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“What would I do if I could do anything?” he asks, and I nod, a smile planted firmly on my face. “I’d watch a movie.”
My smile drops slightly when he picks up a pair of noise-canceling headphones and plops them on his ears, turning his eyes away from mine.
“Can I get you something to drink before we depart?”
I tear my eyes away from Boyd’s profile and look up at the flight attendant, who is hovering over us and waiting for a response. I glance once more at Boyd and see his eyes are glued firmly to the screen in front of him.
“Nothing for me, thanks,” I say to the attendant, doing my best to give her a smile.
She looks to Boyd, who says he wants a whiskey neat—I knew it—and then she moves on to the next row of passengers.
I watch Boyd for a moment longer, feeling oddly wounded by his actions. Scanning back, I guess I could have paid more attention to the clues that he didn’t want to talk to me instead of assuming he was hoping for a seat buddy to chat with.
Maybe I was being too nosy.
That’s what my mom used to say about me, that I was a nosy parker, but she always said it with affection, like it was a part of me that I should be proud of, or at least not feel the need to apologize for.
I guess maybe some people don’t see it that way.
I shift back from where I was leaning against the armrest, making sure I give Boyd his space, and stare blankly ahead, my fingers fiddling with my seatbelt.
Unable to distract myself, I pull out my notebook and flip to the next blank page, staring at it for a few minutes, willing my mind to create something for me to doodle so I can ignore the fact that I probably annoyed my seat neighbor.
I hate when I’m annoying.
It’s the one thing I really do hate, for the most part. I’m a person who can stand up for herself, a person who has a drawer full of confidence and plenty of sass and happiness to spill over onto the floor in most instances.
But the last thing I want to be is annoying. A nuisance.
And this Boyd guy…the last thing I want is to make him uncomfortable, or for him to be upset with me. If I’m gonna sit next to him for the next seven hours, I should apologize or something.
I tap his shoulder lightly. When he doesn’t react, I tap it again, a bit more firmly.
He takes his headphones off and looks at me.
“Sorry.”
I want to slap my hand over my mouth as soon as I say the word, mostly because I shouted it at him and now several people are looking at us.
I lean forward and lower my voice.
“I’m sorry if what I said was nosy. I’m just…one of those people. You know? My mom always said I never met someone who wasn’t a friend, probably because I talk their ear off and they don’t get a choice whether they’re my friend or not, but”—I shrug—“anyway, just…sorry if I did or said something that bothered you.”
The silence between us is deafening, and all I can hear are the sounds of people shifting around in their seats and the airplane engine revving up then revving down again.
Is revving down a thing? I’m not sure, but that’s what it sounds like.
He just stares at me, his jaw clenching and unclenching. Then he lets out a sigh and tucks his headphones into the pocket in front of him.
“Aeronautics,” he finally says, his rich voice expanding and filling all the empty space around me, making my heart flutter wildly in its cage.
“Huh?”
“If I could have done anything, I’d have gone to school for aeronautics. My dream was to be a pilot, or at least someone who works for an airline, maybe streamlining services or finding new ways to advance the technology that improves flight.” He shrugs. “But I’m afraid of flying, so my dad told me to major in something else.”
I’m stunned silent, which doesn’t happen to me often.
I thought maybe I’d get a polite nod from him in a best-case scenario, a glare and a grouchy retort in the worst case.
