Australia for a three-week vacation, met a guy, and stayed two years. I get letters … paper letters from her. She claims she has a cell phone and a computer but only uses it for work. I have a landline number for her.

A landline!

Good Friend Jane thinks the Internet is the beginning of the end of the world.

“Is this seat taken?” A dirty-blond man in a disheveled blue plaid suit blows his shaggy hair off his forehead.

“Nope. My bag can go on the floor.” I move my handbag between my feet, giving the man a smile.

He attempts to return the smile, but it sags like a flat tire stuck to his scruffy face. My gaze slides along his … situation. That’s what I’d call him. A situation. A complete disaster. Only sleeping in a suit could impart that many wrinkles. I’m pretty sure the brown splattering on his lavender, partially unbuttoned shirt is coffee, and the smudge on his eggplant tie resembles mustard. I’m not sure why he’s wearing the tie. It’s loose enough to fit over the head of a rhinoceros.

“Rough day?” I release a tiny chuckle, attempting to be friendly but not nosy. Honestly, I don’t even know why I asked that question. I made a similar mistake in Chicago, and a guy, probably twice my age, talked my ear clean off the side of my head. Scruffy’s gaze meets mine, catching me observing (really judging) his appearance as he folds his tall body into the chair.

He makes his own visual assessment of me. I think I still look put together. That will not be the case after my twenty-six-hour flight to Perth.

He has beautiful amber eyes and sharp features. A mess, but a handsome mess. My cheeks fill with heat as his gaze sluggishly makes its way from my white Adidas shoes, along my high-waisted denim carpenter jeans, over my black Aerosmith fitted tee, pausing on my face just long enough to make his own decision on my eye color (blue or slate). I cling to blue. Who wants gray eyes?

He observes me tucking my black, chin-length hair behind my ears. I dried it straight for the flight, but most days I add a few curls to give it attitude like me in a courtroom.

“Rough several days,” he says on a sigh, meeting my gaze once again. I think his sluggishly slow assessment has less to do with appreciating anything about my body and more to do with lack of sleep.

“Sorry. Hope things get better for you soon.”

“Thanks.” He drops his backpack at his feet and scoots down in the chair, running both hands through his hair as he tilts his head back. “It’s really my own fault. I’ve willingly been bumped from one flight to the next. I’ve earned several round-trip tickets to anywhere in the world, along with two thousand in cash. Just playing the plane game.”

“A travel hacker.” I scroll through my e-mail.

He chuckles, eyes closed. “Not usually. No time for that. But I made time. I guess I’m in no hurry.”

“What’s that like?” I laugh.

“What’s what like?” He continues our conversation with his eyes closed.

“Not being in a hurry?”

“Make a date with the end of your life, and you’ll be in no hurry. I promise.”

I glance over at him, squinting as he peeks open one eye and smirks. “Don’t worry. I’m not dying.”

“Good to know.” I return my attention to my phone.

“So where are you headed? I’ve heard a lot of interesting stories over the past two days. What’s yours?”

“Wedding. Australia. It’s the fourth wedding I’ve attended in two months. I’m ready for wedding season to end.”

“Have you been to Australia?”

“No, but I’ve always wanted to go there. I had a koala bear obsession as a little girl.”

He grins. I catch it through the corner of my eye, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how much I like his smile.

“Have you had a wedding?”

I laugh again. “You mean am I married?”

“I don’t care if you’re married. Just asking if you’ve had a wedding.”

Resting my phone on my crossed legs, I turn my head to gage his level of true interest. He folds his hands on his chest over his loose noose tie, head canted toward me.

“I planned a wedding.”

“You’re a wedding planner?”

I shake my head. “I planned my wedding. The groom never showed up.”