“Mr. Gallagher,” she says, voice sweet as syrup, “I just wanted to say I’m ahugefan. So excited to have you on board.”
I give her a polite nod, the kind that usually gets the message across.I’m not interested. But she lingers, letting her eyes travel over me in a way that makes my skin itch.
“Can I get you anything to drink?” she finally asks, still smiling as if she’s auditioning for a toothpaste commercial.
“Sparkling water.”
She scribbles something on her little notepad but doesn’t move. Just… stands there, staring. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Catalina waiting patiently, her hands folded over her laptop, trying not to sigh out loud. I don’t like that she’s being ignored.
I glance at her, then back at the flight attendant. “Kitten,” I say, making sure the word lands squarely in her ears, “what would you like to drink?”
Cat’s head snaps toward me. She rolls her eyes so hard I think she might actually sprain something. That finally jolts the flight attendant into motion.
“Oh! Of course. I’m sorry,” she says quickly, cheeks flushing. “What can I get you?”
“Could I please get some water? No ice,” Cat says. “I need to take my migraine medicine.”
“Of course,” the flight attendant—Ruby, her little pin says—replies, and finally bustles toward the back of the plane.
I turn in my seat to face Cat. “Catalina, are you okay? Do you have a migraine?”
She looks a little surprised I even asked. Maybe she’s surprised I called her by her first name. “I’m okay,” she says softly. “I’m just tired. The cabin pressure doesn’t help, and I think I might need a new prescription for my contacts.”
“You wear contacts?”
“Yes,” she says with a small shrug. “I should probably put my glasses on. Would you mind letting me grab my backpack from the overhead bin?”
“Stay put. I’ve got it.”
I unfasten my seatbelt, stand, and open the bin above us, then pull down her backpack. I set it gently in the empty middle seat. She thanks me in that soft voice of hers, and my chest tightens before I can stop it.
“You’re welcome, lass,” I murmur.
She pulls a smaller bag from inside the backpack, then zips the larger one closed. I take it from her hands and slide it back into the overhead bin before settling into my seat and buckling in again. That’s when she unzips the little bag, moving with careful precision. Inside, there’s a sleek glasses case and a tiny container for her contacts, and she handles them delicately. She is balancing a contact lens on her fingertip when Ruby returns.
“Your drinks!” she chirps, carrying a tray.
There’s a clear glass filled with sparkling water for me… and a flimsy paper cup with iced water for Cat.
I look at the tray, then at Ruby.
“What is this?” I ask.
She hesitates. “Your sparkling water, Mr. Gallagher?”
“No,” I say, my voice low, my accent sharper. “What isthis?” I nod toward the paper cup.
“Uh… water for her.” She glances nervously at Cat.
I arch a brow. “Why is it in a paper cup?”
She blinks. “That’s just…”
“And why does she have ice when she asked for no ice?”
Ruby swallows. “I-I’ll fix that.”
“Do that,” I say, leaning back, calm but firm. “And if you’re going to treat the back of the plane like it’s first class, then do it forbothof us.”
