"I've been waiting here for twenty minutes," I tell the woman at the service desk. "I just need my bag. It's a simple, black suitcase with a gold trim around the zipper."

"Ma'me, if your bag was on the plane, it will come through baggage claim like everyone elses'." She assures me.

"Listen, lady," I say, getting pissed off at this point. "I need my bag. I have a meeting in twenty minutes and I have to get all the way across town."

A voice from behind startles me. "Did you say black with gold trim?" I turn around and a young man stares at me, holding identical suitcases in his hand.

"Oh my gosh," I exclaim. "Did you grab my bag out of claim?"

"Yeah, I wasn't sure which one was mine. Neither had a tag," he says. I get a good look at him. His brown hair falls over his forehead, right above the most dazzling shade of blue eyes I have ever seen. I"m about to reach for the one in his left hand, when he hands me the one in the right. "I think this one is yours," he says.

"Thanks."

I start to walk away, but he calls after me. "Do you live in Los Angeles?"

I turn around a face him again. "No. Sacramento," I say.

"Too bad. Hey, I hate to bother you again, but do you have a pen?"

"A pen?" I ask. I have the weirdest sense of déjà vu.

"Yeah, a pen. To write with?"

I reach into my pocket and hand him the pen. He writes something on the edge of a safety pamphlet from the plane. He hands it and the pen to me. "My name's Boone," he says, pulling the lever of his suitcase out of its spot. "Just in case you're ever back in LA."

He walks away and I stare at the back of his brown jacket dumbfounded. What the hell was that?