Sparks - Wendy Higgins Page 0,2

and it was time to do our second round to pick up trash, my stomach actually quivered with nerves as I walked up the aisle, staring at the back of the cute officer’s head. There was a strange sense of awareness coming off him, like a throb of energy or something.

Wait. Throb? Wtf, Harlow. I needed to lay off my beloved historical romances during layovers for a bit. When I got to the row just behind him, the plane shook. I shifted the trash bag to one hand so I could grip the backs of the seats as I walked, but in that moment the plane made a drastic drop, literally lifting me inches off my feet. The entire plane of passengers took in a joint gasp of air, and my heart flipped as I grasped for the back of the nearest seat, only to land directly in a soldier’s lap. The trash bag was thrown out of my hands.

Without hesitation, the kid grasped around my waist, holding me with concern on his face.

“You okay, Miss?”

“Yes.” I tried to sit up, but he held me tight.

“You can let her go now.” There was humor in the voice of the handsome officer, who had stood to help.

The guy blinked down at me and took his hands off me like I was suddenly on fire. I reached for the seat to pull myself up but found the officer’s outstretched hand instead. He pulled me to my feet and everyone clapped. I gave a small curtsy, feeling like a fool. I’d never fallen during turbulence before. Hopefully Marcelle hadn’t seen, because I’d never live this down.

The officer released me and eyed the young soldier. “Hope you enjoyed that, Smith, ‘cause it’s the only way a beautiful woman’s gonna fall into your lap for free.”

All around us the soldiers groaned and laughed at the burn.

“Aw, come on, sir, that ain’t right!” the guy said, but he was laughing too. A female soldier across from him held out the trash bag and I took it with a nod, smoothing back my hair.

The overhead speaker came on, crackling with the voice of the captain, an older man. “Ladies and gentleman, uh…as you can tell, we’re hitting a rough patch and need everyone to remain seated. We’re on the line with traffic control. Looks like this storm has moved faster than we anticipated. It’s dumping ice and snow over Newark as I speak. Uh…one moment please.” He cut off and everyone got quiet, staring around until he came back on. “Yeah, just received news. Uh…looks like we’re being diverted to Philadelphia.”

Oh, shit. A joint groan rose in the cabin followed by whispers. My stomach plummeted because this was the kind of stuff that sent passengers into crazy mode. The captain continued. “For now, please remain seated as we begin our descent. Omega staff will get everyone squared away with arrangements when we arrive.” The passenger volume rose several notches.

I met Marcelle’s eyes down the row and we both nodded, our pleasant smiles glued on as if this were no big deal whatsoever. We had to hurry. Trash pickup was quick, and we were strapped into our jumpseats with time to spare. Good thing, too, because it was horribly bumpy all the way down.

Passengers always looked to me at times like this, and I always smiled like everything was fine as I was jostled side to side, up and down. Really, it was fine. But people scared easily. I saw some gripping the arms of their loved ones, or the armrests if they traveled alone. Some closed their eyes, and others stared avidly out at the gray and whiteness beyond the tiny windows.

I inwardly cringed at the sound of vomiting from one of the closer rows. Please, please let them have grabbed a barf bag in time. I think it was a kid because I could see the mom bustling in her seat, poor thing.

I leaned over as far as I could to peer down the aisle but couldn’t get a good view of the officer or Marines. They were the only passengers who didn’t seem upset about the diversion or turbulence. Above my head the wall phone buzzed and I picked it up.

“FA Robinson,” I said.

“Hey, it’s Silas. You guys okay? Sorry about that big bump earlier.”

“Yeah, I totally landed in a guy’s lap,” I told him with a hand covering my mouth and the receiver. Silas laughed. He was the co-pilot, a Cali-boy. He’d become one