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    Kisses on a Paper Airplane
    Kisses on a Paper Airplane
    Kisses on a Paper Airplane
    Ebook108 pages1 hour

    Kisses on a Paper Airplane

    By Sarah Vance-Tompkins

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Drama student Hannah Evans isn't kissing any frogs on her path to find Prince Charming. She's determined to share the perfect first kiss -- with the perfect boy -- in the perfect place -- or she's not kissing at all. When Hannah meets a cute ginger-haired boy in first class lounge in the London airport, she knows he's 'The One.'

    Pop star Theo Callahan is on the road to get as far away as possible from his back-stabbing best friend, and his supermodel girlfriend who broke his heart. Until one shy smile from Hannah has him rethinking all of his travel plans.

    Theo is smitten, but he's worried she's just a groupie in search of the ultimate selfie. Can Theo learn to trust Hannah in time to share one perfect first kiss, or will Hannah be forced to kiss a frog?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherInkspell Publishing
    Release dateApr 1, 2016
    ISBN9781939590732
    Kisses on a Paper Airplane

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      Book preview

      Kisses on a Paper Airplane - Sarah Vance-Tompkins

      Kisses on a Paper Airplane

      Sarah Vance Tompkins

      The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, or events is coincidental and not intended by the author.

      If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as unsold and destroyed to the publisher. In such case the author has not received any payment for this stripped book.

      Kisses on a Paper Airplane

      Copyright © 2016 Sarah Vance Tompkins

      All rights reserved.

      ISBN ebook: 978-1-939590-73-2

      ––––––––

      Inkspell Publishing

      5764 Woodbine

      Pinckney, MI 48169

      Edited By Rie Langdon

      Cover art By Najla Qamber

      You can visit us at www.inkspellpublishing.com

      This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. The copying, scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law.  Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions, and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

      Dedication

      To the man who gave me my last first kiss.
      I'll always remember.

      Chapter One: London

      ––––––––

      Heathrow Airport (LHR)

      I was greener than Kermit T. Frog. My insides felt like the quivering lime Jell-O blob my mother always insisted on making for Thanksgiving dinner. The airport smelled of burnt jet fuel and junk food. That alone was enough to make me want to blow chunks. Added to that was the fact my roommate Julia and I had celebrated the completion of our main stage auditions into the wee hours of the morning. Bad karaoke, stupid dancing, and cheap champagne may or may not have been involved.

      But the main reason I was so dangerously close to horking up my lunch was I hated flying. It scared me to death. Seriously. I’d rather attempt crossing the Atlantic Ocean on the crumpled wings of a paper airplane than board an actual 747.

      Hannah Evans?

      I waved my hand like a kindergartner responding to roll call. The ticket agent stepped out from behind the bank of computers and navigated the sloppy groupings of people huddled in the departure area.

      She pressed my passport and a pamphlet of papers into my hand. All right, then. You’re checked in through to Milwaukee. Unfortunately, your flight has been delayed two hours.

      Crap!

      I had timed my arrival at Heathrow to maximize my exhaustion so I wouldn’t be alert or coherent during takeoff. What I really needed was to be anesthetized and sent home in a FedEx package.

      As a first-class passenger you are welcome to wait in our first class lounge. The Club House at Heathrow is quite lovely, she added.

      First Class Club House? I had no idea. Don’t mind if I do.

      I flashed my first-class ticket at a security agent and was waved through the checkpoint without delay. I watched the sea of humanity shuffling along in roped-off lines snaking back and forth across the terminal. I said a silent prayer I wasn’t among them as I snatched my bag off the conveyor belt. Another security agent directed me to an escalator that would take me to the first class waiting area. I was on my way up to the next floor when I felt, rather than heard, the text notification go off on my phone in my purse:

      julia: make it thru security?

      me: flight delayed. going to wait in 1st class lounge.

      julia: posh. posh.

      me: i want you to know—i love you.

      julia: is this your ‘last text’? The one i should forward to cnn if you die in a fiery plane crash?

      me: wuz wrong. i hate you. xoxo.

      julia: sorry to hear. fyi anderson cooper will tear up when he reads your og text on the telly.

      me: heard anything about the auditions?

      julia: no. I don’t expect to hear anything until after your plane crashes. ;)

      me: not helping.

      ***

      Julia was never in the least bit bothered that her new roommate at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts was an introverted farm girl from the States. Born to play the ingénue on the stage and in real life, her parents were both successful actors in the UK. She was a natural beauty with the expressive eyes of an animated Disney princess, an infectious giggle, and the graceful hands of a dancer. She was comfortable being the center of attention. In fact, she insisted on it.

      I, on the other hand, was not. I was happy being a wallflower. I wanted to blend. Odd, I know, for someone studying acting. But I’m not gonna lie, losing myself in a character gave me the opportunity to avoid dealing with how uncomfortable I was in my own skin.

      Every morning as I trudged through the cold fog of Russell Square, I fully expected to be pulled aside by one of the rumpled guidance counselors at RADA on my arrival.

      There has been a dreadful mistake, she’d say with a twisted sneer on her lips. We gave you a position in our program in error. We ask that you exit the premises immediately. You must, of course, promise never to speak of this dreadful calamity again. We consider it the darkest hour in our vaunted history.

      I never intended to become an actress. I had starred in several plays in high school, but honestly, I would’ve been content teaching riding lessons on the farm for the rest of my life. My mom’s dreams for me were bigger than my own. She took the day off work to drive me to the auditions for RADA at the University of Wisconsin in Madison, where I minced my way through Nina’s soliloquy from The Seagull. I was not the only Nina they saw that day, I’m sure. And I couldn’t have been the best. I was too clumsy and self-conscious.

      I didn’t think about the audition again until the envelope arrived. It wasn’t the thin rejection letter I’d anticipated. Instead, a fat Manila envelope offered me a coveted spot in the prestigious program, as well as information about housing in London. My mom was thrilled.

      We can’t afford it, I said.

      They’re giving you a scholarship, my mom said.

      It’s too far from home. Seriously! I’d never been farther away than Chicago. London was in a whole different country and required a passport and international plane travel.

      Where is your sense of adventure?

      I don’t have one, I wanted to say, but I kept my mouth shut. Six months later I was off to London, wedged between two XXL-sized gentlemen in an economy class middle seat, like a watermelon seed in a spitting contest.

      My first month in London blew past in a blur. Julia was a whirling dervish of activity, and I was never alone long enough to be homesick. She had dragged me along on a shopping trip in Notting Hill, when my mom surprised me with a call out of the blue. She never called during the week. She only called on Sundays when the pace at the farm slowed enough to make her lonely. Something horrible must’ve happened at the farm, I was sure. But my mom’s voice was light and happy.

      I’ve fallen in love and gotten engaged, she said. We want to get married as soon as possible. Can you come home for Thanksgiving?

      How could this happen? I was shocked at her careless decision. I couldn’t believe my mom was considering marrying a total stranger. As far as I knew, she hadn’t dated since my dad died ten years before. I haven’t even been gone for thirty days. Don’t you think it’d be better to have a long engagement?

      "Better for who? I’m getting married in a month. I want my only child to be there.

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