Page 1 of Getting Air (A Three Sisters Story 3)

ONE

Every morning I walked through the door at Three Sisters the door dinged about me. Every morning I walked into the office, straightened out the pamphlets, and tidied up whatever things the cleaning staff left askew.

I liked order.

Wait. Scratch that. I demanded order.

I stopped in front of the coffee machine, like I did every morning, and clicked the brew button. The hiss of the machine filled the quiet office. Coffee wasn’t my drink of choice—in my opinion, it killed you. I was a smoothie kind of girl—I know—groan. Call it the mountain-life wearing off on me—all those organic yuppies in their Birkenstocks and wool socks filling the aisle at the local natural foods market. Yep, that was me. Well, I still had enough common sense to go barefoot in my sandals, but I would admit that there was a pair of Birks in my closet.

The door dinged behind me followed by a rowdy bunch of men’s voices. I glanced over my shoulder in curiosity. Those definitely weren’t the voices of my two coworkers, Blake and Cher. I took a deep breath before plastering on my best customer service smile and turned to greet the group of eight.

“Hey there, boys.” I tossed my long platinum blonde hair over my shoulder. Bleaching my hair to blend in the whites was my way of holding onto my youth. “How can I help you?”

Their eyes scanned my body, trailing from my low cut tank top down to my short shirt. There was a built-in pair of shorts underneath it, but they didn’t know that. From the looks on their faces, they were picturing me commando. The outfits were my idea—a way to draw in more business. I didn’t get a promotion just because of my good looks.

A preppy brunette stepped forward, leaning against the long front counter that separated me from them and their testosterone filled bodies. Definitely tourists. “I can think of a lot of ways you can help me.” He paused as the rest of the guys snickered like a bunch of teenage boys. “But today we’re looking for a pilot.”

“Really,” I said, sashaying to the opposite side of the counter as I took on my work role. I leaned forward to match his gaze, emphasizing my cleavage as my breasts rested on the countertop. “What do you need a pilot for?”

He cleared his throat, looking surprised at my forwardness. “We need to get to the top of a mountain so we can get some pictures.”

“Oh,” I teased. “So you’re all a bunch of photographers?”

He blushed. “Nah. We’re bankers by day and amateur photographers on the side.”

“Well I’m sorry to tell you boys,” I said pushing myself away from the counter. “But I don’t fly groups this size. You’ll have to go to the municipal airport and see if they have any private pilots available.”

“Bet they won’t be as hot as you,” someone piped up from the back.

I let a slow smile sneak across my lips before replying. “Then I guess you’ll have to come back sometime when you want a one-on-one flight.”

The boys groaned as they filed out of the shop. When the door finally closed behind the last of them, I let out a sigh. I was tired of playing the same role every day. But seriously—I only had myself to blame. I was the one who came up with the flirt-for-business idea.

It’s been ten years since I started working at Three Sisters Adventures. Ten years of working my way up the ladder into my supervisor position. Currently, I worked with two subordinates, Blake and Cher. They reminded me a little of myself in my early twenties—innocent and doe-eyed. And I was almost ten years older than them when I started. But I wasn’t in my twenties anymore.

This week I was turning forty.

I returned to the coffee machine, staring out the window at the peaks of the mountains. We had a long love affair, me and those peaks. I’d overtaken every single one of them. Here at Three Sisters, everyone had a specialty. Blake handled water tours, while Cher handled hikes up the mountainside.

My specialty was much more—flying. Born and bred a military girl, I learned to fly from my dad—a fighter jet pilot. When I was little he took me out for flights, and as I got older he let me take the wheel until I was finally flying on my own. Now I flew the rich to the mountain tops where they felt like they too had overcome the great mountains of the Canadian Rockies. That was me—helping others live out their dreams.

Ten years. Wow. I can’t deny that I saw myself doing something more with my life by the time I was forty. I had started training for commercial airline flights, and though I knew it would take me years to get the hours I needed in, I was determined not to give up.

But now was not the time to dwell. Blake and Cher would be here any moment. I returned to my desk, sinking myself into the pile of paperwork involving bookings and licenses, and as if on cue, the girls arrived.

“Do you really think it could be tonight?” Blake asked as she passed the front counter. “I mean it’s only been six months. Is that crazy?”

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