I’ve heard stories of people meeting someone for the first time and automatically knew they were the one, the person they were meant to be with. I’ve never believed in love at first sight or whatever that means or thought it would happen to me until Cameron. He walked into my life and then suddenly he was everywhere. I wanted to be his even as much as I fought it.
In only my fifth year of being a Flight Attendant and on reserve, the scheduling department assigned me the Purser position working First-Class on a transcontinental trip from Dallas/ Fort Worth to London. I rehearsed the pre-flight briefing under my breath, my badge perfectly straight. I adjust it again anyway. Ten senior flight attendants already on board, some with careers longer than my life. I swallow hard, turning on my electronic manual and triple-checking the aircraft type First-Class specifications I'd memorized last night. I give myself a once more look over in the mirror patting my hair straight and making sure my lipstick looks fresh and clean. My fingers tremble slightly against the crystal stems as I balance the tray of welcome champagne. I square my shoulders. The cabin's familiar scent fills my lungs—leather upholstery, a hint of cleaning solution, and the slight musty old book smell of recycled air. The carpet muffles footsteps as passengers continue to enter. “This is just like any other flight," I whisper to myself, though the flutter in my stomach argues otherwise as I step forward to greet my passengers.
First-Class is full, with eight elite fliers, each having over one million miles flown each year. I’ve made sure all the seats are clean and have clean packaged pillows and blankets. I straighten from serving a glass of champagne to the young lady in two-A when the gentleman walking towards me catches my attention. Not usual, but not unique. He doesn’t have the typical million miler aura. ‘A Suit.’ Short, manicured hair, older, big corporation CEO type. His wavy auburn, shoulder length hair, framing a mature but youthful, squared jaw and tanned, clear smooth skin face had my stomach doing somersaults… you know the ones you get when you’re on a roller-coaster speeding down the tallest tower hoping that it stays on the track when you turn that ninety-degree corner. Yeah… that’s the one. His black fitted short sleeved T-shirt, didn’t completely hide what looks like a letter that is tattooed on his right bicep peeking out. My mouth goes dry. Suddenly, all I want to do is rip that T-shirt off to see what comes before that letter. I catch my breath, not wanting to stare. I scan down to his jeans, those blue denims hug his trim muscular body perfectly and those dark brown leather boots scream, ‘Rock Star.’ My face flushes hot, and I hope he doesn’t notice. His spicy, earthy scent weakens my knees as he slides into his seat at one-A. I take a faulty step and grab the bulkhead next to his seat, not to spill a glass of champagne on him, when his almost see-through hazel eyes pin me. His smile crooks higher on one side, carving a dimple into his cheek. My pulse falters. Skips. Dammit. Five years of medical training for emergencies, and my own heart betrays me for a stranger's dimple. My breath catches again at the sound of his easy, seductive voice and the touch of his hands when they wrap around my waist, keeping me stable so I don’t stumble into his lap.
His captivating gaze slides from my face to my name tag, where he pushes my braid away so he can read my name.
Good God. Normally that move of touching me would have me asking the captain to call for security… but not this guy. My blood turns hot, racing through my veins from sheer passion at his slight touch.
His laugh lands in my chest that vibrates through my body– warm, resonant, tactile. A sound with fingerprints. "Are you okay, Deagan?" My name sounds like something precious in his mouth, each syllable given weight and care.
“Uh… yes. I’m… fine, Mr. MacFadyen,” I chirp out. At least I didn’t totally lose it and reply with his name that I’d memorized, along with the other customers in First Class, because their business is appreciated. After serving him a glass of champagne, I break away to find solace in my galley. I snatch a napkin to pat the sweat forming on my forehead, caused by my blood still running rampant through my veins with unmitigated desire.
“What the hell?” I say to myself. Weak knees and roller-coaster stomach are not usually my reaction when I encounter a customer on the airplane. Even a good-looking one.
“Professionalism, Deagan.”
The galley mirror reflects a stranger—flushed cheeks, dilated pupils rimmed in green. I tame flyaway strands back into my braid. Compose my face. Erase him from my expression.
This flight may not be so bad after all. Stop. What am I thinking? You swore off men after Wien, remember? Focus on your voice-over classes. On rebuilding yourself. I force my attention back to the champagne tray. Not that I was interested in this guy… or him me.
Just then, my best friend, training classmate and now roommate Emily, comes bouncing up the aisle. Scheduling had assigned her the trip as well. The first day of Flight Attendant class, Emily blew into the classroom like a hurricane, causing everyone to stop whatever they were doing and delight in her enthusiasm. She was full of life, almost skipping around the room looking for an empty seat. When her eyes fixed on me, she plopped down beside me. The quiet, non-confrontational girl.
“Hi. I’m Emily,” she says, with the brightest smile I’d ever seen and dimples that made her look ten. I couldn’t tell if she was nervous, or just naturally enthusiastic about everything. When our instructor used the example of the song Staying Alive as the cadence to performing AED compressions, Emily decided to use the same technique for all our emergency commands or firefighting procedures and put them to songs that she would hum or sing while performing the procedure. She never worried about the tests we had to take every day making a ninety or better on. Not to mention memorizing every announcement we had to make on the airplane, word for word. She was my polar opposite in training, my savior, my cheerleader, and she kept me laughing even through the late nights of studying.
“This is going to be so much fun. I can’t believe we are both on this sick trip. Twenty-eight hours in London. Oh, Dee, we are going to tear it up.” Emily bounces around the galley on her toes like a bunny rabbit. I chuckle silently at Emily being her normal exuberant self and place a finger to my lips, hoping to quiet her down and act a little more professional. I point to the hot guy in First-Class and fan myself for being a hypocrite on the professionalism, when Emily’s body freezes and I grab the galley counter, so not to pass out. Wien Mathews drags his flight bags into my galley. My ex. Three weeks of blessed silence since I caught him cheating and threw him out. And now—here he stands, flashing that practiced smile as if he still owns rights to it."
“Hi, ladies. Looks like we are going to London together,” he quips, winking before entering the Flight Deck, where the captain was already turning switches, pushing buttons and pre-flighting their emergency equipment.
“This is crap. I’ve got to put up with my ex’s sorry ass for eight plus hours.” I moan, pulling on my braid to give my hands something to do.
No way. His best friend was assigned this flight last night. I pulled the crew list up one more time on my work iPad and sure enough, Wien was the First Officer on this flight.
“Come on, Deagan, you gonna let some cheating piece of crap, no morals ex-boyfriend keep us from having fun in Jolly Ole England?” Emily says.
I close my eyes, relax my shoulders and concentrate on the bustling sounds of the people in the cabin arranging their belongings, and let determination replace my anxiety with each measured breath. My eyes snap open, meeting Emily's concerned gaze. "No way am I letting him ruin this. London..." I tap my finger against her arm in rhythm with my words, "...here we come." I push Wien out of my mind, let the excitement of my first Pursers position take over and perform my duties as the crew prepares for departure. We arm our doors, make the safety announcements, and secure the cabin. I avoid the temptation to tighten Mr. MacFadyen’s seatbelt myself before taking my jump seat before take-off. Holy Mother of God. Thankfully, we turn onto the runway, the engines spool up and we are airborne within minutes.
Two hours over the Atlantic, the dinner trays cleared. Wine corks and chocolate wrappers fill my trash bag. The engines' steady hum vibrates through the soles of my shoes, a white noise lullaby that's pulled most of First Class under—slackened jaws, weighted eyelids—all except Mr. MacFadyen. I’ve kept my naughty thoughts about him to a minimum while he concentrates on his computer when the chime from the cockpit sounds. I glance down at my watch. It’s time for the cockpit’s first two-hour break. I answer and tell the pilots that we are ready to open the cockpit door where I’m facing the door to the cockpit and my back to the cabin. Wien steps out. Cold air rushes from the cockpit, smelling of coffee. The captain reaches past him, clicks the double-enforced lock. Metal against metal, final and official. His signature perfect teeth, movie star smile hits me first as he hands me his meal tray that I’d served him earlier. My nose wrinkle, upper lip curling before I can control it. I turn away, busying myself with napkins while trying to master my expression before facing him again. Wien doesn’t notice or care all while his eyes examines me from top to bottom. His deep, intense eye contact is undressing me. My blood boils as if I was a pot of water sitting on top of a red-hot stove. My skin crawls under his gaze. He scans me like I was a possession and wishing I could slap that look right off his face. I clench my teeth against the memory of how that same smile once weakened my resolve, how those chocolate eyes could melt my defenses and send me willingly into his arms, my fingers mapping the contours of his shoulders like familiar geography. Vancouver ambushes me—salt air, rain-soaked paths through Stanley Park. Wien's shoulder against mine with each step. Seagulls overhead. The Lion Gate Bridge cutting across gray sky. A promise now broken. After we ate seafood chowder and ice cream at the onsite restaurant where our conversation was easy and fun, we caught a cab back to our hotel where Wien was a total gentleman. After walking me to my hotel room, he leaned in slightly, kissed me before saying goodnight and going back to his room. He was attentive and made sure he became a part of my life and me his after that.
The First-Class lavatory clicks, knocking me out of my stupor. I peer up to see the red occupied sign illuminated.
Like he’d not blown my world apart three weeks ago, “Hi,” Wien says, thankfully knocking the unwelcomed memory out of my head, but making me acknowledge him.
I meet his gaze with granite. No warmth. No history. Just stone. “Time for your break?” I ask in a monotone. Wondering what his purpose was to be on this trip. He had to have had one. Surely, he didn’t manipulate his way on this trip because I was on it. He had done it before, demanding the First Officer on my layover in New York trade trips with him, not caring that his daughter had a recital that he would miss if he did. I thought at the time it was passion, not possession.
“Yes.” He slides his hands over my mine, his eyes darken, he winks and raises an eyebrow in a sexual suggestion. The familiar smell of his cologne makes me gag from its overbearing scent. Once upon a time I loved his cologne and how it smelled on him. I thought Wien was the love of my life. He would bring me flowers for no reason at all, watch chick flicks with me without snide comments. He even cried with me and held me when my mother called and said they had to put our family’s dog, Dolly, to sleep. How, or why, did that all change? Oh, wait. I know, because he is a selfish bastard. Now his smell and he make me sick. I pull back, realizing I’m still holding the tray Wien had handed me. I place it on the galley work area and turn around to him.
“Your flirtations are useless. Remind yourself you have no right, nor do I want you to touch me any longer.”
“Deagan, I’m sorry. Old habits and all.”
“Breaking old habits wasn’t a problem a few weeks ago. I’ll inform the other Flight Attendants you are taking your break.”
I spin around and stomp to business class, wanting as far away from him and as fast as possible. Grateful that most of my customers were either sleeping or watching their TV screens to not notice Wien and my exchange. Except Mr. MacFadyen, who wasn’t in his seat.
Back from Business-Class, Emily's pep talk still ringing in my ears. The crew bunk shows occupied—Wien, mercifully out of sight. I spin toward the galley and collide with a wall of spicy male and cotton. Mr. MacFadyen. Here. In my space.
“Goodness. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be in here.” I squeal but somehow keep my voice low.
He steps back as if he is respecting my space. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I should have waited until you came back before I came into your space. I’m sorry.”
“Is there anything I can get you, Mr. MacFadyen?” I say, spotting the warmth coming from his intoxicating eyes.
He clears his throat and says, “Please call me Cameron.”
I stand there, drinking in his visceral magnetism. God. I want to touch him.
“Are you okay? I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with the pilot,” he whispers.
“Oh, my heavens. My apologies… Mr. Mac… Cameron. I thought we were quiet. I promise the rest of your flight will be peaceful.”
“You were. I was in the lavatory when you two were talking. My concern is you,” he says, a half-crocked smile forms, his gaze still focused on mine with a compassion I sense deep in my soul.
This man is concerned about me for a reason unknown to me. But… I like it. Nope. Nope. I can’t like it.
“I’m fine… but thank you,” I say, shocked. It was he that entered the lavatory when Wien and I were talking. God. I’m really embarrassed now. Focus on the job, not the ex. Eight high-maintenance passengers expecting perfection. My first purser position. Five years working toward this. Wien and his baggage aren't worth jeopardizing my perfect record—my chance to finally prove myself.
“I’ll go to my seat,” he says.
As he walks away, something electric runs from my nape to my fingertips—like touching metal in winter, shocking and sharp and somehow thrilling. I lean on the galley counter. Not from him witnessing our conversation, but the way he makes me feel… important, desired, beautiful, all with one glance. I snap out of my trance and stroll through the First-Class section. The other passengers have their noise cancelling headphones on, sleeping, or watching a movie, still. Not gonna lie, Mr. MacFadyen… Cameron, is a pleasant distraction, especially since I’m not in the mood to be civil to my ex. I thought I had let all the hurt go from our breakup, but evidently, I hadn’t put it behind me enough to not still let him affect me. I’ll make more of a conscious effort to do so.
Once I turn the cabin’s temperature down to make it more comfortable for the customers to relax and settle into their own worlds, including Cameron who has spread papers out on his tray table of what looked like a speech of some kind, Emily and I quietly plan our time in London. We search the web making notes of sights to visit and places to eat when the lock on the bunk door clicks and Wien steps out from his break. I check my watch. Two hours had passed already.
“Hi, girls,” he says, acting like we’re best friends or something.
Emily glares at him and gives a repulsive Ugh. Emily's model-perfect posture stiffens. The same woman who coaxed an elderly passenger through a panic attack last month with infinite patience now fixes Wien with almond eyes gone cold. 'What do you want, scum?' The harsh words sound foreign in her typically melodic voice.
“Emily. Be quiet!” Bringing my finger to my lips. I glance around the galley wall to find Cameron’s translucent eyes fixed on Wien, giving him a death stare. Why is MacFadyen watching me like this? Passengers don't play white knight for flight attendants. I should tell him to mind his business. Should want to. Instead, I find myself checking if he's still watching. Hoping he is. What is wrong with me?
I step back to face Emily. “I’ve got this, Em. Why don’t you check on your people in Business-Class? I’ll come back there in a minute.”
I move to block the paper we had written our London plans on
