Two Weeks Together
When I stepped out of the airport, the humid afternoon air wrapped around me like a damp blanket. Travelers rushed past with rolling suitcases rattling over the pavement while headlights flashed in long, restless lines along the pickup lane. Near the curb stood a sharply dressed older gentleman holding a white sign above the crowd. MR. & MRS. DYLAN EDWARD The sight of it made a smile tug at my lips. Fancy. Dramatic. Very Dylan. I lowered my head slightly and walked right past him without a word, pretending not to notice. The poor man scanned every passing couple while I slipped toward the taxi stand, amused at the confusion I’d probably caused. Twenty-five minutes later, the cab pulled up outside The Sheraton Waikiki Beach Resort. Water from the fountain shimmered beneath golden lights
- Writer
