Charlie had only seen him once, standing awkwardly, glancing up and quickly back at his hands as Charlie ordered his drinks. Some godforsaken pub in a backwater of Glasgow, and Charlie had smiled at him, but already the kid had gone. Flitted like something intangible.
Charlie sat in the airport lounge idly drawing on his napkin, staring out of the window. It was far too hot here, that must be why he was longing for the cool of that Scottish pub, must be. Things would be better in LA.
He glanced down at his artwork, the curling letters J and A intertwined, the M standing alone before the I and E, the bases of the letters touching, nudging each other.
Jamie. Yeah, that was the kid's name.
Charlie screwed his napkin and longing into a ball, and tossed the napkin into a bin. He had a plane to catch.