"Hilarious and heartwarming, Baggage Claim is rom-com gold." – Lynn Painter, NYT Bestselling author.

"Baggage Claim is the perfect holiday romance. I really enjoyed this novel, it had it all: fake dating, some Christmas fun, a little bit of grumpy x sunshine, and some incredible healing and growth." – Abigail, Goodreads reviewer.

"This book showcases everything Juliana has to offer us as an indie author, and it's so exciting to see the love that's been given this story already! The depth of the characters, the cuteness, the banter, and the scenic setting are enough to keep any romance lover deeply invested in this story from beginning to end. " - Emma, Goodreads reviewer.

To my mom,

who loved to read but never got to see me become an author.

Copyright © 2022 by Juliana Smith

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

For permissions, contact [email protected]

Cover by Sam Palencia at Ink and Laurel.

Editing by Alex Whitmarsh.

CONTENT WARNINGS: The main character of this book suffers from body dysmorphia and there are many manifestations of such throughout the story. Readers please be advised. We deserve to love our bodies, no matter what they look like, and Olive is a representation of that.

1. One

I used to say I didn’t believe in fate. I always thought, ultimately, your choices—good or bad—controlled your destiny.

As it turned out, fate was tangible, and it was a bitch.

Currently, I was sitting in seat 15A, en route to see some of my least favorite people in my least favorite place. I could have picked any flight; there were a multitude of options when I booked the ticket. But fate led me here, to this particular one, squished in an uncomfortably tiny seat aboard an equally tiny plane that was most definitely going to fall apart seconds after takeoff.

Every November for the last three years when my mother called and gently asked, “Don’t you want to spend the holidays here? You don’t want to be all alone on Christmas,” I couldn’t help but laugh. On the contrary, I absolutely did want to be alone on Christmas. In fact, all I wanted was to snuggle up on my couch in a sea of giant, fuzzy blankets, binge true crime documentaries, and devour an entire Costco rotisserie chicken by myself, sides and all.

My oversized tote bag was proving to be a poor choice on this budget airline. As I tried to shove it between my legs, it got stuck halfway. I gave it one more push, groaning as it snagged against the rough fabric of the chair and probably smashed the contents in the process. I hoped my YSL lipstick wasn’t smushed or someone on this plane would feel my wrath.

“Just. Get. In. There,” I spoke to myself, more aggravated the harder I pushed it. When it finally slid into place, I let out a deep breath and leaned back into my seat.

Ah, the joys of flying on the cheapest airline possible.

Between the musky smell of this plane and my nausea-inducing apprehension about going home, I felt the need to keep the barf bag in close vicinity—just in case. A dull ache formed between my brows from the overstimulation of noisy passengers and crying children. My fingers trembled in my lap, and a bead of sweat rolled between my shoulder blades at the thought of being trapped on this plane. Everything inside me screamed to get out of this seat right now.

Only a four-hour flight. Four hours. That's like watching eight episodes of The Office, which is a typical binge session for me, no sweat.

I took in my surroundings; there were pamphlets and brochures about the airline, along with some tiny orange earplugs and a prepackaged black eye mask shoved in the seatback in front of me. The tablet screen above it displayed a map with lines showing our flight path from Point A to Point B.

West Palm Beach, Florida to Aspen, Colorado.

What a dumb flight. What were you even supposed to wear? If you wore pants here, you would sweat so much that you'd have to wring your socks out. Judging by the smell of the plane, someone had already done so. If you wore shorts, you'd be freezing cold and have permanent goosebumps when you landed. With all of that in mind, I’d settled on athletic shorts and a tank top with many, many layers packed in my unreasonably large handbag.

My flight anxiety was creeping up on me, and I suddenly wished I had bought some of those relaxing gummies that everyone says to take before flying. The kind at gas stations that look like peach rings but would make you feel like you’re in a circle with the That ‘70s Show crew.

If it was only the flight that I was concerned about, I wouldn’t be this high-strung. But it was who I was headed to see that had my stomach in seized knots. I hadn’t been in my right mind when my mom called me three weeks ago. She made it very clear she was worried about my social calendar when she texted me a screenshot of the WebMD page on scurvy, and then proceeded to tell me to eat an orange and open my blinds. So, I called her to confirm that I did, indeed, get enough vitamin c and my daily nutrients.

It was the day after Black Friday, and I had my phone on speaker as I sifted through my insurmountable pile of clothes and random household items that I certainly didn’t have room for.

“Did I tell you that your dad just got a new grill? As if he is going to be out in 30-degree weather with a pack of steaks,” Mom scoffed.

I folded a new top from Saks 5th Ave and set it aside. “No you didn’t,” I mumbled, hardly paying attention as I sorted through the mounds of business attire I didn't even need since I worked from home.

“Olive, dear…I’m worried about you down there. When’s the last time you left the apartment?”

I looked at the shopping bags sprawled across the floor. Sephora, Urban Outfitters, and Nordstrom all stared back at me with judging eyes.

“I will have you know I was out all day yest—”

“Other than shopping.”

I quickly snapped my lips closed. She knew me too well. “Well…”

“Honey, you need to get back out there. Have you heard of this app called Tender? Taylor was telling me you should go on there. Some very nice men would be glad to go out with you.” I rolled my eyes and bit my lip, because of course my sister-in-law told my mom I should be on a dating app.

“First of all—it’s Tinder. Second of all—I don’t need a stupid dating app.”

Her turn signal blinked in the background, filling the silence before she answered. “And why is that?”

Before I could think, before I could filter my words or stop my mouth from moving, I blurted, “Because I have a boyfriend.”

I reached into the seatback compartment and grabbed the black eye mask, which was still wrapped. I fumbled with the plastic then placed the flimsy fabric over my head, surrounding myself with darkness in an attempt to drown out all other distractions.

You're on a sandy beach, drinking cosmos. There is no plane in sight, and you are certainly not about to see a sibling you haven’t spoken to in years. You are a waterfall. A calm, ever-flowing, beautiful waterfall.

It turned out that, contrary to what Perry Como says, there is a place better than home for the holidays—and it’s in West Palm Beach under a cabana with a blue frozen drink in my hand.

As my nerves slowly drifted away, there was a jolt in the seat next to me. So much for being a waterfall. A duffel bag hitting the hard seat on my right side shook me. Without lifting my mask, I slowly breathed in and out, not wanting to know who I would be stuck with as a seat partner. With my luck, it would be a large man who hadn’t showered in days or an obnoxious teenager who wanted to cry on my shoulder about her first heartbreak. Maybe even someone who would try to show me their sleight of hand magic for four hours.

A low, masculine groan sounded beside me as the man attempted to shove his bag in the tiny overhead bin. While he struggled, jostling the seat and making an obscene amount of noise, my patience wore thin.

By the time he finally sat down, his shoulder bumping against mine in the process, any composure I had left was gone. My leg bounced rhythmically, and I picked at the fraying hem of my shorts.

“Anxious flier?”

The deep voice resonated beside me, and as someone who listened to podcasts regularly, I could appreciate a good rich voice.

“Yup.”

My tone was clipped, no doubt seeming rude. But, I needed this guy to know he did not have permission to talk my ear off for the next four hours. I had to let him know upfront that I had no interest in conversations that went further than, "Hello, how are you?" Like when you dig in your purse in Target to avoid speaking to your OB-GYN.

“You should have pregamed in the airport bar. You could be riding a nice buzz right now instead of thinking of everything wrong with the plane.”

Oh God, was there something wrong with the plane?

“Mhm, sure.”

I leaned my head back into the seat, probably ruining my perfectly styled blonde hair. I had a blowout yesterday and should’ve known this would happen. Rookie mistake. My fists were tightly bound on the small armrests, blood rising to my face.

“Or you could have smoked a little right before.”

My ears felt hot, and I bounced my leg faster. Who did this guy think he was?

He continued. “Maybe eat a little pot brownie or something?”

I abruptly lifted my mask in frustration. “Look, dude, I—” Oh. Oh.

My complaints died on the tip of my tongue when I caught sight of the man sitting next to me.

He was gorgeous; the thick waves of his dark brown hair were perfectly placed, and his full lips were tilted in a mischievous smirk. His eyes reminded me of rich, dark chocolate on the outer circle and warm caramel in the center. Like a Ghirardelli square calling my name in the middle of a Keto diet. His long legs, which looked uncomfortably squished in these Smurf-sized seats, were clad in black sweatpants. My eyes surveyed his lean body, cataloging his big hands and the way his chest filled out his army green tee with just the right amount of muscle.

If this were a few years ago, I may have taken the opportunity to charm a man like this and possibly try to join the mile-high club. However, I was long past those admittedly wild days, so for now I admired him from afar. Or I guess, not so far given the tiny size of these seats.

“I am doing just fine, thank you,” I said, my voice hushed and gruff.

He huffed out an amused breath, nodding his head, and looked down at his phone. A cute, barely five-foot-tall flight attendant made her way by our row, stopping directly next to us.

“Can I get you anything?” Her voice was suggestive to the man beside me, and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. I couldn’t blame her though; I’d never met a J-Crew model look alike either. Besides, I was pretty sure flight attendants weren’t supposed to be doing any services until we’re in the air.

“Actually, yes, Ms…” He leaned forward to take a look at her name tag. “Victoria. Can you get me and my new friend a couple of the strongest drinks we can legally purchase?”

She murmurs, low enough to be considered suggestive instead of professional. With a small frame and wide eyes, she reminded me of Bambi. “Of course, we can do a sample bottle of Jack Daniels and bring you a couple of Coke cans?”

I grumbled, “Aren’t you supposed to do that after we’re in flight?”

Bambi took her eyes from the man over to me, “I can always make an exception.” She glanced back at him and smiled. Gross.

“Ahh. Perfect, thank you, honey.” He winked her way and made a clicking noise in his cheek.

Ugh, flirt. And a shameless one, judging by how quickly he jumped from me to her.

He settled back in his seat and lifted his muscular arms behind his head. When he did so, his scent wafted my way. He smelled of clean laundry with a hint of mint coming from whatever brand of gum he was chewing between his gorgeous teeth.

“So, what’s bringing you to Aspen?”

I was certainly not in the mood to talk, but I doubt this guy cared. It seemed like whether I was chatty or not, he would keep going. Maybe I'd be better holding a mirror and he could keep the conversation to himself.

“I’m staying there for the holidays.” I purposefully did not ask him why he was going; judging by his looks, he was probably there for some kind of model ski shoot or to star in one of those Hallmark Christmas movies. I turned my head to the tiny window to see the lights from the airport shining down on the workers loading different pieces of luggage and preparing us for takeoff.

“Well, I’ve lived there for years, so I can tell you all the best places to go to.”

I let out a rough chuckle. “Yeah, I’m good.” The man's facial expression was amusing, both shocked and confused that I was not interested in whatever he had to say. It was clear he wasn’t used to being told no.

“Come on, flying isn’t that bad. And you’re going to a pretty cool place; you’ll want to know all the fun things to do.”

His smile was warm and charming, inviting me in like a warm heater on a cold, rainy day. I shook my head, snapping myself from the trance his handsome face had put me in, and said, “I’ve been there plenty of times. Trust me, I will be fine.”

He raised his eyebrow curiously but didn’t respond. When the flight attendant returned with our drinks, the stranger happily took them from her and pulled down both of our trays.

“I didn’t get to introduce myself. I’m Finn.”

He extended his hand, and I reluctantly shook it. The warmth of his firm grip spread through my palm.

“Olive,” I quietly introduced myself, more anxious about talking to him and less about the flight and my destination.

Finn poured our drinks into the tiny Styrofoam cups and held one out to me. I grabbed mine, but before I could chug it in a hopeful buzz, he lifted his cup in a toast.

“To the red-eye.”

2. Two

I was always blessed with good luck, which is how I ended up sitting next to a pretty girl on a long flight with a Jack and Coke in hand. I was also blessed with good looks (plenty of thanks to my personal trainer Josh at Workout 24/7 on that part), but I couldn’t help but notice that Olive was seemingly immune to my flirtation. It was disappointing but also refreshing, no point in wasting my time trying to charm the pants off this one—she was making it completely obvious she was not interested. Shame for her, I was what some of my mom’s friends considered a “catch,” according to her Facebook posts.

I relaxed in my snug seat and took a sip of the rather strong drink brought to me by the tiny flight attendant. Meanwhile, it was obvious that Olive didn’t want to talk, but her bouncing leg and shaky hands picking at her shorts told me she needed a distraction.

“So, you said you’ve been to Aspen a good bit?”

She puffed out a breath. “I grew up there. Haven’t been in a while.” Her tone was brief, signaling me to not ask further questions. A hint I clearly did not care about.

“I see. So, you’re going to visit family? They’re probably excited to see you.”

Olive sipped on her drink and looked out the window before answering. “I guess so.”

I wanted to chuckle at the girl's poor spirit. I couldn’t remember the last time a woman had been so annoyed to be in my presence. Maybe never?

The familiar ding came over the speakers in the plane, signaling everyone to take their seats and buckle up. After a few minutes, the plane slowly pushed back from the gate.

I had not taken this specific flight before, but I had flown quite often, and I was used to the familiar movement of takeoff. Flying to see my parents for the holidays extra early this year had not been ideal. Taking off work this close to Christmas was a menace, but they decided to go on a two-week cruise during the holidays, so it was either see them early or don’t see them at all. I spent a week with them in West Palm at their short-term rental. We ate homemade pizza and charcuterie boards for “Christmas dinner,” but I didn’t mind. For the real holiday, I'd be back home in Aspen. Snowy mountains, steep slopes, and hot chocolate so good you would think Buddy the Elf made it.

The plane taxied out to the airstrip and sped up, the wheels lifting off the runway. The weightless sensation settled along my bones as the plane shot into the sky. Next to me, Olive had her head down, her straight hair covering her eyes. As we reached higher altitudes, my ears familiarly popped as they did on every flight, the chewing gum helping to alleviate the pain. With the way Olive's hands aggressively gripped the armrests, I could tell she didn't expect it.

I pointed my finger out the window where we were rising above the city lights in hopes of distracting her.

“It’s crazy how fast this plane can go.” Olive turned her head slightly to the window and then immediately back in front of her.

I continued, “It’s like a city full of ants now. Man, we’re getting up here pretty quick. I bet we’re already at ten thousand feet, huh?” When she didn’t respond, I kept talking. I pointed out big landmarks that now seemed like tiny pins on a map. “It’s like the city lights are stars. I didn’t expect a plane this size to take off so fast. I hope they’ve got some good engines for this thing. You know what they say about plane crash—“

“Please stop talking,” Olive interrupted me. Her anxiety toward flying was amusing, and I couldn’t help but push her buttons a little more. I didn’t bring any entertainment for the flight and watching her squirm next to me was kind of cute.

“Think about it this way, if we crash, there's that cool evacuation slide we could go down.”

"Are you going to be like this the whole way?" she asked. "Because if so, I'm going to need about four more of these." She gave the drink in her hand another swirl then brought it to her lips and took a large gulp. How high we were didn’t seem to be the only thing bothering her. She kept checking her phone every few minutes like she was waiting for communication from someone, even though we had no service. An airline this cheap had no in-flight wi-fi so I wasn’t sure why she kept reaching to check it.

“It’s not just this flight that’s got you anxious, is it?”

Olive turned to me, and I got a closer look at her. As her deep green, doe eyes met mine, I took notice of her bright blonde hair framing her heart-shaped face. Her freckled cheeks were flushed, presumably from the alcohol missing from her half-empty cup. She wore very little makeup, and the fresh-faced look was definitely something I liked on this girl.

“Is it that obvious?” The quiet words slipped from her full, rosebud lips.

I wasn’t sure what exactly was bothering her but there was no way this was her first flight, judging by her fancy luggage and the fact that she was familiar with the code on when we were allowed to drink in flight.

“So, what is it that’s got you so high-strung?” I typically wasn’t nosy, but this girl brought out a curiosity in me that I didn’t know I possessed.

“It's just…” she started reluctantly. “It’s been a few years since I've been home. The thought of being in the same town as some of my family is terrifying, let alone the same house.”

I nod my head in understanding, although it wasn’t like I could relate. I saw my parents every chance I could. Both my mom and dad are incredible. While I was growing up, they attended every sports event and awards banquet. Since I’m an only child, they made sure they cheered the loudest everywhere we went. After they both retired, they moved to Florida while I stayed in Colorado and moved to a bigger city. They spent all their time on the beach or traveling, so we usually didn’t get to see each other on holidays.

“Well, let’s get you another drink and we can watch something to distract you. I bet they’ve got all kinds of Christmas movies.”

I tapped on the screen in front of me in an attempt to find a holiday film. Olive groaned next to me. “Ugh. No Christmas movies, please.” What? This chick was crazy.

“It’s two weeks before Christmas and you don’t want to watch The Grinch?”

“Nope.”

“Christmas Vacation?”

“Ew.”

“Home Alone?”

“No, thanks. Child services needed to intervene on that one.”

“Elf?”

“Ugh, absolutely not. The cotton ball scene alone makes me sick.”

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