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Page 19
Perhaps, after ali this time, she had found the place she would want to call home.

The plane circled Pittsburgh twice. Finally, the engine's growl lowered and the plane began its descent. A flight attendant gave the normal litany about seat belts and tray tables. How many times had Mariah heard that? Too many. She had taken more flights than she could possibly remember to cities all over the world.
This one was bound to be, on closer inspection, as disappointing as the rest. How could Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, he more appealing to her than Paris? London? San Francisco? Washington, D.C.?
The plane landed. When it reached the gate and a tone bonged, people scrambled for their belongings.
"Enjoy your stay," Helen said, her kind eyes dubious.
"I intend to." Mariah crammed the screenplay that had so unnerved her into the heavy Lemoncake tote bag that also held her camera and small purse. She let Helen get ahead of her before she joined the stream of people getting off the plane.
A surge of warm, humid air hit her as she moved from the plane onto the departure ramp. Late summer in the east. Mariah had it categorized in her mind: uncomfortably hot and damp. Visiting other similar towns, she'd been eager to return to her base in Southern California, where at least the heat usually remained dry.
The airport's waiting area was no different from others: impersonal, noisy, lined with rows of seats. Air conditioning fended off the humidity. Hordes of people stared at deplaning passengers with anticipation brightening their faces.
Sometimes Mariah wished someone waited for her with such eagerness.
Hiking the straps of her tote bag up her arm, she slowly shook her head. What had gotten into her today? She usually reserved her imagination for production planning and location scouting. Besides, there was someone waiting for her. Maybe even eagerly, if he thought she was the key to his making a fortune on his screenplay.

 
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