We were talking about everything and nothing at the same time. Airline stories, favorite cities, terrible hotel coffee, good croissants, weird passengers. She told me about a rainy layover in Dublin where she and her best friend accidentally got locked out of their hotel room barefoot, and I told her about the time I lost my passport in a Lisbon bar and still managed to get back to the States without anyone noticing.
And when I finally glanced down at my screen, I realized we’d been talking for over fifteen minutes. She blinked, like snapping out of a daze.
“Oh, God. I should— sorry, I should check on the other passengers.”
“Oh, no worries.” She gave a quick nod, then pushed off the divider and moved back down the aisle, pausing briefly to adjust a blanket for someone before vanishing into the galley again.
It had been a long time since I talked to someone like that.
I must have dozed off for a while, because the next thing I remember was the gentle tap of a tray being set on my table.
“Breakfast,” she whispered. “And a coffee. Thought you might need the help.” I sat up straighter. “You read me too well.”
She smiled. “You’re not my first.”
My breakfast was simple. An egg sandwich and some fruit, but the coffee was perfect. Probably the best thing I’d had in days. It wasn’t like regular airplane coffee. This was better. She didn’t linger this time. She just gave me a polite nod and moved to the next row.
Two hours later, the captain announced our descent into Paris.
The window shades lifted, seats started to be adjusted, and sleepy passengers blinked into consciousness.
And the flight was over.
CHAPTER THREE
sam
I stoodnear the galley door, smiling on autopilot, thanking passengers as they got off one by one.
Some of them were clearly in a hurry. “Have a great day,” I said to a businessman who didn’t look up from his phone. How rude.
“Thanks again,” a woman mumbled, balancing three bags and a neck pillow.
Then he appeared. He really took his time putting his stuff away and getting ready to step out of the plane. He looked freshly awake, hair a little tousled, shirt slightly wrinkled in the best way, bag in one hand, coat in the other.
Now that I really see him, he is tall, at least 6’2”, and moves with that easy confidence some men just have without trying.
His skin is a bit tan, and he has brown hair that curls slightly at the ends. A very well-trimmed beard, and hazel eyes that somehow look golden in thismorning light. He is muscular, but not in the gym-obsessed kind, more like strong in a way that looks natural.
“I’ll give the short rib a solid eight out of ten,” he said, stopping in front of me.
I raised a brow. “Only an eight?”
“The ginger wasn’t quite spicy enough,” he added with a faint smile.
“Oh well, that’s tragic.”
“Yeah, but the service definitely made up for it.” I gave him the smallest smirk. “We aim to please.”
There was a pause. Not long, but not nothing either. It was like he was thinking about saying something else, but he didn’t. “Well,” he said, adjusting the strap on his shoulder, “thanks for making the flight feel a little less like a flight.”
“Anytime.” He nodded once, the corners of his mouth lifting a little bit, then turned and walked up the jet bridge. He definitely was the most interesting part of my night.
I let out a slow breath and turned back toward the cabin.
First Class was quiet now, abandoned, crumpled blankets and empty glasses the only signs of life left. I started my routine, moving methodically through the space. I start fluffing the pillows, tossing the linens into the bin, and resetting the seats to their pristine, untouched positions.
It was strange how fast people disappeared. One minute you’re handing them a drink and listening tothem talk about croissants and restarts, and the next, they’re just gone.
