Page 3 of At First Flight
I glance up at the older woman who bears the kindest of eyes. The laugh lines around the corners of her mouth put me at ease in a way that no medication ever could. The kind that reminds me of my best friend’s grandmother. A woman who was closer to me than any of my immediate family.
“I’m fine, thank you. Everything okay over there?” I ask, nodding in the ghost girl’s direction.
Her gray hair brushes across her shoulders as she peeks at the passenger in my row. “It will be, I’m sure.”
As she walks away, I can’t pull my stare from the woman. Like the sun drawing me into its orbit. Her golden strands remind me of the pale yellow rays. The kind that blinds you ifyou stare too long. A fluttering feeling erupts in my gut, and I wonder if it was indeed a bad idea to drink that whiskey on an empty stomach.
But all those thoughts fall away when the woman shifts in her seat, her crystal-blue stare colliding with mine. Any ability my lungs maintain to move oxygen in and out of the organ is lost. Paralyzed.
Despite my inability to do, well, anything but stare, my mouth drops open, and words rush out in a vocal cascade of embarrassment.
“Marry me?”
Her eyes widen to the size of mango pits. My favorite fruit. “What?” she whispers. I wonder if her huskiness is natural or caused by the same despair that smudged the mascara under her eyes.
I cough quickly, trying to get the oxygen moving through my system again as I register exactly what I said. Quickly, I consider retracting my words, but as her eyes move up and down my body, I’m struck silly again by her beauty.
Fuck.
She’s striking in a way that doesn’t ask for attention but draws it anyway, quiet and unassuming like a song you don’t realize is your favorite until it’s halfway through and you’re holding your breath for the chorus.
Even from where I’m sitting a couple of feet away, I can see the blue color of her eyes. But they’re not just any blue. Clear and piercing like a mountain lake just before dawn, the kind of blue that tells you it’s seen both stillness and storms. They shine in the light, too bright to be untouched yet too shadowed not to hold stories. And the shadow is not the kind that warns youaway, but the kind that dares you to lean closer and learn what caused it.
She’s been crying. I can tell by the slight puff beneath those long, dark lashes and the faint shimmer that still clings to them. She blinked it all away before anyone else could notice, but not me. I notice. The delicate slope of her nose is tinged pink from where she must’ve wiped at it earlier.
Her cheekbones are high, sculpted to make her look like she was built from glass and grace, but they’re flushed now. Not from embarrassment but something quieter. Maybe sorrow. Maybe hope. Maybe both tangled.
And God, she’s soft and strong all at once. There’s a bend to her spine like she’s used to carrying weight that no one sees. But her shoulders are squared, chin tilted like she’s daring the world to test her again.
She’s the kind of woman a man doesn’t just look at. She’s the kind he feels. Deep down. Under the ribs. Somewhere sacred.
And before I even know her name, I want to know what it would take to put joy where that sadness lives behind her eyes.
“I said, marry me. Seems like you’re dressed for the occasion, and I don’t need anything fancy. Pilots aren’t like ship captains, so they can’t perform a ceremony. And even though I was ordained for my best friend’s wedding, that was only good in Florida. But I’m certain we can figure that out when we land.”
She stares as she morphs into a gasping catfish-human hybrid. Unfortunately for her, I’m not deterred in the slightest. I only find her more intriguing.
“Is this some kind of sick joke, you jerk?” Her back goes rigid against the cushioned seat. “And what gives you the right to poke fun at someone not knowing what they’ve been through?”
Holding my hands up in surrender, I try to crack this newly formed icy exterior on my row-mate. “I’m not poking fun. It’s clear you’ve gone through something, and I was hoping to help lighten the mood. Make you smile.”
Her eyes narrow into slits as she assesses me. A metallic taste trickles in my mouth as I bite my tongue, waiting for her to recognize me from the article this morning or any of the various gossip rags on the market. But then her gaze clears, and she huffs out a puff of air, causing the corner of my lips to tilt upward.
“I’m guessing that smirk works on most women.”
“Zero fail rate,” I explain as I adjust my cap, hating how it pulls at my hair.
“Well, I hate to tell you, but I’m a lost cause.”
I pause to see if she elaborates, but I should know better. I can tell by the way she continues to sit with her arms crossed that she keeps her secrets close to her chest.
“Naw, no one is a lost cause.”
She guffaws and nearly slaps her hand across her mouth at what is clearly an unexpected reaction.
“We really should get married. I could have everything set up by the time we land.”
“Oh, my gosh.” She adjusts herself in the seat, tugging her skirt closer, using it as a fluffy shield while her eyes shift up and down my body. Usually, that kind of perusal implies an invitation, but I know better than to suggest more than my marriage proposal with her.
