The Woman in 3B - Eliza Lentzski Page 0,13

meal, but similar to the phone number challenge, there were out-of-the-box strategies to achieve that task. And there was still the issue of the Mile High Club, but I really didn’t see that happening; it would be impressive enough to check off all the other boxes. I wondered if there was a cash prize for that.

I was nearly finished with water service and my serving tray was almost empty by the time I reached the front of the plane.

“Can I get you something to drink besides water?” I asked the next passenger.

“Oh! It’s you!” I heard a woman exclaim.

My eyes dropped to the seated passenger. Dark hair with caramel highlights. Bronzed skin. Hazel eyes. An impeccably tailored suit. I typically didn’t take stock of the people who filled the airplane seats unless I was honed in on a specific passenger for the purpose of completing another bingo challenge. I served drinks and snacks to hundreds of people every day. Eventually their faces became indistinguishable from each other. But I remembered her—not only because she was strikingly beautiful, but because I’d embarrassed myself so epically in front of her the week before.

A tight smile found its way to my lips. “Welcome back,” I stiffly greeted.

The woman in 3B seemed to scramble in her seat. “Just a second,” she said as she fumbled around. “I didn’t bring a rain jacket with me.”

Despite her exotic looks, her voice was absent of any accent. I’d naively assumed from the color of her skin, the luster of her dark hair, and the thickness of her lips that there would be the shadow of an accent lightly tugging at her words. But she spoke with a clear and unaffected voice—the sign of a true Michigander.

Despite my embarrassment, her exaggerated antics made me chuckle.

“Can I get you something besides water?” I repeated my earlier question.

“I’m almost afraid to ask,” she said.

“I promise I’m not normally that clumsy,” I assured her. “I was having an off day.”

Her golden-colored eyes narrowed in contemplation. “Are you sure you won’t spill it on anyone else?” she pressed. “Because I would really love a cranberry juice with a splash of seltzer water if you have it.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Oh, you really want to ruin someone’s day,” I teased. “Might as well go all the way and order a Bloody Mary.”

She tapped at her lips in thought. The motion drew my attention to her plump lips and her nude nail polish. “Mmm. Tempting,” she hummed. “But I’m technically at work, so I guess I should behave.”

“Oh, what’s the fun in that?” I grinned.

I couldn’t explain from where my flirtatious attitude was coming. I typically only turned on the charm when there was a bingo card square in the balance. She was a beautiful woman, however, so perhaps I simply couldn’t help myself.

She waggled a finger at me. “You’re a bad influence, I can tell.”

I grinned wider, not really having a clever response for her. “Cranberry with a splash of seltzer, coming right up,” I promised.

The safety video was about to play, so I jammed myself in the rear galley and began to prep the drink orders for First Class. I was only a few minutes into making drinks when Gemma appeared.

“You’re awfully chipper,” my friend observed.

I continued to crack open soda cans and fill plastic cups with ice cubes. “Am I?”

“You’re humming like Snow White at work or something.”

“Is it a crime to be in a good mood or enjoy my work?” I defended myself.

Gemma smirked. “No. But normally it’s me getting teased for enjoying what I do.”

“Am I usually a grump?” I asked.

“You’re not a grump. Professional,” she decided on. “You’re always professional.”

“So, I’m a grump,” I laughed.

The third member of our flight crew—Kent—rushed to the rear of the plane. There wasn’t really room in the back galley for all three of us, but we made it work.

“I’m taking First Class back,” Kent announced.

I paused in my drink construction. “What? Why?”

“Didn’t you see who’s seated in 2A?” he asked.

I tried to jog my brain. Second row, window seat. 2A. I would have served them after I’d taken drink orders from the woman in 3B. I was drawing a blank. Had I even finished beverage service? Or had I rushed straight back to the rear galley to make a cranberry, splash of seltzer? I couldn’t remember.

“Uh …” I struggled.

“Oh, you wouldn’t even know her,” Kent huffed. “She’s only like the most famous makeup tutorial person on the internet.”

“Is she really?” Gemma gushed.