Page 3 of Until Hanna

I feel triumphant when I turn to walk back to the front of the plane. But that emotion only last about two-point-five seconds, because my heel gets snagged on something, and I stumble forward. I try to make purchase with my hands on the top of the seats on either side while avoiding knocking anyone out, but before I can, a bulky arm shoots out and catches me around the waist.

“Easy,” he says, and after righting myself, I swing my head to the left, and piercing blue eyes lock on mine. “You okay?”

No. Obviously, I need my head examined. “Yes.”

“I’m so sorry.” I turn and see a young girl grab her bag, the handle of which had been in the aisle and caused me to trip.

“It’s okay,” I assure her quickly, then look around at everyone staring at me. My cheeks heat in response to the attention. “Hopefully, this will be the most exciting part of our flight today.”

Everyone laughs, and with a deep breath, I walk to the front of the cabin to let Douglas know the plane is secure. Taking a seat in my jump chair I breathe a sigh of relief that I’m able to hide and pull myself together for at least a few minutes while we take off.

When we reach cruising altitude, I set my Kindle aside and unhook myself from my seat as Douglas comes over the intercom, letting everyone know the flight time and that we might have some turbulence, so they should stay seated with their seatbelts buckled.

With this flight lasting less than two hours, we only offer a drink service, so Joslyn and I begin to get the drink cart in order. As we’re loading up, I hear the heartbreaking sound of the baby starting to cry and look down the aisle at the mom I spoke to earlier. I can tell she’s stressed just from looking at her, and I know that stress has less to do with the fact that her boy is crying and more so that everyone’s looking at her. Like she wouldn’t quiet him if she could.

“Do you got this?” I ask Joslyn, and after getting her nod, I walk to where the mom and her baby are seated, my gaze locking on the man behind her for a brief moment before I focus my attention back on her.

“How old is he?” I ask softly, and her son looks at me with tears streaming down his chubby red cheeks.

“He’s just turned ten months.”

“What’s his name?”

“Rory.”

“Hi, Rory.” I squat down so I’m eye level with him, which is a feat in my skirt. He stops crying and rests his head on his mom’s shoulder as he studies me. “You are adorable.” I reach my hand out, and he wraps his tiny fist around it. “Do your ears hurt?” I ask, pointing to my own ear and making a sad face. He nods, and I look at his mom. “Do you have a passy or bottle for him? Sometimes that helps with the pressure.”

“Yes, but it’s overhead,” she tells me, so I stand and click the latch on the overhead compartment.

“Which bag is yours?” I ask, hearing the telltale sound of a seatbelt unclicking.

“The blue one.” Lifting up on my tiptoes, I start to reach over my head to pull it down, but before I can grab hold of it, a shadow falls over me.

“I got it, babe.”

“Thanks.” I take it from the man towering over me trying hard to ignore the way my stomach is flip-flopping all over the place. It’s difficult.

“No problem.” He doesn’t move to sit back down and like an idiot I stare at him, watching his lips kick up into a grin.

Clearing my throat when Rory starts to whimper, reminding me of what I’m supposed to be doing I drag my eyes off the man, and look down at Rory and his mom.

“Would you like me to hold him while you search?” I offer. There must be twenty pockets on the bag, and I don’t feel comfortable going through her stuff, even with permission.

“That would be great,” she says, and the man takes back the bag without a word.

I don’t look at him again; it’s obvious I can’t without making a fool of myself. Instead, I focus on Rory and hold my hands out to him. He eyes me for a moment, then reaches up to me. When I have him on my hip, his mom takes the bag and starts to dig through it.

“Daw-ba-mama-baba,” Rory says, tapping my jaw with his tiny fist.

“Yes, Mommy is getting your baba.” I smile at him, and he smiles back, showing off four tiny white teeth in the front.

“He-doda-mama,” he replies, and I laugh.

“Really?”

“Mama-loo-la-baba-dada.”

“Are you sure you’re not lying?” I ask him, and he giggles, dropping his head to my shoulder. My chest warms, and I accidentally glance up at the man still standing over us, the soft expression on his face causing a riot of butterflies to fill my stomach. His eyes lift to lock on mine, and I get sucked into the vortex of their blueness once again.

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