“Excuse me, miss? Can I be of some assistance?” a somewhat familiar voice questions. I glance up as the same flight attendant who helped me when I had tomato juice incident approach me from the gate. She offers up the same sweet smile she gave me when she spoke with me before. “Are you all right?”

I sniff, fighting back the tears. “I’m missing my phone and my bag. The last place I had them was on the plane—before I changed seats.”

She nods in agreement. “Mr. Cold asked me to let you know that he has your belongings.”

My eyes widen. “He does?”

Relief washes through me, only to be flushed away when I realize I have no way of getting in touch with him again. “I have no way of reaching him.”

She tilts her head and I hear the questioning tone in her voice when she says, “He said you have his number?”

I knit my eyebrows in confusion. I have his number? What’s he talking about? The only thing he gave me was…

Wait a minute.

I reach in my back pocket and pull out the paper containing his autograph, or at least I thought it was his autograph. I unfold it slowly and take in the thick, manly scroll.

I swallow hard as I stare at the number listed below his signature. Even in a simple note, his commanding tone makes my insides jitter.