One Long Flight 💙

Hour Four

After a few songs, Aisling knew she was on the verge of tears. Gently pulling her hand away from Chris, she avoided looking at him and stood up. "I'll be right back," she said, the sigh from Chris audible as she maneuvered over him to head to the bathroom. Once inside, she shut the door and leaned against the wall, her tears falling freely. The confined space prevented her from pacing, and the sensation of panic loomed. She closed her eyes, focusing on regaining control. After a few minutes, she splashed water on her face, drying it with a sense of determination to hide any trace of her tears. With a steadier breath, she returned to her seat.

"Are you okay, Aisling?" Chris inquired.

"I'm fine," she replied, her tone masking her true emotions. She heard him sigh softly, but her gaze remained fixed on the clouds outside her window.

His hand found its way to her thigh, a gentle touch of concern. "Aisling."

"Shh," she hushed him, placing her hand atop his as a silent plea for him to leave it there. She continued to gaze out the window, trying to steady her thoughts. Eventually, she felt him lean over, slipping a bud back into her ear. Music filled her senses once again, prompting her to close her eyes and let the melodies of Ray LaMontagne wash over her.

As Aisling glanced back, she met Chris's gaze and felt a stray tear escape her eye. "Chris," she whispered, her voice laden with emotions.

He offered a half-smile, his expression understanding. "We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," he reassured her. Leaning a bit closer, he gently placed his hand on her cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear.

Aisling nodded, finding comfort in his gesture. "Okay." She settled herself to face him, mirroring his position. Their eyes met, and she felt a sense of connection in their shared vulnerability. "So, any hobbies, Chris?"

He grinned, clearly at ease discussing this topic. "Well, I know how to tap dance. And I play the piano. I used to play the guitar, but it's been so long. I never really kept up with it. How about you? You're an art history major, do you draw?"

Aisling shook her head with a soft chuckle. "No, I'm not good at drawing at all." She sighed, considering her own interests. "I don't know. I read. I like movies. I enjoy baking. I guess I'm kind of boring, Chris."

He laughed warmly, his eyes reflecting his genuine amusement. "Something tells me that isn't true."

As Aisling's smile graced her lips, her gaze danced away from his, her eyes resembling deep emeralds, still shimmering with the remnants of unshed tears. Despite the urge to reach out and offer comfort, Chris knew he couldn't overstep any boundaries. Instead, he traced his thumb gently over her cheek, feeling her close her eyes at the contact. His touch moved from the freckles on the bridge of her nose to the ones that adorned her cheek. He heard her breathing slow as he ran his thumb over her lips, feeling her part them slightly at his touch. He ran it along her lower lip once more before moving to her chin, eventually retracting his hand. When her eyes met his again, a lighter hue had replaced the darkness, and her smile mirrored the shift in her emotions.

Clearing his throat, Chris changed the subject, his curiosity piqued. "So, why art history, Aisling?"

Her voice held a fondness as she spoke, reminiscing about her grandmother's influence. "Um. My grandmother is an artist. She's brilliant. Instilled a love for it in me. She was always teaching me about different artists and painting techniques as a child. I guess that's where my love of it came from, from her."

He grinned, appreciating the connection she shared. "That's great. So you're no good?"

A laugh escaped her lips, tinged with self-deprecation. "I'm no good. Despite trying."

He chuckled along, empathizing with her struggles. "And your grandmother? Is she okay?" Her heavy sigh and the shake of her head conveyed her unspoken worries. "Do you want to talk about it?" He inquired once more, offering an ear if she needed it. She declined with another shake of her head. "Okay." He respected her decision, granting her space. "Want another drink?"

The warmth of her smile returned, accompanied by a nod. "Yes, please."

Laughter spilled from him, amused by her candid response. "Okay." In the midst of their silence, their eyes remained locked, an unspoken understanding existing between them. He handed her the refilled glass, their fingers brushing lightly. A playful exchange followed, with her teasing about the effects of alcohol.

"You're not going to be wasted by the time we land, are you?" He asked, their playful banter continuing.

A musical laugh escaped her lips. "I'm Irish. I can hold my liquor. I can probably outdrink you."

He accepted her challenge with a grin. "I doubt that. But I would definitely love to find out someday."

"Maybe when I move to Boston," she mused, a hint of promise in her voice.

"Maybe," he echoed, the idea intriguing.

Her expression turned mischievous. "Besides, I have to meet your brother, right? What's his name?"

"Scott. And you really do."

"Thanks, Chris."

He shrugged, feeling a sense of companionship. "For what?"

"For talking to me. Keeping me company. Keeping my mind busy."

He nodded, appreciating her candidness. "You're welcome. I enjoy it too. Like I said, I hate flying too. It's nice to have someone to talk to. I usually just lay back and listen to music."

She acknowledged the shared sentiment. "Me too. But in my rush, I forgot my headphones. I'm a bit underprepared. I'm sorry."

Reaching out, he cupped her cheek gently, hoping to ease her unnecessary guilt. "Stop apologizing," he urged softly, his thumb brushing her skin. Her nod conveyed her understanding, and the moment lingered between them. However, recognizing their limits, he shifted the topic. Extending his hand, he offered, "Can I have your phone?" She handed it over, allowing him to input his number. "I'll be in London for a few weeks like I said. So if you decide you want to talk or meet up, let me know."

Her acceptance was appreciative as he handed her phone back, the unspoken connection lingering between them as they slipped into a comfortable silence once more.