Chapter 2

The whole thing was a dream come true. Nate had spent the last ten years watching others have their art celebrated while he pretended it didn’t hurt that his art would never be on display

Except now everything was turning into a nightmare. No matter how good he was or how well he could wow the interview panel, none of that made a damn bit of difference if he couldn’t get there for the interview. His life was going to custard—no, it had already done that—and this was just the encore. The extremely sucky icing on the top.

Heather handed a slip across the counter to the American. “I’m sorry we can’t offer more, Mr. Beaumont, but this food voucher is valid for today only, and you can use it at the food court.”

Food voucher?

Nate pushed past Beaumont. “You didn’t offer me a food voucher!” he said indignantly.

* * * *

All the time Rusty had been waiting for his turn to talk to the airline agent, he’d been practicing the patience his Buddhist Vietnamese mother had tried so hard to instill in him. He knew exactly what she would say if she saw him stuck in line waiting to talk to the Air New Zealand agent about his delayed flight, while the guy in front of him huffed and puffed and demanded the agent fix problems she couldn’t fix.

“Breathe deep. Remember mindfulness. Embrace the suffering so you can find peace.”

Right. Sure, Mom.

And this guy hadbeen making him suffer by acting like the world should bow to his wishes. Certainly not because he’s an ass, of course; it’s because he’s sad.

I’m supposed to love him.

And now here Mr. Grumpy was, butting in with his nasty attitude. He didn’t get a voucher? Fine, ask for one, but not like that!

Why the hell has he been standing around at my elbow eavesdropping, anyway? I should have already told him to get lost. Of course, he knew the reason he hadn’t done that. It wouldn’t have been polite. His mom’s influence again. Courtesy ranked as one of her top goals.

Hell, Beaumont! She gave you Thao for a middle name—it means “courteous”!

So instead of cursing at the guy—Heather had called him Dunn—he said, “Excuse me, sir.” The sirhad nothing to do with his mom. “Once a Marine, always a Marine,” the saying goes, and when one was raised by a Marine dad, the habits stuck all the harder. “I understand you’re unhappy, but there’s no call for you to be rude.”

But Dunn leaned farther over the counter and said, “My voucher, please.”

Rusty’s temper, deeply buried most of the time but not inherently cool, almost blew then—would have, if Heather hadn’t responded as she did.

“That’s true, sir,” she said. “Here’s one for you as well, then.”

Dunn made no move to walk away, though, continuing to hover way too close. Rusty doggedly returned his attention to Heather, who was apologizing on behalf of all New Zealand for fogging him in. She hoped it didn’t “mar his experience.”

He thought, The fact that Mr. Grumpy is still standing here breathing my air is marring it a whole lot more than the fog.But outwardly, he smiled at Heather. “Can’t be helped, ma’am. Can you tell me how long the fog is likely to last?”

“Well, this doesn’t happen often, Mr. Beaumont,” she said, but Rusty wasn’t to find out what else she’d been about to say, because Mr. Grumpy-Dunn interjected an oh-so-pleasant observation.

“Bullshit!”

Rusty didn’t really hear the rest of what Dunn said, busy as he was trying to talk himself out of taking the arrogant man down a peg. Ultimately, he controlled himself, hearing his mom’s voice again.

“Compassion, Thao. That’s the key.”

Right, Rusty’s inner cynic responded, the man is an idiot because he’s suffering. Abso-fucking-lutely.

“Listen, man,” he said. “I know this is a drag. But she can’t fix it, right? Your pack looks heavy. Why don’t you go find a place to sit down? Take a load off.” He didn’t wait for Dunn’s response because he could hardly stand to look at his poor-me face. Instead, he took a deep breath and turned back to thank Heather for the food voucher.

“I’m sorry the voucher’s not much,” she said, “but at least you can have a meal on us.” She apologized again, as if it was her fault the airline she worked for didn’t offer anything more in the way of comforts for stranded passengers. Then she added, “And we’ve got you on a standby list. Keep in touch!”

Dunn, who now stood practically on top of Rusty, snapped at Heather, “So, am I on that list, too?”

A step over the line,Rusty thought, an instant before his temper flared. “Back off, dude!” he growled in his Military Police “that’s it for your shit” tone. Although, on second thought, he wasn’t sure how effective the growl was when he wasn’t wearing an MP’s uniform and wasn’t armed. And anyway, as soon as he’d said it, he realized maybe he shouldn’t have. Dunn already looked contrite—in fact, he looked miserable.