The Travel Agent's Trip
"Wanderlust Travel has sent thousands on adventures, but Faye hasn't taken a vacation in years. When a client invites her to join him on the trip she planned, she discovers some journeys require a companion."
Wanderlust Travel has been mine for twenty years.
I've planned honeymoons to Bali, safaris in Kenya, cruises around the world. I'm Faye—fifty-seven, the woman who sends everyone on adventures while staying home.
"I need a trip."
The client is distinguished—Marcus Webb, recently retired, wanting "something transformative."
"Where were you thinking?"
"Portugal. The coast. Three weeks." He pauses. "For two."
"Wonderful. You and your wife?"
"I'm divorced." His eyes meet mine. "The second ticket is for you."
"Mr. Webb—"
"Marcus." He doesn't blink. "I've been coming to this agency for five years. You've planned every trip. I always come back and tell you stories, and you listen like you actually care."
"I do care—"
"Exactly." He leans forward. "I'm tired of traveling alone. I'm tired of telling stories to someone who deserves to live them."
"This is highly unusual—"
"Is it against policy?"
"Well, no—"
"Then come." He slides a credit card across. "Plan us the trip of a lifetime. I trust your judgment."
I plan the trip.
But something shifts—I'm not planning for him, I'm planning for us. Picking restaurants I want to try, beaches I want to see.
"You're going," my assistant says when she sees the itinerary.
"This is crazy."
"This is an adventure." She smiles. "When's the last time you had one?"
Portugal is everything.
Lisbon first—pastéis de nata and fado music. Then the coast—Cascais, Sintra, cliffs that take my breath away.
"Thank you," Marcus says on day four.
"For what?"
"For coming. For showing me why you're so good at this." He takes my hand. "You understand what people need."
"What do you need?"
"You." His voice is soft. "I've needed you for five years."
The first kiss is in Sintra.
Among the palace gardens, surrounded by fairytale towers. His mouth on mine feels like finally arriving.
"I should have asked sooner," he admits.
"I should have been braver."
"We're here now."
The hotel in Cascais has ocean views.
He undresses me with the waves as soundtrack, his hands learning the body I've hidden behind the agency counter.
"Beautiful," he says.
"Marcus—"
"You send people to experience beauty." He kisses my shoulder. "Let me show you you're part of it."
His mouth travels down my body.
Through the soft terrain I've always worried about. He worships every inch.
"Here?" he asks at my center.
"Yes. Please."
He's attentive, thorough.
Makes me come twice before finally joining me on the bed. When he enters me, the ocean seems to rise.
"So good," he groans.
"Don't stop. We have two weeks left."
"I'm not stopping for years."
The rest of Portugal is magic.
Every destination better because we're together. Every restaurant sweeter, every view more stunning.
"Come home with me," he says on the flight back.
"I have the agency—"
"Bring the agency. Work remotely. Live." He takes my hand. "I've spent enough time alone in beautiful places."
Wanderlust Travel adds a new service.
"Personal travel concierge"—me, accompanying clients who want guided experiences. But Marcus is the only one I go with.
"Conflict of interest," someone mutters.
"Best interest," I correct.
The wedding is in Portugal.
Sintra gardens, exactly where we first kissed. The trip I planned, now our trip forever.
"To the woman who planned my life," Marcus toasts.
"To the man who invited me along," I counter.
We kiss while the Atlantic applauds.
Some journeys are solo.
Some require company.
And some travel agents find that the best destination is being with someone who wants to explore together.
No return flight.
Just adventure.
Forever.