Finding Flynn – Part III

On Sunday morning, the last day of our camping trip, Flynn and I scrubbed pots and pans together while the rest of the group took down tents, gathered trash bags and generally packed up the campsite.

In making conversation, Flynn asked me where I work. When I named the major oil company where I’ve been employed for the past five years, his hands stilled, and he stared at me.

“What?” I asked, dumbfounded by his intent expression.

“Which campus do you work at?”

There are four locations in our city. “The West campus,” I answered cautiously, wondering why he asked but laughing internally at the irony I figured was about to be revealed.

West campus“I’m in Building E. The ninth floor,” he told me, still looking astonished.

I smiled. “I’m in Building F. The fifth floor.”

We stared at each other for a moment and then started laughing. We went the entire weekend without realizing that we work in office buildings next to each other on the same corporate campus!

When I got home that night, I told myself not to get my hopes up. I told myself not to manipulate the situation. I know Flynn’s last name, and I could easily look him up in our global address book or the office instant messaging system. He actually needs help from my department for a project he’s working on, so I have a legitimate business reason to reach out to him. But I told myself to be good. Flynn already has a girlfriend.

Tuesday was Veteran’s Day, and our office was having a special event to honor the occasion. It involved brunch with a flag ceremony and keynote speaker, and – coming from a military family and having tremendous respect for our veterans – I planned to attend. It might have crossed my mind that a certain former Army Ranger might also be in attendance. But I might also have chided myself for thinking such a thing. And then reminded myself that there are thousands of people on our campus, and surely hundreds would be in attendance. There was no way Flynn and I would run into each other.

Nevertheless, I might possibly perhaps have made a special effort to look extra nice that morning, and I might possibly perhaps have experienced mild or not-so-mild road rage at the mind-blowing amount of traffic on the roads that morning keeping me from getting to the event on time.

When I finally pulled into a parking space, it was already 8:10 a.m., and the event had started at 8:00. It being a military event, I wasn’t sure if I should still bother trying to make it, since punctuality is key in military circles, and lack of punctuality is a sign of disrespect. So I was power walking through the garage toward the elevators, trying to make up my mind about whether or not I should make an appearance, when I heard a deep masculine voice call out, “Aurora!”

Pickup truck2A black pickup truck had just rolled past me with the windows down and an elbow hanging out of the driver side window. The driver stopped suddenly, and a head appeared above the elbow and turned to look back at me. Flynn.

He smiled and waved. I couldn’t help but smile back. I waited for him to park; then we walked toward the main campus together in amiable companionship. “I’m surprised you recognized me with makeup on!” I joked with a wink. When we parted ways, Flynn asked me what time I normally eat lunch and suggested that we look for each other in the cafeteria.

I had been rushing to the event in the hopes of seeing him, but I was running late due to traffic, and it turned out that very traffic I had been cursing resulted in my arriving at the same time as Flynn. On the same floor. Of the same one of our campus’s five parking garages.

Coincidence? I think not.

Authentically Aurora

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