September 6th, 1990
Penta Hotel, Heathrow Airport
The feeling of anticipation you experience as you await the arrival of your lover is, I think, a feeling like no other. At least that’s how I felt today when, each time the doors into the terminal swung open, I craned my neck, hoping for a glimpse of the guy with the blonde, floppy hair.
When David finally showed up, my instinct was to run to him but I’d never actually do something like that. Instead, I waited until he spotted me then gave a little wave. The closer he got, the more the butterflies flew around my tummy.
When he reached me, he smiled, kissed my cheek then we made our way, hand in hand, through the crowd, to the car park.
“Hi honey,” he smiled, as I opened the boot.
“Hey you, how was your flight?”
“Poor thing, you must be exhausted.”
“I’ll be fine after a shower.”
“We should be at mine in about two hours, it’s still rush hour.”
“Oh,” he said, pulling me towards him.
“Do you remember,” he said, nuzzling my neck, “me saying there was good and bad news.”
I stepped back and groaned. “Oh no, what is it?”
“I only have twelve hours before I need to catch the flight to LA.”
“Shit, that doesn’t give us much time.”
“However,” he smiled, taking my hand.
“Go on,” I urged.
“I took the liberty of booking a room at the Penta.”
“But that means you won’t get to see my house.”
“We don’t have to stay at the hotel but if we do, we’ll have more time together.”
“That’s true, so hotel it is?”
“You good with that?”
“Yeah, definitely,” I nodded. “But we need to get going, the clock is ticking.”
Much too fast.