Chapter Nine Claire
Chapter Nine
Claire
You wanna fly, you got to give up the . . . [stuff] that weighs you down.
—UNKNOWN
Since I’m already adorning myself in the Texas state flag (and by “myself,” I mean my first officer), I figure I might as well buy “Come and Take It” flag T-shirts from the Alamo gift shop too. One for me and one for Wyatt.
On our boat tour, I’d learned the “Come and Take It” flag originated during the Texas Revolution in response to a demand from Mexico for Texas to return a borrowed cannon.
The Wild West mentality of San Antonio is completely opposite the nerdiness of Silicon Valley, but Wyatt develops software for Canon printers, and the T-shirts have an image of a cannon on it. If the shirt fits . . .
I tug a T-shirt over my head. It knocks the aviators crooked, and I have to straighten them. “What do you think?”
Nathan faces me, arms crossed, looking very Secret Service–like except for the ridiculous sunglasses with hearts on the lenses. “I think you should give me back my aviators.”
I laugh at the idea of making him wear the souvenir shades for the rest of our trip. No wonder he couldn’t take me seriously earlier.
“Okay, but let me get a picture of you first.” I loop the handle of my plastic shopping bag around my wrist and pull out my phone from a pocket.
Nathan shifts and starts to drop his arms from his tough-guy stance.
“Wait. Don’t move. It’s hilarious.”
He folds his arms again but shakes his head in mock disapproval.
“What?” I tease. “Don’t you want me to remember the Alamo?” I tap on my camera app, then frame his stoic stance in front of the Alamo’s stone structure. “Those glasses make it even more iconic.”
He pulls them off to better glare. “Let me take your picture in them then.”
A middle-aged lady with two teenagers steps beside me and holds out a hand for my phone. “Go ahead and join him. I’ll take one of you together.”
She must think we’re a couple. “Oh, that’s okay. We’re—”
“I’ll do it, Mom. You don’t know the right camera angles.” Her teenage daughter reaches past her and grabs the phone from my hand.
I hold up a palm to stop her. “We’re not together. We’re flight crew.”
I look to Nathan for help, but he must not be able to see without the sunglasses. He’s squinting this way in confusion.
“What’s ‘flight crew’?” asks the teen boy.
“He’s a pilot, and I’m a flight attendant. We’re coworkers. This is my first trip.”
“Wow.” The teen boy gapes at Nathan. “You’re a pilot? Is it hard?”
Nathan shrugs. “It has its ups and downs.”
The teenage girl giggles.
Their mom looks at me. “Your first trip? Then you must get a photo. Go on now.”
Why not? I jog over to the grassy area where Nathan is already in the perfect position. We just need the rest of our crew to join us.
“Vincent. Desiree!” I’m still not sure why the other flight attendant seems to be avoiding me, but I’m trying extra hard to include her now.
The moment I’m within an arm’s length of Nathan, he swipes for the frame of his glasses on my face. I quickly spin away and grin in triumph. I may not be a dancer anymore, but my ballet training does come in handy.
He nods at the saying on my shirt. “I can come and take it if you want.”
“Take ’em,” the teen boy cheers.
Nathan leans toward me menacingly.
I hold up the same palm I held up to the teen girl earlier, only he respects my signal.
“Take one group photo with the Texas glasses, then I’ll trade you back. I promise.”
Without sunglasses, his dark eyes glower a little dangerously in the way that made me once think I needed a soda in a sock to defend myself. But then he slides the shades up his nose and all that remains visible from his expression is a twitch of the lips.
Vincent and Desiree join us, and we all smile for the camera. Apart from Desiree’s cold shoulder, it’s been another good day.
I retrieve my phone from the strangers, grateful they insisted on snapping pictures with me in them. “Thank you.”
The shots are great. The teen girl really does know her camera angles. She’d stepped farther away and zoomed in to make the little tiny Alamo behind us look larger than life. And the sun has dropped low enough in the sky that the light is flattering as well.
Nathan peeks over my shoulder. “Do me a favor and don’t share those in the social media group about crew layovers.”
I glance at the image of me wearing his aviators and him in my heart glasses.
Vincent glances at my phone screen. “Yeah. He’d get made fun of in those shades for sure.”
I giggle. These pictures are too good to waste. “Well, I’ll just send them to you guys then.” I tap the icon for my messaging app and hand the phone to Nathan. “Add your phone number.”
He pauses for a moment, then complies. After passing the device to Vincent, Nathan holds out my new sunglasses for the agreed-upon trade.
“Fine.” I switch back with him.
He mischievously narrows his eyes at me one last time before sliding the gold-framed glasses up his Roman nose. He’s cute. Glen Powell in Top Gun cute.
Though the glasses hide his expression, I realize my admiration is out there in the open, so I quickly duck behind my ridiculous lenses.
Desiree holds out my phone to me, having also added her phone number while I was staring at Nathan. “Here ya go, baby.” This is one of the few things she’s said to me all day, but at least she’s still calling me baby.
“Thanks.” I busy myself adding photos to our group text as we head toward our hotel for an early bedtime again.
There’s a picture of all of us in front of the Alamo. There’s one with Nathan smirking at me from behind my heart glasses. Then there’s the pic from before he’d put on the glasses, where he’s just glowering.
His glower resembles a smolder, and while in real time it had reminded me of my need for a soda in a sock, looking at it now, I’m once again wondering how Joey could have ever picked another man over him.
If we were both available and he looked at me like that, I’d be taking the soda out of the sock to help cool off.
Maybe I won’t send that one to our group. I swipe quickly to see what other snapshots I’d taken.
Photos of the Alamo are interesting but not as beautiful as all the bridges we saw on our cruise tour.
One of the bridges even led to a spot nicknamed Proposal Island, where we got to witness a guy down on one knee.
We’d cheered for him. We’d cheered again when we passed a wedding in a little shady spot nicknamed Wedding Island.
All this romance makes me want to bring Wyatt down here. He may not be ready for marriage yet, but we could at least add a padlock to Love Lock Bridge.
I tap the Send button to whisk the group photo off to my crew, then open a new message for Wyatt. I’m a little afraid to send him the Wedding Island pics, since we’re in a long-distance relationship and I don’t want to seem pushy. So I send him the group pic and a shot of the cannon instead.
I bought heart glasses and got you a cannon T-shirt.
Dots pop up in immediate response.
I smile at my screen, then glance up to make sure it’s safe to follow my group from the historic stone promenade across the paved road. By the time we take the stairs down to the lush foliage that gives the canal below street level the feel of a rain forest, there’s a message waiting.
Should I be concerned?
I squint in confusion at his words, then look around. My biggest fear so far has been riding a rental scooter into the canal, and according to our cruise tour guide, that’s a valid fear. Tons of scooters are found every year when they drain the water.
I’d been less worried in San Antonio than when I’d arrived in Seattle, though there are some sketchy areas.
Construction creates shadows to hide crime, loud music from restaurants could drown out cries for help, and homeless residents are seen weaving in and out of the crowds, free to mug and scratch the retinas of unsuspecting tourists. But none of this has bothered me.
I feel safe with my crew.
Dots.
I grin up at my coworkers, jostling one another and pointing out landmarks.
Even if Desiree doesn’t care for me for some reason, she’s still motherly enough to protect me like I’m her bear cub.
On our long flight out here, she may have talked to the passengers more than she talked to me, but she also sat me in her jump seat, covered me in a blanket, and gave me a cookie, so I can’t complain.
Could I be imagining her cold shoulder? Perhaps she’s simply giving me a break after how hard I worked yesterday.
Short flights are more work for first class, while long flights are more work for the aft flight attendant, who has to get out a cart and take time to charge passengers for upgraded snacks and beverages. Yeah, that makes sense.
Even now Desiree has hung back with me to let her husband walk ahead with Nathan.
My phone chimes an incoming message.
Your crew is what I’m concerned about. Who’s that guy you bought heart glasses?
Oh no. I laugh at our misunderstanding.
Desiree looks over, all attitude. Must be her mama bear coming out, ready to protect me from a mugger hiding behind the random lemon tree our tour guide told us had sprung up from the seed of a cocktail garnish. Or from a group of careless teens capable of knocking me off a bridge.
“My boyfriend is asking about Nathan in my heart glasses,” I explain, still giggling.
Instead of laughing along, she says, “I’ll bet he is.”
Given how close they are, I assume she knows he’s still in love with his ex. So why does she seem upset? Maybe she doesn’t know I know and is worried I’ll get the wrong idea. “He told me about Joey,” I reassure her.
She snorts her comprehension.
Time to reassure my boyfriend.
Funny that you get more jealous over a pilot who is still in love with his ex-girlfriend than the famous football player who hit on me.
There’re those dots again. I need to get to my room to call him.