Chapter Sixteen Nathan
Chapter Sixteen
Nathan
If you want to become a better pilot, fly with someone who is better than you are.
—ANONYMOUS
I can’t believe Claire’s boyfriend canceled on her birthday. Though I am delighted that she chose to spend the day with me. Okay, she may have picked up the trip because it’s a local, but she wasn’t surprised to see me on it. That counts for something, right?
It’s not exactly that I want Claire to dump her boyfriend for me, but it sounds as if he needs to be dumped. She deserves better. She deserves a celebration.
I realize she didn’t let me buy her the birthday latte, so she’s not going to willingly let me buy her cake. And I respect her for it. She set boundaries to be faithful. But now that I know there’s free dessert in the crew lounge, I can make sure she gets her cake.
I lead the way up the jet bridge. “You guys coming to the crew lounge?” I ask Vincent and Larry.
Larry snorts. “Too sketchy for me.” Then he studies me like he suspects I’m going to be dealing drugs or hiring a hit man while there.
Claire pauses once we reach the gate. “Sketchy?”
I chuckle. “Have you never been in a crew lounge before?”
She shakes her head.
Larry turns right. “I’m getting an empanada.”
Vincent turns left, as if joining us. “Not all crew lounges are created equal. This one is in a dungeon.”
He makes it sound as sketchy as Larry warned. So I sweeten the deal. “But there’s cake.”
“Not sure I need cake that badly.” Claire wrinkles her nose. “Though I am curious. How do you know where to find each of the different crew lounges?”
While Vincent strides ahead, I pull my phone out of my pocket and log into our employee website. I type “domicile” into the search bar and show her. “It’s under the information for each domicile.”
A list of Premier Air domiciles pop up. I tap my thumb on Denver. The Denver page opens to display information on everything from the administration based here to employee parking. Right in the middle are directions for accessing the crew lounge.
She peers closer. “Use the double doors marked ‘fire valve’ just past gate forty.” She looks at the numbers of the gates we’re passing and points. “There it is.”
Probably helps that Vincent has already opened the door. But she checks my phone again for instructions. “Ooh, a secret code.”
Rather than piggyback through the door with Vincent, I let it swing shut so she can enter the secret code herself, like a spy. The light blinks green, and she pulls the handle victoriously.
“This is fun.” One flight attendant’s sketchy is another flight attendant’s fun. “What’s next?”
The dingy room we enter offers double doors to a back hallway on this level and an elevator standing open with Vincent inside.
“We descend to the dungeon,” he answers.
After we roll our luggage inside the elevator car, the doors slide closed ominously.
Claire peers at my phone again. “Are there multiple rooms?”
I glance at the website to see what she’s reading. It lists door codes for bag storage, kitchen, computer use, and a quiet room with recliners for sleeping. “Yep. Not all airport crew lounges have so many rooms, but Denver is pretty big.”
The elevator opens to reveal a poorly lit central area with lockers, vending machines, and plastic picnic-style benches. They aren’t for our airline specifically, but a couple of Premier Air pilots are sitting there munching chips and talking on their phones. I wave hello.
From this central area, various hallways fan out. Paper signs with arrows are stuck to the walls here and there, offering directions, though they don’t all agree. You pretty much just have to wander around and ask for help when you see a friendly face. For Claire, I’m that friendly face.
“This way.” I follow Vincent, who is already zigzagging his way toward the bag room. It’s basically a walk-in closet with shelves and even worse lighting than the hallway.
Though our long sit was cut in half by the delay in Walla Walla, we still have half an hour to kill.
So we store our bags and make our way to the kitchen, which also offers tables, recliners, and a television.
The room itself is dated, with linoleum floors and beige walls covered in posters promoting safety and advertising our company’s credit card, so it’s not the kind of lounge first-class passengers are used to.
But our recliners are leather, and someone decorated for Halloween with paper garland and centerpieces.
I wave again, this time to the pilots kicked back in recliners, though most of them are too busy looking at their phones to notice. I don’t recognize any of them, so it’s okay.
The room smells spicy, like taco meat. Naturally, Vincent has beaten us to the folding table pushed against the far wall. It holds paper plates and bowls, slow cookers, and sadly, an empty cake dish.
I frown at my watch. I guess we’re in Mountain Time here, so previous crews have already descended with the appetites of locusts.
Claire stops next to me. “What?”
I nod toward the table. “Your roommate ate all your birthday cake.”
Claire follows my gaze and smiles. “It’s okay. I’m just enjoying the escape room vibes.”
That’s a nice twist on the sketchy dungeon where she’s celebrating her birthday.
Vincent brushes past us toward the exit, apparently more put out by the lack of cake than she is. “I’m going to see if there are any open recliners in the quiet room.”
“Set an alarm,” I call after him, because he overslept once when he hadn’t planned on falling asleep at all.
He presses his back against the door to open it and mock scowls in my direction at the same time. “Oh, I’ll be there to beat you with my next landing.”
“Dreamin’ already.”
His boisterous laugh echoes down the hallway. But his lack of concern for being late gives me an idea. Because while flight attendants have to be present on the plane when passengers board, pilots don’t.
I walk Claire to our next gate but don’t join her in flashing badges to the agent. “I’ll catch up with you,” I say, hoping she’ll assume I’m using one of the nice new airport restrooms rather than the tiny airplane lavatory.
“Okay.” She smiles, sans suspicion.
Thankfully, Larry isn’t around to narrow his eyes and question my true intentions.
Because I’m actually going to jog the length of this terminal—with aid from the moving walkways—for a cupcake from the new refrigerated vending machine.
I’m not normally a sweets person, so I’ve never tried them, but I’ve heard good things.
Claire enjoyed discovering the crew lounge way more than anyone ever should, which just shows how low her expectations for her birthday have been set. It’s time to change that. Time to show her someone in her life thinks she’s worth honoring.
Not that I’m in her life. I’m a man outside her life—treating her better than the man in her life.
Finally I reach the pink vending machine. Ooh, there’s even a birthday cupcake, but the colorful sprinkles are probably geared more for children, and she already feels “too young.” Let’s see. What flavors do I know she enjoys besides sweet onion?
Being the guy who cares for her most is harder than expected since I don’t know her as well as I want to. Oh, wait. She mentioned hoping the pumpkin cake had cream cheese frosting. I scan cupcake descriptions for the mention of cream cheese.
There’s a citrus cake with orange cream cheese frosting, but it’s advertised as sugar-free, with high protein from olive oil. That doesn’t sound indulgent enough. Similarly, the lemon is gluten-free. She ate a sandwich with me earlier, so I know she eats wheat.
Then I spot the Belgian dark chocolate cake with a fudgy cream cheese frosting and chocolate sprinkles. Decadent and festive. I order four—enough for the whole crew—and pretty much have to juggle the little pink boxes to keep from dropping them on my run back through the airport.
As I burst onto the plane, Claire is finishing her announcement for all the passengers to take their seats and buckle up. She’s obviously done boarding, so I’ll need to hurry and perform my walk-around. But first . . .
She hangs up the receiver and catches sight of me standing in the doorway. Her eyes sparkle like amber, and I’m not sure whether her enthusiasm is from seeing me or the boxes of cupcakes. Hopefully both.
“Trade you,” I offer.
She shakes her head, lips pursing in confusion. “You want the interphone?”
“Yep.” I hold out a double stack of cupcake boxes for her to take in her free hand so I can grip the receiver. I grin, then face our full cabin. “I want to join Claire in welcoming you aboard, but I also want to let you know it’s her birthday today.”
People look up, curious at first, then a few smile. A little girl just behind first class claps her hands. A distinguished gentleman in the second row offers, “Happy birthday, cupcake.”
Claire covers her mouth in surprise, cheeks pink. But I’m not done.
“Help me out.” Not only do I want them to make Claire feel celebrated, but my voice needs all the support it can get when I sing. “Happy birthday to you . . .”
The passengers join in. One even pulls out her phone to film.
Claire laughs and drops her head backward.
Vincent peeks his head out the flight deck as we finish the song. He arches an aged eyebrow at me, but I’m too happy to care. Claire is happy. The whole plane is happy. There’s no problem here.
“Well done, folks.” I nod at our impromptu choir. “I hope you enjoy our flight just as much as I enjoyed your singing, and I’ll see you in Seattle.”
More laughter. Our spontaneous celebration seems to have put the whole plane in good spirits, though there’s only one person whose opinion matters.
Claire beams. “Your purpose seems to be spoiling me today.”
Mission accomplished.
She glances down at the boxes in her hands. “Are they all chocolate?”
“Uh . . .” I thought girls craved chocolate. “Yes. With cream cheese frosting.”