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. This is my first over the pond flight and I’ll be in charge, per se, of ten, thirty-plus years’ seniority Flight Attendants. 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 and breathe in the familiar scent of recycled air and leather upholstery. "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. The dimple on one side of a mischievous half smile causes my heart to skip a beat. 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 voice rumbles between us, a low, throaty chuckle that vibrates through my chest as if he'd touched me there. "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.”
I examine myself again in the small mirror secured above the coffee makers, pat a finger under my green eyes and smooth my long blonde braided hair tidy. This flight may not be so bad after all. Stop. What am I thinking? I agreed with myself after my breakup with my cheating boyfriend weeks ago to concentrate on myself, to get back my self confidence that I let disappear and dig into my schooling to further my goal of audiobook narrator and swear off men for a while. 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. I found out she was always singing or humming and never saw her without a smile on her face. She never worried about the tests we had to take every day making a ninety or better on, or the emergency drills, medical, or firefighting procedures that had to be performed perfectly. 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 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 I don’t pass out. My ex-boyfriend, Wien Mathews, walks into the galley, dragging his flight bags. He flashes his mesmerizing full lip smile, the one that used to cause my insides to tumble, every time he trained it on me. Three weeks ago, after dating for two years, he broke up with me, or did I break up with him? Yeah. I definitely broke up with him when I told him to get his cheating ass out of my house and I haven’t seen, nor talked to him since.
“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.
We’re somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean and a couple of hours into our flight, with dinner and dessert served–the soothing vibration of the engines have seemed to have hypnotized most of First Cass. Except for 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 and into the galley, closing the door as the captain clicks the double enforced lock. My face takes a sudden turn downward as I literally feel one side of my lip curl up in disgust. Wien doesn’t notice or care and smiles his signature perfect teeth, movie star smile as he hands me his meal tray that I’d served him earlier, 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, each lingering look feeling like a trespass on territory he surrendered weeks ago, 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. The memory ambushes me: Wien and I meeting during that Vancouver layover, the crisp Canadian air carrying the scent of salt and pine as our crew wandered through Stanley Park. His shoulder bumped mine with each step, deliberate little collisions that sent electricity through my rain-dampened jacket, while seagulls wheeled overhead, and the Lion Gate Bridge stretched across the horizon like a promise. 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 level a glowering stare into those eyes. “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. Wien doesn’t do anything that doesn’t benefit him.
“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.
After returning from Business-Class, where Emily helped me calm down by reminding me Wien has no more room in my life and he doesn’t get to ruin this trip, Wien had gone into the crew bunks since I could see the occupied lock on. I jump when I almost run head on into the memorizing Mr. MacFadyen, standing in my galley.
“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. I can’t let Wien distract me from my duties.
“I’ll go to my seat,” he says.
As he walks away, my chest and legs tremble, like stepping off that earlier roller coaster ride. 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 with her almost black almond-shaped eyes and gives a repulsive Ugh. “What do you want, scum?”
“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. I’m a little confused why this perfect stranger is watching over me but captivated by his attention at the same time.
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 after catching Wien eyeing it. Emily twists her model thin frame around, flipping her dark brown shoulder length hair like she was a runway model and walks down the aisle, only to nod at Cameron like he needs to intervene. He gives her a wink. What in the hell?
“What is it, Wien? I’m busy and you should go back to the cockpit.”
I’m over whatever he is doing. My earlier thought returns that he’d scammed his way on this trip from his friend for some reason.
As if he didn’t comprehend, or just ignored, the animosity, he says, “So… you and Emily are going sightseeing? Can I come along?” He flashes his persuasive grin again and steps towards me.
“What is the matter with you?” I say, keeping my voice quiet and as pleasant as
