He strides down the hallway, bag of open pistachios in hand. His eyes go wide as he takes me in. “Did you order a spicy redhead?” says Jake, jabbing a thumb in my direction. “No,” Ilmari replies. I glance between them. This ball of emotion sitting in my throat might just choke the air right out of me. It’s been lodged there since I impulsively ordered an Uber and drove straight to the Cincinnati airport. “Were we expecting you?” Ilmari says at me. “No,” I reply, suddenly breathless.
