Page 3 of The Summer Show
RIP his enamel.
The Fasten Seatbelt sign flicked off. With an ominous creak, the seat in front of the obviously anxious man dipped backwards. Mr. 24C jerked slightly, as though startled.
I lowered my book and leaned over slightly. “If you want to swap seats, I don’t mind. I’m shorter and I’m used to people being in my face all day.”
“I’m fine.”
He was not fine. He was the opposite of fine. But he was also a whole adult, and there was a limit to my persuasive powers, especially when my stash of stickers was in my other handbag.
The flight attendant loomed over us, offering drinks and snacks that were a major step up from the average domestic flight, her smile increased from a regular curve to a glowing high beam.
“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked him.
He grunted like a sick moose.
Her gaze slid to me. The smile dimmed. Probably because of my puny shoulders and my messy bun. “Anything for you?”
“Water would be great.” I smiled big and wide. “Thanks!”
Now that adequate hydration was secured, I opened my book. Historical Romance with a modern tone and buckets of humor.
How many times did I reread the same page?
At least five. Then five more.
This was no good. I couldn’t focus on the story with Tanned Thor over there on the verge of cracking. My inner humanitarian had to do something before his bones or the armrest snapped. He didn’t strike me as the type who would respond to soothing sounds and arm pats. I’d tried conversation and received animal noises in return.
This was a job for my, well, job.
When Bush Lake Elementary’s students struggled with big emotions, their teachers regularly sent them to the library if our counselor was unavailable. If I was busy with another class, I folded them into the group so they could join in on story time. On the occasions when my hands were less full, I would steer the woebegone student to the stacks to find a book that appealed to them. We’d sit together and read. Sometimes they wanted to read alone, but more often than not, they relaxed into a beanbag and let the story carry them away to a carefree place while I did the reading.
I did all the voices. I’d like to say I was good at it, but I would be lying. My students didn’t mind, though; theirs were the only opinions that really mattered to me.
Books contained magic, and I was an accomplished magician. At least among children ages five through eleven. Outside of that, my skill level was hazy. But I was about to test my powers on the man in 24C. It was that or watch him claw his way out of the plane.
Gripping my book, I scooted around in my seat and flipped back a couple of pages, until the story looked familiar again.
“ … As they stood in the moonlight swaying, his eyes moved to her mouth. Is there something between my teeth? she wondered, running her tongue across the enamel. Or is he calculating the width of my mouth to see if it’s large enough to“ —I craned my neck and quickly flipped the page— “Maybe I’d better skip over that part, seeing as how there are children on this flight.”
Mr. 24C’s head snapped around. He nailed me to my seat with caramel eyes that were entirely unexpected. Amidst all those warm tones that triggered a sudden craving for fall and dipped apples, golden specks mingled with a sprinkling of darker browns.
“What are you doing?”
“Reading out loud?”
“Why?”
“You’re obviously afraid of fly—”
“I’m not afraid of flying.”
All evidence to the contrary. “Either you’re afraid of flying, or you despise armrests in a frankly unnatural and concerning way.”
His eyes flicked down to his shovel-sized hands clinging to the armrests like he’d die if he didn’t. Probably he didn’t realize that the seat cushion was the actual safety device in case of a water landing, but now was not the time to bring that up. He was on the verge of a nervous breakdown as it was.
“It’s okay.” I went on in what I hoped was a soothing tone. “A lot of people don’t like flying.”
“I fly all the time.”