Loved Since Forever

Rachel - Present Day

Rachel put her AirPods into her ears as she sat at the airport in the first-class lounge. She looks down at the book in her Keep All that is beckoning for her to pick it up. Wuthering Heights, her comfort read, but alas, she couldn't bring herself to concentrate today, so instead, she got the New York Times, which is available in the airport lounge.

Let's see the state of my home country, she thinks as she reads the highlights.

The first-class lounge at the CanadaAir Terminal is not very busy. There's a bunch of businessmen and women in suits tapping away on their laptops, a young twenty-something, probably an entrepreneur or a crypto trader of sorts, staring at his phone. The first 45 times, first-class was spectacular, but you can only get so many free toiletries before the luster begins lacking. She notices from above her newspaper, there is a man that keeps staring at her from behind the barricade of his glasses.

Rachel looks at him briefly. He seems to be about 32-33, dressed in a red cashmere sweater and Tommy Hilfiger chinos. Barf. Not her type. She was relieved to see that at least his tennis shoes were a little dirty under the cuff of his pants. His tailored look had at least one flaw. She glanced back down at my newspaper which is now frozen on the same page.

Move, Rachel. Do SOMETHING.

She reached for the coffee cup, containing black coffee and attempted to go back to the solidarity of her reading. She glances back up at Mr. Red, he is still staring.

Do I have something on my face?

Rachel tends to dress as comfortably and professionally as possible while traveling, in case she has to network or meet someone important. It would be a wonder if this man is one of those people and he recognizes her. That would be unfortunate. Today's fit is a pair of tailored dark wash boot cut Levi's, Jimmy Choo boots, a white button-down from JCrew, and an olive green travel coat. She was always told that olive green was a good color for her skin tone. It brings out her light brown eyes or whatever.

It makes her a little uncomfortable to see there are men who stare at her. She feels less threatened when there are women staring, but still. Between the subtle panic and her poor attempt at focusing on the Times in front of her, she didn't notice that Mr. Red had left his lounger.

Oh finally! Good riddance to him! She thought, with a scoff.

She relapses back to the paper and reaches down at the almost depleted coffee for another sip.

I guess I need another cup.

She started to shuffle to stand when a hand with a new cup of coffee appeared. At the end of this arm was the face of Mr. Red.

"J'ai vu que tu n'avais plus de café (I saw you ran out of coffee.)", he said softly and handed her a new coffee.

Ohhh... French. Monsieur Rouge.

"J'ai été. Merci (I did. Thank you.)", Rachel replied.

He shuffled into the open chair across the coffee table.

"Comment saviez-vous que je le prends noir? (How did you know I take it black?)" she asked.

"J'ai vu quand tu es entré pour la première fois. (I saw you when you first came in.)"

Creepy, M. Rouge. Very Creepy.

This is embarrassing. The airport is not a good place to pick up women. He must think he can get some in the first-class lounge.

"Où vas-tu? (Where are you going?)" he asked.

"New York." She quickly replied, as if she had the answer ready to go. The quicker she cuts this conversation short, the quicker she can move on with her life.

"Moi aussi! (Me too!)" He said a little too enthusiastically and quite frankly, a little too loud. At this moment, she wishes she didn't reactively answer in French.

So stupid of me.

In retrospect, she should have pretended she didn't know French. Unfortunately, flying out of Quebec and living in Canada, you kind of need to know it.

M. Rouge wiped his mouth with his napkin after taking a sip of his coffee. Up close, he is a bit more handsome. Light brown hair, a decent enough stubble to be attractive, but no 5 o'clock shadow which means he shaved this morning. Rachel suspects he will need to go to a meeting as soon as the plane lands. In theory, this means that he will have to leave as soon as they touch down after this 4-hour flight.

"Qu'est-ce que tu fais à New York? (What's in New York?)" Rachel asks him. Curious about what he will do as soon as they land. She doesn't want any room for surprises.

"Mon enterprise devient publique. (My company went public.) Stock Exchange on Wall Street," he switches to English.

Not actually French.

Even most Quebecers even have a distinguishable accent, however, this man does not.

"Exciting", Rachel responds in English.

She still has yet to touch the coffee he brought over. She smells it deeply and takes a super small sip. She smiled politely at the man, saving face, and looks back down at her neglected reading.

"How about you?"

Looking back up at him, she says, "I am attending a publishing convention and hosting some seminars for new authors."

"Oh. You're a publisher? What kind of books has your company published? Anything I would recognize?" he asked.

As she was about to answer with some of our most notable novels, a woman's voice came over the intercom.

"All those flying to New York in first class can board the plane through gate 4A." Unfortunately, he made moves at the same time she did. They bumped chests and lingered for a minute too long.

Dang. This is a meet-cute straight out of a romance novel.

Rachel scoops up her Louis Vuitton Keep All and brings the barely touched coffee to the dish return.

"Thank you for the coffee, Mr...."

"Jason, just Jason," he said with a charming smile, reaching out his hand for a shake.

"Jason," she repeated and smiled.

"We should meet to get more coffee in New York." He was handing her an unlocked cell phone. She stared up at his face. He has brown trusting eyes and rugged features. She looked down at his hands for a ring or a tan line. Nothing. People their age rarely are single. She guesses his start-up has taken up most of his twenties. That's pretty typical to be successful. Rachel puts in her work number, that way Stephanie, her assistant, can answer instead of Rachel. She is more trusting of people but has a reliable sense of character judgment. She has been with Rachel for long enough to know if she would like this man long-term or not. She put her name in, Rachel Park.

"Rachel," he said, "beautiful name".

"Call me", she said, knowing that she won't answer, and knowing that it would be unlikely to ever meet Monsieur Rouge again.