The Woman in 3B - Eliza Lentzski Page 0,9

it would dry more quickly than denim or wool.

My gaze traveled farther up. A cream-colored shell beneath a dark grey blazer. The shell was unbuttoned enough to see a hint of collarbone. A thin string of pearls hung around her neck. Her head was tilted down and to the left, just slightly. The downward angle had caused her long, dark hair to fall forward, forming a curtain around her face and blocking her features from my view. Her hair was nearly black and incredibly glossy, like an actress from a shampoo commercial, with visible caramel highlights streaked throughout.

“Water?” I benignly offered.

A slim wrist snapped up to meet the pro-offered water glass. Thin gold bracelets jangled together with the movement.

I stretched my arm in her direction. My fingers lightly flexed around the flimsy plastic cup in my hand. Her long, delicate fingers stretched in the air to barely touch the bottom of the glass. All I needed to do was let the cup slip from my grip and I’d be on my way to completing that month’s bingo card.

I had just made my decision to let go, when the woman in seat 3B turned her head to appraise me.

Her hazel eyes locked with mine. The color of her irises looked almost gold. She wore natural-tone lipstick on a full, wide mouth. My gaze swept over her meticulously sculpted eyebrows. Her high cheek bones. Her flawless copper skin. Her heart-shaped face and how her thick, dark hair tumbled in glossy waves past her round shoulders. It was like if a person had been photoshopped.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

Hers was the first acknowledgment I’d received from a passenger since starting the preliminary beverage service.

Gemma’s censuring words from breakfast resurfaced in the back of my mind. I had always justified that it was only water; but I started to consider the inconvenience, the annoyance, and even the embarrassment that a seemingly insignificant cup of water might cause. What if this woman was on her way to a big job interview and had nothing to change into? Or maybe she was meeting her significant other’s family for the first time and wanted to make a good—not soggy—first impression. The flight might have been long enough to cosmetically fix the damage, but what I was about to do could potentially ruin this woman’s entire day.

I couldn’t do it.

My conscience said one thing, but my hand had other plans. The glass had already begun to slip. My fingers tensed and clenched around the cup before it could drop any farther. But in my panic to stop the glass’s fall, I over-corrected. My entire right arm twitched and jerked up, just enough to change the water’s momentum. And instead of the plastic cup and its contents dropping onto the beautiful woman’s lap, I splashed the entire glass of water across my chest. The water wasn’t particularly cold, but I hissed in surprise at the sudden dampness that soaked into my white blouse and bra.

The woman’s golden eyes widened in surprise. “Are you okay?”

“Sorry,” I grit out between clenched teeth.

The fabric of my button-up shirt stuck uncomfortably against my chest. I grabbed another plastic cup from my tray—which I mercifully hadn’t tipped over during my spastic flailing—and handed it to the woman in 3B.

Her plush lips tilted down in sympathy and she returned the cocktail napkin I had handed her with the water glass. The cheap paper napkin would be useless in soaking up the liquid that had saturated the front of my blouse, but it was a kind gesture nonetheless.

I accepted the returned napkin with a pained smile frozen on my features and finished the remainder of my beverage service to the rest of the First Class cabin. When my tray was finally empty, I rushed back to the rear galley with my arms covering my chest. Thankfully I had an extra uniform shirt in my carry-on luggage even though that day’s schedule didn’t have me staying anywhere overnight. It hadn’t been the first time I’d spilled on myself during a flight, and my airline required we look neat and professional at all times.

“What happened to you?” Kent eyeballed me.

“Karma,” I grumbled. I wiped uselessly at the front of my saturated shirt. “I don’t suppose either of you has an extra bra.”

Kent and Gemma slowly, almost comically, shook their heads.

“Do you want me to make an announcement to the rest of the plane? I’m sure we could wrangle up an extra bra or two,” Kent offered with a teasing