Gabriella
Holding my breath, I entered the airplane that would take me on the first leg of my journey back to Indianapolis. My muscles were sore in the best of ways—in ways they hadn't been sore in too long. My eyes were focused down the aisle, rolling my carry-on through first class. My palm slipped on the handle and the temperature inside the vessel seemed overly warm. I'd avoided the gate until I couldn't any longer. I didn't know if Damien would be on the same flight. This one had a layover. Nevertheless, I wasn't taking any chances.
I vaguely remembered Donovan Sherman saying something to Damien about coffee this morning. That was why I settled on room service. My avoidance had started early. Then I spent the early afternoon, hiding in plain sight. Not difficult to do in an airport
