One Way Ticket Read online

  One Way Ticket

  A romantic comedy

  by

  Melissa Baldwin

  and

  Kate O’Keeffe

  One Way Ticket is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.

  ISBN-13: 978-1981852994

  ISBN-10: 1981852999

  Edited by Chrissy Wolfe at The Every Free Chance Reader, Proofread by Paula Bothwell

  Interior Design by Misha Gericke

  Cover design by Sue Traynor

  Copyright © 2018 Kate O’Keeffe & Melissa Baldwin

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Authors

  Chapter 1

  Addison

  I was totally over weddings. All that “happily ever after” nonsense, with the blushing bride, the big dress, the handsome groom. And I had good reason to be. I had been to no less than seventeen weddings in the last year. Seventeen! I’d been a bridesmaid at three, a guest at thirteen, and was foolish enough to have accepted a plus-one from a guy I thought was cute—until he got drunk and hit on the bride, that was.

  Of course, my disdain for weddings had nothing to do with the fact that I was single and hadn’t been on a decent date in well over a year.

  Nothing at all.

  I rubbed my nose and let out a heavy sigh. I glanced up the line. I was still a good twenty people from the check-in counter, where the perky airline employees were welcoming victims to their cramped and uncomfortable airline. The one with the overly salted peanuts and weak coffee that tasted like it had been used to wash some granny’s undergarments.

  Had I mentioned I loved to fly?

  “You headin’ on vacation?” a voice said behind me.

  I turned to face a woman, taking in her lime green polyester pantsuit, circa 1978, straining across her ample bosom. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “I said, are y’all headin’ on vacation?” She blinked at me, her eyebrows disappearing under her heavily peroxided bangs.

  “No, I’ve been here in Dallas for a wedding. I’m going home, back to Orlando,” I replied with a smile, charmed by her Texan accent and thankful for the distraction. This line seemed to be taking forever.

  “Oh, how wonderful! I’m going on vacation. I’m meeting my friend, Merna, in Orlando and then we’re going the theme parks and the beach!”

  “Well, Florida’s the place to go if you want beaches and theme parks.”

  She cocked her head. “You don’t sound like you’re from there. Where’re you from, sweetness?” She put her hand with its painted nails on my arm. I glanced down. Her nails had intricate floral patterns in the polish. That must have taken hours to do.

  “No, I’m not. I’m from—”

  She held her hand with the elaborately painted nails up in the air. “Don’t tell me! You’re from England!”

  I did an internal eye roll. I always got that. For some reason, people assumed if I wasn’t American, I must be English—despite the fact I was from somewhere twelve thousand miles south from there.

  We shuffled forward about two feet. Small progress, but at least it was progress.

  “Actually, I’m from New Zealand. I’ve lived in Orlando for a couple of years now.”

  Merna’s friend placed her hand over her chest, her interest piqued. “Oh, my! You know, I have seen all the Lord of the Rings movies, every one.”

  I got that a lot, too. About the only thing people seemed to know about New Zealand was that it was a long way away and the Lord of the Rings movies were filmed there.

  I nodded and smiled. “Good for you.”

  “I adore that one, you know? The one with the dark hair?”

  I shook my head. I had no clue who she was referring to.

  “Oh, you know!” She slapped my arm a little too hard and my eyes widened in surprise. “The one who was all manly and excitin’.”

  “In the movies?” I asked, hoping she wasn’t going to hit me again.

  “Yes!”

  “Umm.” I bit my lip as I racked my brain for manly and exciting actors with dark hair who were in Lord of the Rings. “Orlando Bloom? No, he was blond. How about Viggo Mortensen?”

  But Merna’s friend wasn’t listening. Instead, she nudged me with her elbow—I was growing tired of being manhandled by this woman now—as she watched something intently across the departures hall.

  I followed her line of sight, and my jaw dropped open. A woman, dressed in a wedding gown, was running across the concourse, her shoes held in one hand, her veil floating behind her.

  I blinked. Had I been to so many weddings I was now seeing brides in random places? I blinked again.

  No, still there.

  She had a wild expression on her pretty face, like she was running from something. And considering her attire, I would bet last month’s shop earnings it was from her own wedding.

  We—and probably the rest of the people in the airport—watched as the bride dashed past and out of sight.

  “What in the name of the sweet Lord Jesus was that about?” Merna’s friend muttered, more to herself than to anyone in particular.

  “You saw her?” I asked, relieved I wasn’t having bridal hallucinations.

  “Of course I did!”

  “Looked like a runaway bride to me,” replied a man standing beside her. He was wearing a loud Hawaiian shirt that assaulted the eye.

  “Sure looked that way to me. That poor man, left at the altar.” Merna’s friend shook her head, tut-tutting.

  “It’s probably some publicity stunt or reality show,” I offered.

  Why else would a bride run through an airport? I mean, this wasn’t a movie.

  Hawaiian shirt man harrumphed. “Probably. They’ll do anything to get you to buy things these days.”

  With the bride gone, we returned our attention to waiting in line, Merna’s friend asking me more about actors from Lord of the Rings. When I didn’t know the answers, I made things up, hoping she would accept them as a native of “Middle Earth.”

  She did, much to my relief.

  I wished I could magic myself back to my apartment in Orlando and be done with this whole thing. Not that I really wanted to be back in Orlando. Although it was a great place to live, I would be no inspiration whatsoever to a novelist. I went to work, went home, ate, slept, hit repeat.

  That was my life: day in, day out.

  Finally, after hearing all about what Merna’s friend was going to do on vacation (pretty much sitting in the sun and eating, by the sounds of it), I checked in with the perky airline staff and heaved a sigh of relief as I bid her farewell.

  I wandered toward the shops in search of eye drops for the flight. Although the trip from Dallas to Orlando was under three hours, the air conditioning made my eyes so dry I looked like some kind of drug addict by the time I landed.

 
In the store, I collected a jumbo-sized pack of eye drops, a candy bar—a girl needs sustenance, you know—and began to peruse the magazines, when I spotted the runaway bride again, darting down an aisle, her arms full of store merchandise. She dropped a hairbrush, and I watched surreptitiously out of the corner of my eye as she leaned down and picked it up, her dress splaying out around her on the floor.

  As she straightened up, our eyes met for a split second before she turned away, disappearing once more.

  It was all a little spooky.

  I returned my attention to the magazines, trying in vain to push the look in the bride’s eyes from my mind.

  Right, magazines. Fat shaming . . . skinny shaming . . . divorced and desperate . . . single and desperate . . . I let out another sigh and gave up. I decided instead to watch YouTube clips of cute kittens while I waited for my flight and purchased my items.

  As I walked out of the store, I spotted Merna’s friend waving at me—really, in that lime green outfit, it would be hard to miss her—a big, excited grin plastered across her shiny face. I turned away as quick as I could, stuffing my purchases into my overnight bag, and walked away from her, into a crowd of people. I pushed my long blonde hair behind my ears and pulled the hood of my top up over my head, hoping it was an adequate disguise.

  I kept walking until I found myself by a group of people, looking up at a large screen. I glanced around: no sign of Merna’s friend. Although she was nice enough, I’d pretty much had my share of what she had planned for her week in Florida.

  I pulled my purse around and reached inside, searching for my boarding pass. I pulled it out and looked up, scanning the screen for my flight number.

  I felt a swish of fabric against my bare leg and snapped my head to the side. With surprise I saw it was the runaway bride, clutching a boarding pass and her pretty, strappy shoes in her hands, her brow furrowed as she looked up, studying the screen.

  I took a moment to look her over out of the corner of my eye. She certainly looked like a bride, so I’d have to give her ten out of ten for effort. She had the ivory gown—perfectly fitted, tasteful, no meringue in sight—the veil, trailing from the top of her head down her back, and her perfectly styled dark hair hanging in curls over her shoulders. She was about my age and height, perhaps slightly taller, although I did have my three-inch heels on, so I was cheating a little—or a lot.

  She turned and looked straight at me.

  “Oh, hey,” I muttered, my face heating up. I had been so totally busted.

  “Hey,” she replied with a faint smile.

  I looked around, trying to spot the cameras. This had to be some kind of setup. When I spotted none, I said, “Can I ask you something?”

  She returned her attention to the screen. “Actually, I’m trying to find my flight, but I don’t see it up there.”

  “Do you want some help?” I offered, playing along with the charade—because that’s what this had to be.

  The bride looked back at me, her face softening. “Yes, please. The agent said the gate wasn’t assigned yet, so I needed to check the board, and I’ve . . . I’ve had a stressful day.”

  I chuckled. “I bet. Here.” I reached for her boarding pass, which she handed to me straight away. I checked the flight details. “You’re going to Baltimore?”

  “I am?” she replied, her brows knitted together.

  I took a step closer to her. I pointed at the destination listed on her boarding pass. “That’s what it says here.”

  She shrugged, flashing me a smile that lit up her entire face. “I guess I’m going to Baltimore.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “You didn’t know where you were flying?” She shook her head. I looked around us again. “This is some kind of stunt, isn’t it? I mean, you’re a runaway bride, there must be a groom here or something, right?”

  Her eyes flashed. “Todd’s here?” She scanned the people milling around us, some of whom were watching her, some talking behind their hands. A couple of girls were filming her on their phones.

  “Who’s Todd?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at her. “Oh, I know what this is! It’s street theater, only, we’re at an airport, so technically this is airport theater, if that’s a thing. Is that a thing?”

  The bride shot me a quizzical look. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Can I have my boarding pass back, please?”

  “Oh, of course.” I handed it to her and watched as she studied it, looking up at the screen once more.

  My curiosity got the better of me. I had to ask. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but are you for real?”

  She turned to look at me. “What do you mean, ‘for real’?”

  “I mean, are you an actual runaway bride?”

  She shifted her weight, pressing her lips together. There was something in her expression, something that gave me the answer.

  This was no stunt.

  “You are, aren’t you?” I asked softly, putting my hand to my face. “You’ve run away from your own wedding.”

  She nodded, her face grim. “And I need to get out of here. Before . . .”

  “Before anyone realizes where you are?”

  She nodded again. “Although, I don’t think they would look for me here. Would they?”

  “Honey, it’s an airport and you’re a runaway bride. Of course, they will look for you here.”

  She wrung her hands, and my heart went out to her. I had no clue what her story was or why she was here, standing next to me, the classic beautiful bride, but she looked lost, like she needed someone’s help.

  My help.

  “Do you know what? If you want to make it harder for them to find you, the first thing you’re going to have to do is lose the dress.”

  She looked down, as though seeing her wedding dress for the first time. “Yeah, you’re right. But I didn’t bring anything else to wear. I’ll just have to go shopping when I get to . . . Baltimore.”

  “I have a better idea,” I said with a smile. “I think we’re about the same dress size.” I pulled in my tummy. “I’ve got a spare pair of shorts and a T-shirt in my bag. Clean, not worn.” Which was mostly true. “How about we go to the ladies’ room and you can get changed into them?”

  “You’d do that for me?” she asked, her voice cracking.

  “Of course. Just as long as you didn’t murder anyone as well as run away from your wedding. I don’t want to be an accessory to a crime or anything.”

  She let out a laugh. “No! Just left my future husband at the altar.” Her face fell as her words appeared to sink in. “I left my future husband at the altar.” She shook her head, her hand over her mouth. “I can’t believe I did that. Poor Todd.”

  I noticed the group of people watching her had grown in numbers. For some reason I couldn’t explain, I felt protective of this woman. “Let’s go and get you changed, okay?”

  She nodded dumbly. I took her hand in mine and led her past the ogling strangers into the ladies’ room.

  Once inside, I pulled my spare T-shirt and pair of shorts out of my bag and handed them to her. “Here.”

  “Thank you.” Her smile was weak and I could tell she was holding back the tears. “I . . . I don’t even know your name.”

  “It’s Addison Bloom, but my friends call me Addi.” I extended my hand.

  She leaned down and placed her shoes on the bathroom floor, straightened up, and placed both her hands on mine, clasping them tight. “I’m Sabrina Monroe. It’s great to meet my guardian angel.” Tears welled in her eyes as she smiled at me.

  I laughed, as much enjoying the compliment as I was trying to lighten the mood. “I’ve never been called a guardian angel before. I kinda like it. Why don’t you go get changed? I’ll wait out here for you.”

  “Sure.” Sabrina enclosed herself in the disabled stall, and I waited patiently outside. After a moment, she called out. “Um, Addi?”

  “Yes?”

  She cracked the door and poked her head out. “I realize I’ve
only known you for a few minutes, but I need your help getting out of this thing. Naomi, my maid of honor, helped me get into it, and I doubt I can do it myself. It’s a little complicated with all the buttons.”

  “No worries.”

  Once we had wrangled with the dress and the veil clipped to the top of her head, she wrapped the dress around her arm to form it into a ball and unceremoniously dropped it on the floor.

  If that didn’t tell me how she felt about getting married, nothing did.

  Well, other than running out on her wedding, of course. That was a pretty darn clear sign, if ever there was.

  I snuck out of the stall as Sabrina slipped into my T-shirt and shorts. A moment later, her dark hair tied back in a high ponytail, she emerged, holding her balled-up dress under one arm, her purse slung over the other. In her strappy bridal heels, she towered over me, and although the shorts were a little looser on her than me, she looked like Daisy Duke from The Dukes of Hazzard, the shorts showcasing her enviable long legs in a way they never did on me.

  Sabrina regarded herself in the mirror. “I don’t look like a bride anymore.”

  I smiled at her reflection. “No, you don’t.”

  I thought I detected a momentary shadow pass over her face, but it was gone in a flash.

  She turned and smiled at me. “Thank you so much, Addi. You have no idea how much this means to me.” She leaned in to hug me, and I breathed in her pretty floral scent, feeling good I had helped this woman in her hour of need.

  “I’ll get these back to you as soon as I can.”

  I looked at the way the clothes looked so much better on her than on me. “You keep them. We’d better get you on that flight to Baltimore.”

  We exited the ladies’ room and headed back to look at the departures screen, Sabrina assimilating into the crowd as much as a five-foot-ten glamazon in heels could. The passenger numbers had swollen while we had been wrestling with Sabrina’s dress in the bathroom, plenty of people milling around, staring up at the departure screens.

  “I wonder what’s going on?” Sabrina said.

  “I think you should just be glad they’re not watching you, anymore.”

  She shot me a wry smile and looked up at the departures screen. “Oh, no!”