Pure Connections

Prologue

      
JENNIE

       Christmas at the heart of summer was a bizarre concept.
      Then again, so was a fourteen-hour flight. How had no one already figured out a way to make teleportation a thing?
      "Your paloma, Ms. Kim."
      A tall glass emerged on the bar top, and Jennie glanced up at the bartender—his gruff tenor in perfect alignment with his bulky frame, bearded face, and the shades of gray streaking his blonde hair. He said her name with the same Aussie inflection that had grown on her in the last week. The last year, if anything.

      Although, she could count on one hand the number of times in their attempt at a relationship that Oli, her ex, had called her by her last name. She pushed the thought away—that was over and done with now—and she looked down at her drink.

      Her mouth watered at the vibrant pink-orange of the grapefruit and mint leaves submerged among the ice cubes, the colors muted by the heavy tint of her sunglasses. The whiff of tequila turned her stomach. Memories of yesterday pulsed behind her eyes—Bronte Beach, some guy's... Some woman's yacht party? Way too many shots.

      As if on cue, a machine hissed, drawing her gaze over her shoulder and across the room. She shook her head at herself.

      The AirNZ lounge in Sydney International had its own barista stand, and her go-to remedy for this beast of a hangover had been hair of the fucking dog?
     
      Go figure.

      A sigh escaped her lips as she closed her eyes. Between running on fumes and the relentless jackhammer inside her head, she'd no doubt drift off to sleep the second she got on the plane back to San Francisco. The prescription Valium in her purse was a safe back up, but it also reminded her that alcohol and pills were a no-go.

      She raised the glass in mock cheers, then replaced it on the counter. "Here's to making better choices," she mumbled to herself. Standing, she gripped the handle of her carry-on as her heels gained purchase against the floor. It shone like marble—tasteful, though an honest to God lawsuit waiting to happen in an airport lounge—but as she crossed the open plan toward the barista stand, the muted tap of her pumps suggested something closer to linoleum. Tasteful linoleum. Who knew?"

      The quiet hum of the lounge taunted her gaze into roaming the room. At least a dozen people occupied charcoal armchairs, including an Asian couple with a babbling toddler whose new favorite word Jennie deciphered as "chair." Or was it shit? She frowned, staring at the baby—hair in short pigtails, eyes bright and brown, sporting the biggest one-tooth smile. Jennie's Mandarin was a little rusty, but this kid was way too cute to be swearing already. Then again, her limited experience with kids dictated that an endearing smile could twist into wailing sirens in a second. In which case, she was fully on board with some early self-expression, especially with the headache pounding at her temples.

       She faced forward as she got to the coffee stand, just in time for the barista's beaming smile and energetic, "What can I get you?"

      Where the bartender was brusque and rugged, this man—boy, person?—bore the fresh-faced innocence of someone still grappling with puberty.

      Jennie brought one hand to her oversized sunglasses, if only to reassure herself she was still wearing them. She wasn't sure what her face was doing half the time, but between a hangover and a breakup, her expressions were just south of gracious. Even working in the food service industry herself, knowing none of the staff at Gia would ever be anything but professional, she'd heard some horror stories. She could do without the healthy dose of spit that might wind up in her coffee if she unconsciously offended this person. And for what? Being happy while she suffered the ill effects of her own poor decisions?