Sparks - Wendy Higgins Page 0,1
taking thousands of pictures on his new camera. Such Americans.
We stopped the cart and the drink service began like a well-oiled machine. I took orders on one side, Marcelle on the other. She passed me mini bottles of alcohol when I asked for them, and I poured her coffee when she needed. Half of the way through the plane I came upon the first row of soldiers.
I looked at the first man and literally froze at the sight of two bright, light blue eyes watching me intently. In half a second, I took in his Marine look: hair buzzed super short around the sides with a tiny bit of straight, soft-looking light brown on top, and a camouflaged uniform tucked into black boots.
“H-hi.” Good gawd, did I stutter? “Drink, sir?”
“Uh, yeah, please.” His country accent hit my ears and made my cheeks flush. “Vodka and tonic.” The man next to him did a double take, which made me wonder if he didn’t usually drink.
For a second, I forgot what to do. Honestly, I wasn’t usually fazed by men. I served them all the time, good looking ones, too. I had no idea why I felt thrown off.
This was when I was supposed to ask if he wanted pretzels or cookies, but instead I grabbed one of each with a shaking hand and held them out, avoiding his eyes.
He took them with a polite, “Thanks,” and I caught sight of his calloused palm. I flushed again because that was so manly.
So manly? Oh, for goodness sake, Harlow. It was a freaking hand.
I fished out a can of tonic and a cup of ice while Marcelle handed over a vodka, placing them on his tray atop a napkin, then taking his payment. If my hands could stop shaking now, that would be great.
“Would you like me to pour half? Or all?” I forced myself to look at him and my heart gave a hard pound to find him still watching me so…fully.
“All of it,” he said in a slow drawl. I don’t think he was trying to be sexy, but damn. He was.
I cursed my sweating hands as I twisted off the top and poured it over the ice, shaking out the last drop, then popping open his can for him.
“Well.” I wiped my hand down my navy polyester skirt and managed to smile at him. And then he grinned and held up the cup. Holy. My smile faltered as lust kicked me in the uterus at the sight.
“Coffee,” Marcelle called. I jumped and stared at her, startled out of whatever that was. She looked at me weird. Oh, coffee! I poured the steaming nectar from the carafe into her cup, then turned my attention to the second guy in the row, also in camo. They all were, now that I took a second to glance up. The entire rest of the plane was military. It made my heart swell a little.
“What can I get you, sir?” I asked the next gentleman.
He glanced at the man I’d just served. “Are we allowed to drink, sir?”
“Just one.” The first man gave a nod and I realized he looked a bit older than the others. He must’ve been their commanding officer.
“A light beer, please,” said the soldier. “Oh, and a Coke.”
“Pretzels or cookies?” I asked.
The guy’s forehead pinched as he looked at the officer’s tray. “He got both.”
“I’m sorry,” I began, feeling a flush of embarrassment. “I wasn’t really supposed to…” If I gave everyone on board two snacks, we’d run out.
“Don’t get greedy,” the first man said, grinning again. “I’m special.”
I let out the most ridiculous peal of laughter and wanted to die. I felt so stupid for my snack flub that I rushed to finish their row so I could move on and breathe again. Sheesh.
Marcelle gave me an odd look as we moved the trolley down the aisle. She glanced suspiciously at the back of the officer’s head and mouthed, “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I said on an exhale, then put on my best smile.
The guys and the few female soldiers were all friendly and polite. I laughed as they teased each other, each row just as excited as the first to find out they were allowed one drink. I wondered where they were coming from or where they were headed but didn’t dare ask. It was crazy to think many of them were my age, some younger, and they were out doing God-knows-what to try and keep the world safe.
When we finished,