Up for Love in London by Willow. Bonaire Page A

coffee maker and scoot out of the way.
    Before the rest
of the crew arrives, I’ve counted the meals, put the champagne on
ice, brewed a pot of coffee and tossed two pilot snacks, two
bottles of water and a garbage bag into the flight deck. I’m
lounging on a sleeper seat when I hear, “Good God, it’s as cold as
the nuts on a polar bear. Someone call Control Center and get the
heat turned on.” The purser hardly catches his breath before he
grabs me and plants a kiss on either cheek. “Lauren, darling, I’m
thrilled to see you! Thank Christ you’re working the galley and not
some cockpit queen who spends most of the flight on the captain’s
lap.”
    “Richard my
love, the pleasure is all mine.” I give him a big hug. “Coffee,
double double?”
    “Don’t you know
it, doll face.”
    Richard is my
one of my favourite people to work with. We’ve been friends since
before he came out of the closet eight years ago. Cover-
boy-handsome with a dancer’s lean build, he flirts shamelessly with
both men and women. I know it will be a fun flight. I bring his
coffee and ten crew snacks and lay them out in the mid-section of
first class.
    “Hello,
everyone. For those who don’t know me, I’m Richard, your purser for
this cycle. Our galley girl, Lauren, has made coffee, so help
yourself. We’re still waiting for one more crew member but we’ll
start the briefing. Anything you’d like to add Lauren?”
    “Yes, thanks.
Please don’t leave any crumbs on the seats and don’t crush the
pillows. You’re welcome to any leftover first class food, just wait
until after our passengers have finished eating.”
    Richard
examines the flight manifest and then checks his watch. “It should
be a full flight. Boarding starts in 15 minutes, so let’s review
our emergency procedures and tonight’s service.”
    ~
    It’s show time.
Two flight attendants take boarding cards and two more help in the
first class cabin, hanging coats and stowing passengers’ bags. I’m
in the galley, pouring Champagne into delicate flutes when the
captain and first officer breeze by into the flight deck. The F/O
pops his head out, but before he can say anything, I tell him their
snacks and water are on the observer seat and the trash bag is
looped over his armrest. Neither one wants coffee, so I continue to
fill the glasses.
    I adore the
smell of Champagne almost as much as I adore drinking it. It’s a
shame we can’t indulge in a small tipple or two at work, just to
take the edge off, but that’s strictly taboo. In fact, we can’t
even be perceived as drinking on duty or in uniform at any time.
The one luxury I have is using the leftover bubbly to wash my hands
at the end of the flight. If it’s going to get dumped down the
drain, it may as well take my germs with it.
    A head of foam
spills over the glass and onto the counter. I dip my finger and dab
a few drops behind my ears. I think it makes me smell
expensive.
    “Did you just
put your finger in my Champagne?”
    It’s definitely a man’s voice, with an educated British
accent. You should be so
lucky . And then I wheel around and look up
at a passenger who could knock Richard off the front of GQ
Magazine.
    I’m mesmerized
by his intense baby blues but I can’t read his attitude, so I smile
sweetly. “Of course not, the glass overflowed.”
    His silk tie is
so perfectly matched to his eyes that I wonder who chose it - wife
or girlfriend. Hopefully not boyfriend. His suit is definitely
designer and his cologne, all citrus and leather, smells more
costly than the Champagne I just spilled. He leans in close enough
so his beautiful lips almost touch my ear. “That’s a shame.”
    I feel my face
flush but I manage a quick retort. “What’s a shame? The finger-free
champagne or the mess on the counter?”
    “Both, but
especially the first one.” He reaches behind me, pressing his broad
chest against my shoulder and picks up the suspect flute. “Cheers,”
he says, and shows off a row