First Class (Chaelisa)

Chapter 1: Paris

She was nervous, like a prepubescent teen approaching their first crush. Standing in line, waiting to get off the plane, it was the third time they made eye contact as Rosie arrived in Paris.

The copilot, standing ahead, was a relatively young brunette with the most beautiful doe eyes, killer jawline, and lips that could stop a war. Rosie had seen her before on past flights to Paris, but never exchanged words. Except this time, Rosie wasn't going to be caught so dumbfounded. She wrote her name and number on a piece a paper, like a student in high school passing a love note, intending to hand it to the stunning copilot as she deplaned.

Rosie was just one person away, waiting for the man in front to grab his overhead luggage when his suitcase drops on top of her arms, scattering her stack of papers, laptop, and love note.

"Shit, I'm so sorry. I'd help but I have to make a connection, sorry," says the man in a rush and hastily retrieves his suitcase without helping.

Rosie quickly kneels down, picking up all her belongings, desperately looking for her note when she notices that the gorgeous copilot is helping. Picking up her papers in a neat pile and handing it back to her, love note nowhere in sight.

"Here you are," she says to Rosie with an angelic voice, looking kindly into Rosie's eyes.

Rosie freezes in the moment, only able to muster the words, "Um, thanks."

She wants to say more, but an impatient passenger in the line behind her interrupts, "Hurry up over there!"

Rosie stands and steps off the plane, looking back at the brunette. Damn, that was her chance.

---

Roseanne Park, or Rosie, photojournalist for a travel LGBT magazine known as OUTropolis is wrapping up her piece on France, ending in Paris for the next week. Four years since graduating college, Rosie did her time as a one year intern, answering phone calls and making shitty coffee before assigned to shadow another journalist for an additional year and then finally receiving her own independent stories. At first, she was mainly responsible for taking pictures, but given more opportunity to comment and write. She's been working self-sufficiently for two years now, gaining confidence in her contribution to the magazine as they continued to send her abroad.

Siting outside at a small table, Rosie is sipping her glass of wine and waiting for dinner to arrive in a quaint French café. Laptop open and papers spread about, she is reviewing her handwritten notes and editing a rough draft when a soft voice steals her attention.

"Someone like you shouldn't be having dinner alone."

Rosie looks up, dipping her reading glasses, to find those warm brown eye. It was her. The beautiful brunette, except no longer in her airline pilot uniform but a pair of jeans and casual tank top. It was a warm evening in mid-June. Fate must be apologizing for the lost note during Rosie's deplaning earlier today.

Rosie smiles, "Hi, it's you. Would you like to join me?" pulling some of her notes off the table to make room for the brunette.

"I'd love to," she replies smiling, pulling out the chair to sit across from Rosie.

The waiter comes back around, seemingly familiar with the brunette, "Good evening ma'am, very nice to see you again. May I assume the usual and something to drink?"

"Yes, the usual and I'll have whatever she's drinking," replies the brunette, pointing to Rosie's glass of red wine.

Rosie tilts her head, "The usual, been here before?"

"Actually, yes, quite often. I routinely come here when I'm overnighting in Paris. Though it's the first time I've seen you here."

Rosie is unable to stop smiling, actually, neither are able to stop smiling.