I should take a selfie with him too. He’d probably appreciate a photo in which he’s not wearing sunglasses with hearts on the lenses.
I pull out my phone and tap the Camera icon. “Are you deadheading?”
“Yeah. They had me reposition a plane down here.”
“Nice.”
I worked a repo flight once. It was even easier than a deadhead, since the other flight attendant and I were the only passengers. Our captain had propped the flight deck door open with a seat cushion so we could converse with him and the first officer from our spots in first class. It was like chartering our own private jet. A little more bougie than having to sit in the very back row by the lav.
“It’s a nice surprise to see you again,” he offers.
“Agreed.” I lift my phone and angle my face next to his to take a selfie. “Smile.”
He’s got a great smile. Friendly. Kind. A guy-next-door kind of grin. And we did used to live on the same street. Since I’m not moving in with Wyatt, maybe I should consider moving back to Seattle.
“You going to send it to me?” Nathan asks.
I turn from our image on the screen to grin up at him, and he’s closer than I expected. It’s not uncomfortable, but it’s intimate enough that it should be.
My heart gives an extra-strong thump, as if in warning. My head reasons that we are cramped inside a plane. That’s all.
Just to be safe, I step backward into the galley so I’m closer to Mr. Oversized Bags. And rather than text Nathan directly, I’ll post the picture to his social media. That’s less personal.
Yes, things with Wyatt are over, but I’m still healing. Growing. Not that Nathan’s even attracted to me.
I give him the side-eye out of curiosity and find him still watching. Oh. I haven’t answered his question yet. “Y-yes,” I stammer. “I mean, I’ll share it on your Instagram.”
That was smooth.
Thankfully, the forward flight attendant interrupts with her announcement that boarding is over. I have to get back to work, so I send Mr. Oversized Bags to the front and follow him up the aisle, closing all the bins. I give a thumbs-up that I’m ready to arm the doors, and while I wait for the signal to do so, I log in to Instagram and find Nathan’s page. I attach our picture and am debating how to caption it when the other flight attendant makes her PA. So I just hit the Post button. Done.
I arm the doors, then walk the aisle a second time, checking for seat belts. On my return to the aft galley, Nathan holds up his phone with our picture on it.
“Sir.” I use my most professional tone. “I’m going to have to ask you to put your phone in Airplane Mode now.”
He clicks his tongue. “Or what? You’ll pull out your sock and soda on me?”
I laugh at the image of such overkill, then shake my head at his seatmate, Mr. Oversized Bags. “It’s no wonder they put you two at the back of the bus. You’re trouble.”
The other man isn’t as amused. He turns his glare from me to Nathan. “Airplane Mode.”
“Okay, okay.” Nathan holds out a palm in surrender. Then he grins at me. “Home, James.”
I wonder if he’d say that if he knew the origin of the phrase. I poke my head and shoulders through the galley to continue our conversation, feeling like Sparrow. “I’ve decided not to use that expression anymore because I learned it originated when Queen Victoria didn’t want to use her carriage driver’s last name, Darling.”
He lifts a shoulder. “So you’re going to start saying ‘Home, Darling’ now instead?”
“If I’m talking to my darling,” I retort, before remembering I don’t have a darling anymore. There goes my lighthearted banter once again.
I return to my duties, cringing. By the time we take off and I finish cart service, my mind is made up. I’m requesting a transfer back to Seattle. Not only has it become my home, but it offers the potential for career advancement through a training position. And I’ve always enjoyed teaching.
With fifteen minutes before another trash run and thirty minutes before landing prep, I’ve got time to bid for transfer. I pull out my phone and tap on the Wi-Fi connection.
An instant message appears from Wyatt. My gut attempts to churn up my peace. I knew saying no to moving in with him wouldn’t make him happy, but I hadn’t expected all his lashing out. I’d only planned to set a boundary, but because of his refusal to respect it, breaking up was the only healthy choice. It’s just hard to end things when you’re still in contact.
I tap on the messaging app.
I see you’re flying with Nathan again. Perhaps I was right about you all along.
