The Woman in 3B - Eliza Lentzski Page 0,34

clothes.

“Oh, right.”

I cast my eyes around the general area, hoping no one was watching our exchange. But no one ever noticed me, and especially not the passengers in First Class. Despite this knowledge, I felt the heat of embarrassment slip over my cheeks. It wasn’t like she was returning my underwear, but the intimacy and familiarity made me blush.

I was still holding onto a tray full of complementary water, so I awkwardly lifted my elbow like a bird’s wing. Anissa understood the nonverbal cue and tucked my folded shirt and shorts between my torso and my arm.

I was used to people being in my personal bubble, especially on airplanes, but her close proximity had me holding my body tense.

“Thanks,” I choked out.

“No, thank you, Alice,” she genuinely returned.

I turned on my heel to return to the rear galley where my carry-on luggage was stowed. But I spun back around in the aisle when a ridiculous request popped into my brain.

Anissa was still standing in the center aisle.

“Can I buy you dinner? Friday? In Philadelphia?” I proposed.

She arched a perfect eyebrow. “I might upset the Flight Gods if I break from tradition.”

“Maybe they’ll allow it just this once,” I reasoned with what I hoped was a charming smile. “Besides, they seemed to ignore your food tribunal last week.”

I watched her generous lips part. The tip of her tongue darted out to wet the center of her lower lip. Her perfect, bee-stung lips did unfair things to my overly-active imagination.

Why the hell had I said no to her?

“I’m sorry. I can’t.”

My eyebrows knit together. “You can’t?” I echoed. “Already have a hot dinner date?” I tried to joke.

She chewed on her lower lip. “I’m sorry, Alice. I just can’t.”

I nodded stiffly and swallowed the lump in my throat with some difficulty. I tried not to let her rejection get to me. It had been an impulsive request on my part, and we were both technically at work. It was probably an inappropriate ask, anyway. I turned back around on my heels, my ego moderately bruised.

I spent the rest of the flight hiding out in the rear galley. I didn’t say anything, so neither Kent nor Gemma suspected that anything was wrong; we typically all crammed in the rear of the aircraft, so nothing appeared out of the ordinary. Our plane landed in Philadelphia and the passengers gathered their belongings to exit the plane. I reapplied my lipstick before the landing gear touched down, plastered a smile to my lips, and said my one million goodbyes.

We had a different plane and gate for the next leg of our trip, but before we could deplane, we had to clean up the plane’s interior and take stock of the beverage and snack inventory. I started at the front of the plane, picking up plastic cups, napkins, and food wrappers.

Tidying the plane, getting it ready for the next flight crew, was probably the least favorite part of my job description. It made me feel like a bitter mom who had repeatedly reminded her kids to clean up after themselves, only to be ignored. We walked up and down the aisles with trash bags all throughout the flight, and yet inevitably I still ended up collecting a mountain of trash after the plane landed.

I nearly bypassed seat 3B, knowing Anissa was good about throwing away her trash before arrival, but something made me stop. The immediate area was clean of debris, but I peeked inside the rear seat pocket. I reached inside the slim opening and pulled out a silver iPad.

I looked around the plane to see if anyone was looking in my direction. Both Kent and Gemma had their heads down as they went about picking up their sections of the plane. I unobtrusively slipped the electronic device into my workbag. I had no intention of keeping the tablet for myself, but an impulsive plan had started to assemble in my thoughts.

+ + +

Even though we didn’t spend our layovers together, I knew I would find Kent at the Cinnabon in Concourse C. He avoided carbohydrates like the plague, but he liked the scent of the sticky, sugary treat. Predictably, I found him sitting on a bench within sniffing distance of the fast food kiosk.

I plopped down in the empty space beside my friend. “Do you still talk to that guy from ticketing?”

Kent looked up from the on-going text conversation splashed across his phone screen. “There was never really any talking involved. Maybe some grunting and