“There was a raccoon living in it.”
He stared at her. “How does a raccoon?—”
“I have no idea. Neither did the staff. They seemed genuinely surprised when I mentioned it, which was somehow more concerning than the raccoon itself.” She was fully animated now, hands gesturing. “And it wasn’t like the raccoon was scared of me. It just sat there, in the ice, eating what I’m pretty sure was a stolen continental-breakfast Danish. Made eye contact. Very judgmental.”
Dakota laughed, a real laugh, surprising himself. “What did you do?”
“Took a photo for the report. Then closed the ice machine very carefully and went to find the manager.” She shook her head. “They did not pass inspection.”
“I would hope not.”
“The manager tried to argue that it was a ‘one-time incident.’” She made air quotes. “I was like, sir, there is a raccoon. Living. In. Your. Ice. Machine. This is not a one-time situation.”
“Did they get rid of it?”
“I don’t know. I left.” She finished her pasta, put the foil back over the container. “Not my circus, not my raccoon.”
The meal service ended, the flight attendant collecting the debris. The cabin lights dimmed as passengers settled into the rhythm of a long flight. Movies flickered to life on seatback screens. Headphones went on. The world contracted to this small space, this conversation, this moment.
He couldn’t read, so maybe he should pull out his tablet. Should review the Sydney briefing, memorize Opera House sight lines, do the work he was being paid to do.
Instead, he turned to her and said, “Desert-island question. One book, one movie, one food. Go.”
She thought about it, bringing up one knee, wrapping her arms around it. “Anything by Agatha Christie. The Princess Bride. And tacos.”
“The Princess Bride?”
“Don’t judge. And if you haven’t seen it, we’re going to have problems.”
“As you wish.”
Her face broke into a grin. “Point for you. Your turn. And if you say something boring like a survival manual, I’m switching seats.”
He considered. “The book you saw me reading. Casablanca. And pizza.”
“Good choices. Classic.” She nodded approvingly. “Though I have to say, picking a book about fly-fishing for a desert island seems impractical.”
“It’s not about the fishing.”
“I know.” Her voice had gone softer.
Oh. His chest tightened. And silence settled between them, the weird intimacy of feeling seen.
Then Jayden cleared her throat, shifted gears. “Okay. Less heavy. Biggest pet peeve about your job. Go.”
“Easy. People who don’t take it seriously. Who treat security like an inconvenience instead of a necessity. Who prop open fire exits because it’s easier. Who share passwords. Who think nothing bad will happen because nothing bad has happened yet.”
“Until something bad happens.”
“Until something bad happens.” He paused. “What about you? Hotel-inspection pet peeves?”
“People who blame me for their violations.” She rolled her eyes. “Like I personally put mold in their bathroom or roaches in their kitchen. I’m just reporting what’s there. Don’t shoot the messenger.”
“But you do have to deliver bad news a lot.”
“Constantly. Most hotels are not thrilled to see me.” She smiled wryly. “Which is why I show up unannounced.”
“So, you’re like a spy.”
