She thought about meeting him at the airport. With a little online sleuthing she’d be able to narrow down the options and at least be at the right terminal. But the reality settled in after a few manic moments. It’s been more than 10 years since you could waltz up to the jetway door to greet your passenger of choice. All those romantic movie greetings were truly, actually fiction to Generation Y.

So, her options. Stand around near the line for Einstein Brothers? Fight the mass exodus from the terminal and be the lone, oblivious person holding everyone up at the narrow exit rope?

Or is macking it at baggage claim socially acceptable?

She resigned. She would wait. For an invitation. A reservation. A killer black dress, and a cherry-red lipstick that would make him regret.

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