Winners Don't Have Bad Days (Watty 2020 Winner, Romance)

22. #CanadianTire, January 2018

The closer Daya's plane drew to Calgary, the more impatient she became to see Mike. It felt like it had been months, not a few days since she had seen him last.

She jumped up to her feet the moment the seat belt sign turned off with a final ping and rolled from heel to toe while lined up with the other passengers at the back of the plane.

How, how, how could a plane be so full on the morning of January the 2nd?

Released from the metal cigar with wings, Daya marched down the concrete-floored passages in the domestic wing of the airport. Then she marched through glass-walled passages with the view of the airport's shops and lounges. Then she marched alone down an empty passage with a carpet on the floor and normal walls... wait, alone?

Oh, crap. 

She backtracked, found the damned gate she'd missed on the account of being under-slept and recently airborne, and caught up to the families with toddlers, and elders in the wheelchairs pushed around by the Air Canada employees.

She burst through the gates, the 'you won't believe it' bubbling on her lips, and forgot that she had just been nearly running.

Mike's hair hung into his face, instead of being brushed back, a few golden spirals. He slouched, one hand stuffed into a side pocket of his dark-blue cardigan. In his other hand, he held a blue rose, about twice the size of the real long-stem. 

"Mike!"

Oh, Mike... as he mumbled on about winter roses, she got engulfed into his warm sweater and familiar smell. Time slowed down while her cheek rested on his chest, listening to his racing heartbeat. She didn't feel like running anywhere. 

"Mike and Calgary," she thought happily. Mike and Calgary. I'm home."

Then she remembered. The gift! She loathed to hurry Mike along, but the gift!

***

Mike was slow getting out of the car by the Canadian Tire, but she did not care. If he had guessed what she was up to, oh well, they were here now.

"Did someone give you a new hairband?" Mike asked as they crossed the parking lot.

She twirled the end of her braids in her hand. The scrunchies were scarlet, with a beaded pattern. "My baby brother, Nihal. He thinks I dress like a marathoner in mourning—his words, not mine—so he accessorized all my ensemble with scrunchies and a scarf, or something like that."

Mike chuckled. "He sounds like a fashionista. Where is the scarf?"

"Luggage."

"Ah... I see." Mike let her through the automatic doors of the Canadian Tire. "He's at the University still, right?"

"Uh-huh. And he just switched from Environmental Design at the uni to Fashion Arts at Humber College. The Christmas dinner at my folks' place was tense. The upside was that my mom was so hard on his tail, she postponed the interrogation about my living arrangements."

Mike sighed wistfully to some private thought. "So, you've concealed the fact that you are cohabiting with a knave. Well done, Miss Dhawan. Now, why are we here?"

The store was not particularly crowded, so they did not get jostled while they stood around chatting between the bins filled with the items on sale.

Daya took her bearings. The automotive stuff, and the name-sake tires—to the left; small appliances, seasonal paraphernalia and the gardening supplies—to the right. 

Her goal, the sporting goods and outdoor gear aisles, loomed straight ahead.

"You'll see," she said, put her hand on his elbow and guided him on.