A smile plays on my lips, and I turn back to face my future. Or more aptly, the big guy bragging to the other flight attendant about an upcoming bodybuilding competition as he drives out of one parking lot and into the next.
I don’t feel any jealousy toward her. She’s beautiful, but not in a stereotypical way. Rather, beauty fits her. She wears it like a custom-designed gown that swishes into place the moment it’s pulled on. Neither her thick golden hair flipping merrily at chin length nor the diamond sparkling from the crease of her nose would look the same on anyone else. It defies jealousy.
I glance past her attentive listening face to get a glimpse of my new home, and my smile melts the way the Wicked Witch of the West would in this Emerald City. Yeah, the three-story structures are designed with old-world charm, but probably because they were built during the time of Tudor England and haven’t been updated since. The gray clouds don’t help, stealing color and pasting litter to moldy sidewalks with their dreary rain. Even the allure of a swimming pool is tarnished by the rusty chainlink fence surrounding it. Raindrops dimple the pool’s surface, reminding me that it’s probably rarely used anyway.
No wonder Nathan bought a house.
All too soon, the shuttle jerks to a stop.
The other flight attendant stands with no hesitation. Doesn’t she mind living here?
I glance toward Jimmy, mentally pleading with him to announce she’s getting out at this stop, while I’m at the next. I’d told him where I was staying when he questioned me about Nathan.
He grunts. “Which building are you in?”
Oh, I hadn’t told him that. Hope swells. “Building F.”
The sexy flight attendant grabs her luggage, then tosses hair out of her face to grin at me. “That’s my building too.” She surprises me with a bit of a Southern twang. You don’t hear that much on the West Coast, but I suppose the world is smaller when you’re traveling. “Is Doug Crandall your landlord?”
I do a double take, and not only because of her accent. “Yes.”
Blast Doug and his photography skills that made this dump resemble a European bed and breakfast. Blast my new employer for basing me in Seattle rather than in my first choice of SFO. And blast my desire for free airline travel.
“Perfect.” The other flight attendant flashes her smile on high beam. “You’re my new roomie.”
This is as scary as the first time I moved in with sorority sisters. However, Cal-Berkeley had security guards. And soda machines. Where am I supposed to get a pop can for defending myself when I need one?
I peer out the window at a resident hunched over a laundry basketwhile wrestling with the lock on what I assume to be a laundry facility. A leaky gutter gives his clothes a prewash.
“Is it safe?”
She laughs, a light sound in this dark place. “There’s nothing to worry about. We have each other.”
I get the feeling that even if I weren’t here, she’d be just as chill. Meanwhile, I’m replaying Nathan’s self-defense lesson. Knee to groin, followed by a palm or elbow strike. I’m not sure any of it will actually work. I can’t even shadow box without causing the joint of my big toe to throb, so how would I defend myself in a real attack?
Laughing with the pilot had momentarily alleviated my fears, but now I’m tugging my suitcases off the shelves in an effort to stick as close as possible to my stunning new buddy. It’s not until my big bag crashes to the floor that I remember my perfume bottle inside. Should the glass container break, dousing all my garments in eau de toilette, I’ll be forced to wash a load of laundry immediately.
I take a deep breath, and it’s thankfully free from the sweet scent of cherry blossom, so I grab my smaller bag too.
The other flight attendant stops at the steps to slip Jimmy some cash before lowering her carry-on, and I remember what Nathan said about tipping. Shoot. Now either she’s going to leave me behind as I dig through my purse, or I’m going to make her wait in the rain.
“I got you, sis.” She waves for me to follow.
I blink. “You got my tip?” I don’t want to assume and get us banned from riding in the hotel shuttle ever again. Though with the way the driver is ogling my roommate, she doesn’t have much to worry about. She’ll be waving from the shuttle as they pass me walking down the hill.
“Yeah.” She reaches back in for my smaller bag. “You can get me next time.”
I clatter down the stairs after her. A fine mist slicks my skin with Washington’s version of rain. “Thanks.” And I am thankful.
Not only did this woman just cover my tip, but the pilot I’d met taught me how to catch this shuttle in the first place. And before that was myinteraction with the nicest passenger ever. What was it she said about God looking out for her?
“I’m Angel.”
I blink in astonishment. Though my roommate is absolutely cherubic. And she flies.
“What’s your name?”
“Oh! I’m Claire.”
