Chapter Text
Chapter 1
5:00 AM
John F. Kennedy International Airport, New York City
April 1988
People loved to say New York was THE place to live, but standing in Terminal 4 before sunrise, I still wasn’t convinced. It wasn’t awake, either. It lingered somewhere in between, wrapped in a haze of fluorescent lights, hot coffee, and the gray-blue tint that settled over everything before dawn. Outside the glass walls, yellow taxis lined the curb with exhaust curling into the chilly spring air, disappearing almost as quickly as it appeared. Travelers drifted through the terminal with the sluggish determination of people who had set their alarms far too early, each one clutching a garment bag, a briefcase, or an oversized coffee that promised more than it could deliver. I’m getting out of here.
I shifted the strap of my leather carry-on higher on my shoulder and glanced up at the departures board for what had to be the fifth time.
Las Vegas.
Boarding.
I still wasn’t sure why anyone thought a 5am flight was a reasonable way to begin a work trip, but my editor had insisted I’d “thank him later.” Apparently, the newest luxury casino on the Strip was generating enough buzz to justify a full feature in Metropolitan Living, and because I’d once admitted I enjoyed writing about architecture more than celebrities, the assignment had somehow landed on my desk.
Lucky me.
“Good morning!”
The woman at the gate greeted me with effortless enthusiasm that seemed almost suspicious before seven o’clock. Her lipstick was perfectly applied, her navy scarf tied into a neat knot beneath her collar.
“Morning,” I answered, handing over my boarding pass.
She glanced down before looking back up with a smile. “Window seat. Best one on the plane.”
“Wow, that’s nice!”
She laughed as she handed the ticket back. “Have fun in Vegas.”
If only I’d known.
The cabin smelled faintly of coffee, perfume, and that unmistakable recycled air unique to airplanes. Passengers shuffled into the aisle, apologizing as they wrestled luggage into overhead bins while flight attendants glided between them with practiced ease. One stopped beside me with an easy smile, pointing me toward my row before wishing me a pleasant flight. Another barely acknowledged my existence, brushing past with an expression that suggested she hadn’t wanted to be awake any more than the rest of us.
I settled into my seat beside the window and rested my forehead against the cool glass. Beyond the runway, the first hints of sunrise stretched across the horizon, turning the sky shades of peach and pale gold. Somewhere behind me, a baby let out a struggled cry, earning sympathetic smiles from exactly no one. Across the aisle, a woman dusted bronze shimmer across her eyelids using a tiny compact mirror, applying lipstick with the confidence of someone who expected Las Vegas to begin the moment the wheels left the ground.
Maybe soon, but my mind isn’t there yet.
As the engines stirred beneath the cabin, the airport slowly disappeared into a blur beyond the window. A familiar Whitney Houston song drifted softly through the boarding speakers before the captain’s voice interrupted with the usual welcome and reminders to fasten our seatbelts. I closed my eyes for just a moment, already planning the interviews I’d need to schedule, the photographs I’d have to take, and the three days of hotel reviews that waited on the other side of the country.
At twenty-eight, I’d convinced myself I was flying to Las Vegas for a story.
I had no idea the city already had one waiting for me.