Chapter Text
“Flight AF151 to London will begin boarding in just a couple of minutes.”
The gate attendant’s accented voice shook Nadya from her reverie. Sighing, she gathered what remained of her sandwich, chucked it into the nearest trash can and headed to the boarding area.
She was supposed to have been in England already – a simple, non-stop flight from Boston that would’ve put her on the ground there hours ago. But of course there was no such thing as simple when it came to air travel these days, so here she was, at JFK, about to board leg two of what had turned out to be a ridiculously obnoxious trip. There was one upshot to this whole fiasco though – to compensate for bumping her from her flight, Air France had not only given her a travel voucher, but had offered to upgrade her ticket for the New York – London leg of the trip to first class. She’d gladly accepted.
The attendant called for first class passengers to board just as she reached the gate, and she soon found herself making her way down a nearly empty jetway. No lines. No people stepping on the back of your shoes. Hmm, she could get used this…
That hypothetical “could” turned far more affirmative as she entered the first class cabin. Instead of ten seats in each row, here there were four – two lusciously large armchairs on each side, with enough space between them to recline nearly all the way.
Slowly, she made her way down the aisle, eyes fixed on the luggage bins above. Up until now, she had been ever so grateful that she’d decided not to check her suitcase in Boston – it would’ve, for one thing, flown to England without her. The flight she’d taken down here – a tiny shuttle plane that bounced like a kite on the seacoast breeze – didn’t have any actual storage space, so their bags had been taken from them at the bottom of the jetway, and returned at JFK. Now, though, she found herself staring up at an impossibly high storage space, unsure how she’d ever get her overstuffed, way-too-heavy suitcase up there.
Well, here goes nothing, she mumbled to herself, gripping the handle and bending her knees slightly in the hopes of keeping her back from snapping at her.
“Can I give you a hand, darling?”
Nadya froze. She knew that voice, knew it all too well. It had read poetry to her just an hour ago, in fact, when, frustrated to pieces with this travel situation, she had plugged in her headphones and sunk, for the thousandth time, into Max Ehrman’s Desiderata. But it couldn’t be. There was no fucking way…
She looked up, fully expecting to see some older British gentleman staring back at her, in a hat perhaps, and glasses. He’d be portly, and not particularly attractive, because of course, this was her life, and these things just did not happen to her.
His eyes took her breath away. Baby blue, with just a hint of gold, they gazed at her expectantly, a hint of a smile crinkling at their corners. She swallowed, praying that her voice would not tremble.
“That would be wonderful, thank you.”
“My pleasure. Here…” He unbuckled his seatbelt and stood, his lithe, six-foot-two frame towering over her. She let go of her suitcase, and he grabbed it lightly, flashing her that signature grin that could melt polar ice caps. “There we go.”
She smiled gratefully and got another grin in return. The butterflies in her stomach flapped their wings excitedly. “Thank you so much. This is one of those moments when being short can really suck.”
He chuckled. “Yea, I bet… Is this you?”
It was only when he touched the back of what, yes, was her seat, that she realized this was not going to be just some brief chance encounter. Thank you, Air France…