Page 1 of Miles & Mistletoe

Chapter One

Stacia

“Another day, another flight,” I sang out loud as I opened the laptop sitting on my coffee table in the middle of my living room. I took a sip of my favorite pumpkin spiced latte from my favorite coffee shop just down the street from my apartment, before pulling out my notepad. I needed to write down my notes for the next morning’s flight.

Sometime later, as I double checked the drink and food selections that were being catered on the flight, I reached for my cell phone, which was on the sofa next to me, and for the third time within the hour I looked to see if I had any messages. Of course, there were none.

Placing my phone down, I opted to take this rare opportunity, alone in my apartment to turn the television on. As soon as I did I turned to a news special about the history of New York’s famous Thanksgiving Day Parade. Closing my laptop, I sat back against my fuchsia loveseat and propped my feet up on the glass coffee table—because it was mine and I could do what I wanted—and readied myself to learn all about the Thanksgiving Day Parade. The hosts speculated on the different floats that would line the streets the following morning as thousands and possibly millions of people stood on sidewalks in the cold weather to get a glimpse of the different celebrations and celebrities that would take part in the event.

A smile touched my lips as I remembered being six years old and my mother waking me up super early on Thanksgiving Day. She refused to tell me where we were going, just that I had to get up and get dressed or else I would miss out on a very special surprise. I loved surprises as a kid, and that got me out of bed immediately. Hours later we were standing on the sidewalk in front of Macy’s on 5th Avenue as the balloons and performances passed right in front of us. I cheered and clapped in delight, waving at the famous people whose names I didn’t know passing us by with huge smiles on our faces. That was my fondest memory of Thanksgiving.

Those thoughts prompted me to unconsciously reach for my cell phone again to see if my mother had responded to my last text message. Again, a frown crossed my lips when no messages were noted.

“Oh well,” I sighed out, as I stood while pressing the button on the remote to turn off the flat screen television. The holidays with my mother hadn’t been the same in nearly two decades. I didn’t know why I kept wishing they were. That’s the reason I’d made myself available for any and all shifts during the holiday season with my airline. Hence, why I was rising to head to bed, in order to be up the next morning for my early morning flight. Yes, even on Thanksgiving the private airline I worked as a flight attendant for was still open for business.

Three-hundred and sixty-five days a year we get you there … was part of the airline’s motto. And not for the first holiday season, I was happy for it. My job gave me an excuse to not make it home during the holidays, and though my mother had invited me, on more than one occasion, from the looks of my lack of text messages or phone calls, I wasn’t missed too much.

****

“Hey, did you bring the limes?”

I nodded and pointed to my right, nonverbally answering Aimee’s question. Aimee was the second flight attendant scheduled to work this flight. I was working the A position, which meant, I would do most of the hands-on work and she would be my backup.

“Oh good. I’m so nervous.”

I paused on setting up the pastries that were a part of the continental breakfast which was to be served to the passengers once we reached our cruising altitude. I turned with a raised eyebrow at Aimee, who was dressed in the same navy blue, form fitting dress, with the airline’s signature red and blue scarf tied around her neck. And like mine, Aimee’s makeup was immaculately done.

“What are you nervous about?” Aimee had only been with the airline a couple of years, whereas I was going into my seventh year, having started with the company when I was just twenty-one years old.

“Do you know who’s flying with us today?”

I gave her an odd look.

“You didn’t look up the charter?”

I shook my head. I rarely looked over the charter of who our passengers were before taking off. Checking to make sure their meals and anything else were in place? Yes, of course, that was part of my job. But checking names to see if they were famous? Nope. Not my thing. I’ve worked flights with enough celebrities, social media stars, entrepreneurs and the like, to not get worked up about who was entering the plane.

“Should I have?” I questioned in a bored tone, going back to setting up the breakfast to store in the galley’s small refrigerator until we were ready to serve.

Aimee sucked her teeth and sighed. “We’re taking Ian Zerlinger and some other guys to Los Angeles,” she answered with enthusiasm.

I stood and fixed my dress before pushing my curly hair over my shoulder. “Zerlinger,” I repeated, rolling the name off my tongue. “Sounds familiar.”

“Ian Zerlinger of Zerlinger Beer. Sheesh! Don’t you know anything?”

I laughed at Aimee’s dramatics. She was a beautiful twenty-five year old, who I suspected only took this job because of the proximity it would bring her to the well to do. I shrugged because if that was her deal, who was I to judge?

“I’ve heard of it,” I retorted, remembering the name. Everyone had heard of Zerlinger Beer, of course.

“Anyway, I hear he has some business meeting in—” Aimee’s gossip was cut off by a loud, deep voice at the front of the plane.

“I don’t give a damn if it’s a holiday!” the voice barked. “Get his ass on the phone and do it within the next twenty minutes. I’m on a goddamned plane, taking off for Los Angeles of all places.”

I was thrown by the demanding nature of the man’s tone. A shiver moved down my spine as I turned to Aimee who appeared just as stunned. Her silence spoke volumes. Aimee was never quiet. Ever.

Straightening out my dress and smoothing down the sides, I made sure I looked the professional and put together part of a flight attendant before stepping from behind the curtain that closed off the galley to the rest of the plane.

“Welcome, Mr.—”

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