Just a Hair Stylist - Chris Evans story \\✔️

Chapter Fifty-six

It occurred to you, standing in line for your chance to check in for your flight to New York, that you had become ridiculously familiar with the layout of the Los Angeles International Airport. You had the sneaking suspicion that if you called the girl over at the ticket counter Emily, she would answer, even though there was no way of seeing her name tag from where you were. With an odd sense of satisfaction, you even gave directions to a weary looking mom of two small boys to find the Coffee Bean before her flight. Yeah, there's the distinct possibility, you might be spending a liiiittle too much time a the airport lately. You met up with a not surprisingly chipper Frank at the gate and chatted while you waited to board.

Your flight was on time and smooth. Considering everybody and their mother was trying to get out of JFK and into a cab for the city, you were happy to have the studio arrange a car and driver to pick up Frank and, vicariously, yourself. He pointed out some places that passed outside the window on your ride to the hotel. You smiled, pointing out the more Frank talked about New York the more New York came out in his accent. He didn't disagree and you certainly didn't have a problem with it.

You bummed around with Frank, while he checked into his room. When the man at the desk asked if you would be checking in as well, you explained you were waiting on someone else. He was happy to hold your luggage until your, ahem, "roommate" arrived. In the meantime, Frank offered for you to hang out with him to kill some time. You politely declined, saying you were dying for a late lunch, by your LA clock, and figured you'd take a walk to find something to eat. He told you to wait there and he'd go with you.

About fifteen minutes later, you and Frank were venturing down the busy evening streets of New York City's financial district. You caught a glimpse of the Freedom Tower, as you made your way a couple of blocks away from the hotel. You ended up at a sandwich shop over on Nassau Street. The narrow shop wasn't too crowded and you took your meal on bar stools at one of the small tables for two lined along the walls, gorging yourselves on oversized panini.

While you chewed on your mouthful of your Milano panini, Frank wiped a napkin at the corner of his mouth, asking, "You ready for all the back and forth comin' up?"

You nodded, until you could speak. "Pretty excited about it," you said. "It's gonna be crazy."

"You all squared away with your other job?" he wondered, going for another bite of his sandwich.

"All set," you assured him. "Just need to sit down with the boss and give her the dates I'll be out of town."

"How'd China go over?" Frank smirked, talking out of the side of his mouth.

"Surprisingly good," you told him, with a bob of your head. After a sip of your soda, you added, "I think she's pretty used to me disappearing at length, anymore."

"No, I meant with Evans," he chuckled his correction.

"Ohh," you tittered and shrugged at your misunderstanding. "Yeah, okay, I guess. He seemed a little bummed I'd be gone for my birthday."

"When is that?" he checked, his brow wrinkling in thought. "That July or August? You're a summer baby, right?"

"August," you confirmed. "The 15th."

"So, he's mad you're gonna be working," he understood. "What about you?"

"I'm actually okay with it," you smiled. "Wouldn't be the first time I'm not home for it. You guys can sing Happy Birthday to me in Mandarin."

Frank snorted, with a nod. "That might be doable," he suggested. "He'll get over it, right?"

"Oh, yeah," you assured him, with a confident scrunch of your nose. Because, of course he will...won't he? "We'll just do something when I get home. No big deal."