His Nanny Mate - Season 4 Episode 56

Ella

The buzzing of the airport around me felt as if it was compounding my already mounting stress.

I always hated airports. To me, they were nothing but anxiety-inducing cacophonies of shuffling feet, murmured conversations, and the repetitive announcements coming through the loudspeakers.

Like a caged animal, I paced back and forth in the lobby, my eyes flicking every few seconds to the large digital clock overhead. The numbers shifted relentlessly: 9:22 a.m.

Logan was late. We were going to be late. Everything felt late, and everything would be ruined. I’d have to cancel my trip to visit my parents. I’d lose my money on my tickets. All of this stress would be for nothing.

I ran my hand through my hair, exhaling deeply. My anxiety manifested itself as a dull ache in my temples. My phone buzzed with a new message. It was from work, a new email needing my attention. Perfect timing. I sighed and began typing a response when a hand softly touched my shoulder.

“You’re late,” I said instantly, cutting him off before he even had the chance to utter a greeting. The words came out sharper than I intended, but my anxiety was causing me to teeter precariously between moderate annoyance and losing all sense of self-control

Logan raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, but also a touch bewildered. “Late? Our flight’s not till 10:30, Ella. It’s only 9:23. Why are you in such a rush?”

I felt a surge of exasperation mix with my relief at seeing him. “Because, Logan, we still need to check in, drop off our luggage, get through TSA, and find our terminal. And god knows how long security lines could be. There could be delays! We could miss-”

He laughed. He actually laughed, as if the airport wasn’t a horrific maze of one confusing terminal after the other, frantic travelers, and impatient flight attendants. “Wow, I had no idea you were such a nervous traveler,” he teased.

I crossed my arms defensively. “I’m not nervous. I’m just realistic.”

Logan’s mouth curved upwards into that playful smirk that I had grown all too familiar with. I hadn’t seen it since right before he broke that guy’s nose at the race a week prior, but it was just as I remembered it. “Sure,” he said. “Whatever you say, Miss Morgan.”

The airport was a maze of signs, arrows, and people-a constant reminder of how everyone was just living their own lives, intersecting momentarily within these pristine white walls. We worked our way through more slowly than I would have liked. But Logan seemed at ease, even pausing to grab a magazine from one of the shops.

Finally, we reached the security checkpoint. I felt my heartbeat accelerate as I fumbled with my shoes, hastily placing them in one of the gray bins.

Logan smoothly followed suit, his movements so calm it was as if he were performing a leisurely daily routine. He laughed and joked with the TSA guards, and didn’t bat an eye when he was pulled to the side for a random security scan.

Meanwhile, I resisted the urge to both vomit and roll my eyes at the same time. How he was so calm was a mystery to me.

We cleared security, and to my disbelief, we still had time before our flight. How that happened, I couldn’t fathom. It must have been some twist of cosmic fate, or maybe I was caught in a ripple of Logan’s ever-present luck.

We settled into one of the airport cafes, chic in a way that was meant to make travelers forget they were eating in a transportation hub.

Stainless steel accents framed plush leather chairs, and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee intermingled with the scent of buttery pastries.

The din of the cafe offered a comforting backdrop-people chatting, espresso machines steaming, the occasional ding of a barista announcing another order ready at the counter. It felt strangely intimate, despite the public setting.

Logan and I found a spot in the corner, away from the stream of people coming and going. He sipped his black coffee, staring at me over the rim of his cup while I frantically rifled through my carry-on to check for the third time that I had my necessities: neck pillow, book, eye mask, the works.

Inside of my bag, aside from the hodgepodge of necessities, was another must-have: a little stuffed duck that had traveled with me since I was a kid. Moana had purchased it for me years ago and it had rarely left my side since then, especially when I was traveling. It was a trivial, but also comforting, emotional crutch.

I made sure to keep it out of sight, hidden in a side pocket. Knowing Logan, he was sure to tease me for it.

“Did you not fly frequently growing up?” he finally asked, setting his cup down as he eyed my bag. “You seem like this is your first time flying.”

I shrugged. “We went on yearly trips overseas. I’ve flown plenty. I just… like to be prepared, that’s all.”

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He grinned, placing his cup back on the saucer.

“Ah, yearly trips on private jets. The perks of being an heiress.”

I frowned, setting my bag down with more force than necessary. “First of all, we never took private jets. And secondly, even if my dad had entertained the idea, Moana would have killed him.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Why’s that?”

“Moana is the Golden Wolf,” I explained. “Environmentalism and humanitarianism are sort of her whole thing. The idea of flying a private jet and spewing fumes into the air isn’t exactly her style. Nor is it mine.”

He chuckled, obviously entertained by the image. “So, no private jets, but I’m guessing first class wasn’t out of the question, though?”

I sighed. “Okay, fine. Yes, we flew first class. My dad wouldn’t have it any other way. But it’s not like I had any say in the matter. I was a kid.”

Logan’s eyes twinkled, and his lips turned up at the corners. “Still, you’re more pampered than you let on.”

Pampered? The word rang in my ears, unsettling me. But then I remembered one distinct memory from my past, and I couldn’t help but laugh softly. “There was actually one time we flew business class. It was for a last- minute trip-a funeral. I was sandwiched between people, cramped with no room to stretch my legs.”

“And how was that life-altering experience for you?” Logan asked, smirking.

“It was a nightmare,” I admitted, shaking my head at the absurdity of my own words. “I kept knocking my elbows into the stranger next to me, and my legs were squished up like an accordion. It made me appreciate the ‘luxuries’ I had taken for granted.”

Logan laughed and took another sip of his coffee. “You’re more of a princess than you let on, aren’t you?”

I shot him a glare, but it lacked any real substance. “You’re mistaking comfort for extravagance.”

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He leaned back in his chair, looking ever so pleased with himself. “Says the lady who’s used to flying first class and gets anxious about perfectly timed flights.”

Despite my best efforts, I found myself chuckling, Logan had this innate ability to make light of situations, to make them feel less burdensome. And as we sat there, laughing over the idiosyncrasies of our travel experiences, I realized something. He also had the ability to make me feel less alone in a world that often seemed overwhelmingly vast and unpredictable.

Lost in my musings, I didn’t notice Logan’s eyes dart to my bag until I felt a poke on my arm. Startled, I turned toward him. His face was donned with an insufferable smirk, his finger pointing at my slightly open carry-on where the little stuffed duck’s head was visibly peeking out.

When I had dropped it to the ground, it had come loose from its hiding place.

A flush crept up my cheeks, and my hand shot down to shove the toy back into the bag, burying it beneath a sweater as if hiding evidence of a crime.

“Did I just see a little stuffed-”

“No,” I interrupted. “You saw nothing.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed playfully, the corners of his lips curling into an even wider smirk.

“Not a nervous traveler, indeed,” he said, casting me one last mischievous glance before diving back into his magazine.