when the plane suddenly dropped the flight attendant lost her balance and fell into my arms then she asked if i was traveling alone and by the time we reached charleston she had already found me again at the airport coffee shop wondering if i wanted company that evening…

when the plane suddenly dropped the flight attendant lost her balance and fell into my arms then she asked if i was traveling alone and by the time we reached charleston she had already found me again at the airport coffee shop wondering if i wanted company that evening…

Part 1

The airplane dropped so hard my stomach stayed somewhere near the ceiling while the rest of me slammed against the seat belt. The flight attendant standing beside my row reached for the seat back and missed. One second she was upright, navy uniform neat, hair pulled back; the next she was tipping toward me, one hand braced on my shoulder, the other flailing for anything solid.

I was buckled into the aisle seat. That gave me enough leverage to catch her before she went across the empty middle seat and into the window. Another jolt hit and I held her steady until her feet found the floor again. She was lighter than I expected, warm from the cabin, and for a second neither of us moved.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, already straightening. Her name badge read Dileia. Warm brown eyes, a flush across her cheekbones, and the kind of professional composure that tried to pretend this hadn’t just happened in front of half the cabin.

“You’re fine,” I said. “You okay?”

She nodded, checked that I was still in one piece, and moved quickly toward the jump seat the captain had ordered everyone to use. The seat-belt sign stayed on. People were quiet in the way they get when turbulence feels personal. I kept my hands on the armrests and stared at the Charleston travel guide sticking out of my seat pocket, trying not to replay the way her palm had felt against my shoulder.

When the ride finally smoothed, she came back down the aisle. She stopped at my row, glanced at the guide, and tilted her head.

“Are you traveling alone?”

I looked up. “Yeah. Just me.”

She smiled, then covered it with the same careful expression she’d worn when she thanked me. “I really am sorry about that. It caught us off guard.”

“I’m fine,” I said. “Did you hurt yourself?”

She shook her head. “Caught my balance before I went all the way across. Still. Thank you.”

Her full name, I would learn later, was Dileia Sutter. At that moment all I knew was that she had an unexpectedly contagious smile and the kind of calm that made an embarrassing situation feel less embarrassing. She nodded at the guide again.

“Charleston for business or pleasure?”

“Vacation,” I said. “First real one in a while.”

“Good. You look like somebody who could use a few days without turbulence.”

I was Alden Mercer, thirty-two, landscape architect out of Columbus, Ohio. The previous eight months had been one long design project for a mixed-use development on the east side—late nights, endless revisions, client meetings that ran past nine. When the schedule finally cleared, I’d booked four nights in a city I’d wanted to walk through for years. Architecture, waterfront, the idea of wandering without having to accomplish anything. I wasn’t running from a bad breakup or trying to reinvent myself. I just wanted to eat decent food, take some photographs, and remember what an afternoon felt like when no one needed a revised planting plan by Monday.

Meeting someone hadn’t been on the list, especially not someone who had literally fallen into my arms before we’d finished a sentence.

Dileia seemed amused when I admitted I’d already saved more places than I could visit. “Making an ambitious sightseeing list isn’t exactly the same as traveling without a schedule,” she said.

“Fair.”

She had a cabin full of passengers still waiting. She asked once more if I needed anything, smiled when I said no, and continued down the aisle. I watched her go for a second, then went back to the magazine I’d been pretending to read. The strange part wasn’t that I found her attractive—though that was becoming obvious. It was how quickly she’d made the whole thing feel ordinary again. She hadn’t turned the accident into a joke, and she hadn’t lingered in a way that asked me to make anything of it. She’d checked that I was okay, asked a couple of questions, and managed to make me laugh.

I also knew flight attendants were paid to be friendly. I wasn’t about to convince myself a pleasant exchange meant more than it did. Still, when she passed my row again and our eyes met, I smiled before I could stop myself.

About forty minutes before landing she came through with water. When she reached me she glanced at the little map I’d unfolded on the tray table.

“Planning your entire vacation before we land?”

“Trying to narrow it down before it becomes a full-time job.”

She leaned slightly closer. “Some of the quieter streets near the historic district are better later in the afternoon. Once the bigger tour groups have moved on.”

“You know Charleston well?”

“Stopped a few times for work. Haven’t explored nearly as much as I’d like.”

“Seems unfair. You probably see more cities in a month than I do in a year.”

She laughed. “Visiting an airport and sleeping in a hotel doesn’t automatically count as sightseeing.”

Then she moved on. I sat with that for a while. I’d always pictured constant travel as exciting. She’d made it sound more complicated—interesting places folded into an ordinary working life. I wondered what she did when she actually had time off, what kinds of places she liked, whether she was as easy to talk to outside the cabin. Strange questions to have about someone I’d known less than two hours. I couldn’t deny I was curious.

We landed. A few passengers clapped, the way people do when they’re simply glad to be on the ground. I gathered my things, waited my turn at the overhead bin, and stepped into the aisle. Dileia was near the front with another crew member, thanking people as they left. When I reached her she recognized me immediately.

“Enjoy Charleston, Alden.”

I was surprised she’d remembered my name. “I intend to. Assuming the city stays more stable than the airplane.”

She laughed. “The ground is usually more cooperative.”

I thanked her for the recommendations and kept moving. By the time I reached the terminal I was already telling myself the whole thing had been a memorable way to start a vacation and nothing more. She had a job to finish. I had a city to walk through. We had no particular reason to cross paths again.

I headed toward baggage claim still thinking about the way our conversation had ended before either of us seemed finished. My suitcase came out after a reasonable wait. It was a little after two. My hotel room wouldn’t be ready yet. Instead of going straight into the city to sit in another lobby, I found a coffee shop near the main exit, ordered an iced coffee, and took a table by the window. I pulled up the list of places I’d saved and tried to decide between the historic district and the waterfront for the first afternoon.

Both sounded good. I was starting to suspect I’d enjoy the city more if I stopped treating every interesting building like something I needed to photograph. I was looking at a restaurant recommendation when a familiar voice said, “Please tell me you’re not planning another emergency landing.”

I looked up. Dileia stood on the other side of the table, still in her navy uniform, name badge gone, small black bag over one shoulder. Without the cabin around her she looked a little more relaxed. The smile she gave me was less formal than the one she’d worn at the aircraft door.

I laughed. “Trying to avoid excitement for the rest of the trip.”

“Probably wise. You’ve already had enough adventure for one afternoon.” She glanced at the empty chair. “Mind if I sit for a minute?”

“I’d be happy for the company.”

She set her bag down and went to the counter. I watched her talk to the barista and wondered whether this was simply another friendly encounter or something she’d actually chosen. When she came back she sat, placed her cup on the table, and smiled.

“Okay. I think we deserve a proper introduction after what happened up there.”

I offered my hand. “Alden Mercer. Professional emergency flight attendant catcher.”

She shook it, laughing. “Dileia Sutter. Usually much better at staying on my feet.”

“I’m willing to overlook one minor performance issue.”

She gave me an amused look and took a sip of coffee. She’d finished her post-flight responsibilities and was heading to the hotel the airline had arranged for the crew. Her next flight wasn’t until the following day. Sometimes she barely had time to look out a hotel window; other times she had a long enough break to actually see something. This happened to be one of the better ones.

I told her I’d assumed flight attendants went right back into the air. She explained that schedules varied more than most people realized. When I asked whether she was planning anything that evening she said she hadn’t decided yet, then turned the question around.

“What does your first afternoon in Charleston look like?”

I showed her the list on my phone. That was apparently a mistake. She started laughing almost immediately, leaned forward to inspect it, and asked whether I’d scheduled bathroom breaks between the historic houses and the waterfront stops.

“I like knowing what’s available,” I said. “Even if I don’t get to everything.”

She nodded with exaggerated seriousness. “Sounds exactly like something a man with twelve saved locations before lunch would say.”

I put the phone down. Defending my vacation planning against someone who visited different cities for a living felt pointless. She asked what I did when I wasn’t organizing recreational expeditions. I told her about the landscape work in Columbus—public spaces, residential projects, the occasional commercial property. Making outdoor places both functional and enjoyable for the people who used them.

She seemed genuinely interested. “Do you spend your vacations criticizing public parks?”

“Occasionally I notice things I probably shouldn’t.”

“That tracks. I’ve caught myself checking whether people fastened their seat belts in friends’ cars.”

The conversation moved easily between teasing and actual curiosity. Neither of us seemed especially concerned with impressing the other, which somehow made me more interested. She lived in Charlotte and had been flying for several years. She liked the independence and the variety of people, though the constantly changing schedule made ordinary plans harder than they needed to be. She told me about a recent layover when she’d been determined to explore a new city and had instead fallen asleep in the hotel room before deciding where to eat.

I laughed because it sounded familiar in a different way. After a rough week at work I’d sometimes spend Saturday morning planning something interesting and then discover that sitting on the couch with a sandwich was all the entertainment I actually wanted.

She smiled. “I appreciate a man who can admit he isn’t endlessly adventurous.”

“I’ve never claimed to be exciting. Only occasionally useful during turbulence.”

She looked down at her coffee for a moment, then back at me. The expression was warmer than I expected. “You were pretty useful. I could have hit that armrest hard.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

For once neither of us turned it into another joke. What surprised me most was how different it felt talking to her when she wasn’t working. On the plane she’d been attentive and professional; I’d been careful not to read anything personal into it. Here she had no obligation to check on me or bring me water. She’d seen me sitting alone, decided to say hello, and then stayed long enough for her coffee to start getting cold.

Her phone lit up with a notification about the crew shuttle. She glanced at it and explained it would be leaving shortly.

“I don’t want to make you late.”

She smiled. “I have enough time to finish this. Do you always worry this much about other people’s schedules?”

“Only when they’ve already had one transportation-related incident in my presence.”

She laughed. I realized I was going to miss having her across the table. Eventually she checked the time again, finished the coffee, and looked at me with a slightly thoughtful expression.

“So, Alden. Are you really planning to explore Charleston by yourself the entire time?”

“That was the original idea. Plans are becoming increasingly flexible.”

She smiled. “I have a few free hours this evening after I get some rest. If you’re not already committed to one of your twelve sightseeing destinations, it might be fun to meet somewhere downtown.”

I looked at her for a second. “Are you asking me out?”

She tilted her head. “I suppose I am. Unless you’d rather spend the evening discussing architectural landscaping with a historical monument.”

I laughed. “I definitely prefer your company.”

We spent the next couple of minutes choosing a place near the historic district that wouldn’t require either of us to go out of our way. Six-thirty gave her time to rest and me time to check into the hotel. She suggested exchanging numbers in case plans needed adjusting. I gave her mine. A moment later my phone buzzed with a message from an unfamiliar number: Try not to catch anyone else before dinner.

I saved the contact while she watched, clearly amused. When she stood I got up too. She held out her hand with an exaggeratedly professional expression.

“It was a pleasure meeting you properly, Mr. Mercer.”

“Delighted we managed a conversation without requiring assistance from the captain.”

Her smile widened. She slipped the bag over her shoulder and headed toward the transportation area. I sat back down and looked at the message again. Less than an hour after landing I had a date with a woman I’d met because an airplane had dropped unexpectedly.

I finished the coffee, collected my suitcase, and went outside to find a cab. Charleston was waiting. I still intended to enjoy the vacation I’d planned. But for the first time since I’d booked the trip, there was something on the schedule I was looking forward to considerably more than sightseeing.

Part 2

By the time I checked into the hotel I’d reread Dileia’s message twice, which was more attention than a seven-word joke probably deserved. I wasn’t nervous exactly. I was unusually interested in how the evening might turn out. I’d come to Charleston to wander, eat good food, and spend a few days without answering work emails. Now I had a date with a flight attendant who’d fallen into my arms somewhere above the Carolinas, and I still wasn’t entirely sure how that had happened.

I unpacked, changed into a clean shirt, and spent part of the afternoon walking the streets around the hotel. Charleston was beautiful in a way photographs didn’t quite capture—old brick, narrow sidewalks, shaded courtyards tucked between houses. I took a few pictures, stopped for a late lunch, and deliberately left several places on the list unexplored. Around six she texted that she was on her way. I told her I’d be there, then caught myself smiling at the phone before putting it away.

I arrived a few minutes early and waited outside a small café on a quiet corner. At six-thirty I spotted her walking toward me from the other side of the street. For a moment I almost didn’t recognize her. She’d traded the uniform for dark jeans, a fitted cream-colored top, and a light jacket. Her brown hair fell loosely around her shoulders instead of being pulled back for work. She looked relaxed, confident, and considerably more approachable than someone who’d spent the afternoon responsible for an entire cabin.

When she noticed me looking, her smile widened. “What? You didn’t think I owned regular clothes?”

I laughed. “I was wondering whether you were required to wear the uniform everywhere.”

She shook her head as she reached me and gave me a quick hug that felt surprisingly natural. I stepped back. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you, Alden. You clean up pretty well yourself.” She glanced toward the street. “Already planned our entire evening down to the minute?”

“I resisted the temptation. I can’t promise I didn’t look at a map.”

We started walking without a particular destination, following quieter streets away from the busiest tourist areas. She admitted she’d been through Charleston several times but had rarely explored much beyond a few restaurants near the crew hotel. Most layovers involved getting something to eat, calling family, and trying to sleep enough to feel human the next morning.

“That sounds like a poor arrangement for someone whose job involves visiting interesting places.”

She agreed, then reminded me that being paid to travel wasn’t quite the same as being on vacation. We passed a row of colorful historic houses. I stopped briefly to look at the brickwork and the small gardens behind iron fences. She watched me for a moment.

“Evaluating the landscaping?”

“I can’t entirely switch that part of my brain off. I promise not to issue professional assessments during our date.”

She seemed especially entertained by the last word. “So this is a date?”

I smiled. “I’d certainly been hoping it was.”

She considered that, slipped her hands into her jacket pockets, and said, “Good. So was I.”

That settled one question I’d been carrying since the airport. I relaxed a little more as we continued. She was easy company, partly because she didn’t seem interested in pretending we had everything in common. When I mentioned that I enjoyed traveling without a strict schedule, she pointed out that I’d arrived early and had probably checked restaurant options three times.

“There’s a difference between being prepared and being controlled by an itinerary.”

“That distinction is getting harder to defend,” she said.

She confessed she was almost the opposite when she traveled for herself. She usually started with one thing she wanted to do, then made the rest up as she went—sometimes with excellent results, sometimes with terrible restaurant choices. I liked how readily she admitted the second part.

We wandered down a side street where a small courtyard opened behind a row of shops. She stopped to photograph an old fountain surrounded by plants, showed me the picture, and asked whether I would have arranged the plants differently.

“The fountain looks better because you noticed it instead of walking past.”

That earned me a surprisingly pleased smile. By the time we decided to eat we’d been walking nearly an hour and had somehow discussed everything from terrible vacation souvenirs to the strangest things we’d seen at airports. She knew a small restaurant a few blocks away that she’d visited on an earlier layover and suggested we try it rather than searching for something more impressive. I agreed immediately, especially when she described the food.

The restaurant had warm lighting, exposed brick, and tables close enough together that we occasionally caught pieces of other conversations. We ordered and settled into the kind of easy talk that made me forget to check the time. She told me about growing up in North Carolina, how she’d become interested in working for an airline, and what she liked most about the job. She loved meeting people and occasionally getting to experience somewhere new, but she was less enthusiastic about early departures and the way her schedule made spontaneous plans with friends surprisingly difficult.

I understood more than I expected. My own work sometimes made it hard to predict when I’d actually be finished for the day. When she asked about my job I explained the landscape designs for public spaces and residential projects. She seemed interested in the creative side, particularly when I described helping turn an unattractive empty lot into a small neighborhood park. I liked seeing people use a space I’d helped design, especially when they found ways to enjoy it that nobody had considered on paper.

She smiled. “I’d never really thought about how much planning went into places most people walk through without noticing.” Then she admitted that after years of working on airplanes she sometimes caught herself looking at exit signs in restaurants and mentally checking whether everyone could reach the doors.

I laughed. “I noticed you glance toward the entrance when we first sat down.”

She looked genuinely surprised, then shook her head. “Okay. That’s embarrassing.”

“It’s not.”

For a moment she studied me with an expression that made me wonder what she was thinking. Then she asked whether I always paid that much attention to people.

“Only when they’re interesting.”

She smiled and looked down at her glass. Dinner stretched longer than either of us had planned, mostly because we kept finding new things to talk about. She loved live music, hated packing for personal trips despite being exceptionally good at packing for work, and had a habit of buying books in airport shops that she never finished. I admitted that I sometimes spent more time researching places to visit than actually visiting them, which she considered further evidence that I needed supervision on vacation.

She also had a surprisingly competitive streak. When I mentioned that I’d once won a small photography contest at a local event, she immediately wanted to see the picture and informed me she could probably do better. I showed it to her anyway. She studied it with an exaggeratedly critical expression before admitting she liked it.

The teasing was fun, but what held my attention was how naturally she moved between joking and being genuinely curious. She asked questions, listened to the answers, and didn’t seem to mind when I disagreed with her. I liked her confidence, particularly because it didn’t require her to win every conversation.

When the server brought the check she reached for her wallet. We agreed to split dinner after a brief argument that ended with her pointing out she’d invited me to spend the evening together.

“I’ll remember that when I plan the next one.”

She looked up, smiling. “Already thinking about another date?”

I shrugged. “I like planning ahead when something’s worth it.”

Outside, Charleston had settled into a pleasant evening—lights in restaurant windows, people strolling the sidewalks. She suggested we walk toward the waterfront before heading back. I was happy to agree. We moved through a busier section of the historic district where a group of tourists had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to take pictures. She stepped around them, then reached back and caught my hand to guide me through the crowd. I followed. Once we reached the quieter pavement on the other side, neither of us let go.

Her fingers shifted comfortably between mine. She glanced over with a small smile that made it clear she knew exactly what she was doing. I gave her hand a gentle squeeze. She moved a little closer as we walked. There was something simple and unexpectedly exciting about it. We’d spent hours talking, laughing, and discovering how much we enjoyed each other’s company, but this was the first moment when the attraction between us felt entirely unmistakable.

We didn’t stop to discuss it, and I was glad. She was looking out toward the water, her shoulder occasionally brushing mine, and I was perfectly content to keep walking beside her. When we reached the waterfront the breeze coming off the harbor was cooler than it had been in the narrow streets. She stopped near the railing. We stood together watching the lights reflect across the water. She leaned lightly against my arm while telling me about a trip she’d taken with friends the previous summer, then laughed when I admitted that my own vacations usually involved far fewer people and considerably more walking.

I asked whether she ever wished her schedule allowed her to stay in places like Charleston longer. She nodded. “Sometimes. Especially on evenings when I finally have time to enjoy a city instead of just passing through it.” Then she looked at me and smiled. “I’m really glad I came out tonight.”

“Me too.”

After a comfortable pause she mentioned that she had to report for her next flight the following morning, which meant she couldn’t stay out particularly late. I nodded, suddenly aware that the evening had a deadline neither of us could change. I wasn’t disappointed with how things had gone. If anything, I’d enjoyed myself enough that I didn’t want the experience to end as just another vacation memory. She was still holding my hand. When she turned toward me again I found myself wondering whether she was thinking about the same thing.

I knew she would be leaving Charleston tomorrow, but standing beside her that evening I was already hoping we’d find a reason to see each other again. Her mention of the morning flight didn’t make either of us move away from the railing. Her hand remained in mine while a sightseeing boat crossed the harbor, its lights reflecting across the dark water. I knew she had an early start and I had no intention of making her regret spending the evening with me, but neither of us seemed particularly eager to head back.

She turned toward me. “Are you disappointed that your carefully researched Charleston vacation has already gone so far off schedule?”

“I’ve survived worse changes of plans. Although this is probably the first time one has involved catching a flight attendant in midair.”

She laughed and shook her head. “You’re going to keep bringing that up, aren’t you?”

“Difficult introduction to forget. Especially considering how much more interesting the evening has become afterward.”

She gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m beginning to think the unexpected turbulence worked out rather well for both of us.”

I looked at her, smiling, and realized I agreed with that more than I could comfortably explain in one sentence. We started walking again, following the waterfront toward a quieter stretch where the crowds had thinned. She told me she usually spent her layovers catching up on sleep, answering messages, or finding somewhere close to the hotel for dinner. She liked her job, but constantly arriving in new places didn’t always mean getting to experience them. Sometimes she could spend an entire day in a city and remember little beyond the airport, a hotel room, and whatever she’d ordered for dinner.

“That sounds like an excellent argument for taking more walks with strangers who happen to be carrying excessively detailed travel guides.”

She laughed. “I’ve already established you’re no longer a stranger.”

That was true, although I was still surprised by how comfortable we’d become in such a short time. We knew relatively little about each other’s everyday lives, but the things I’d learned felt specific enough to matter. I knew she could make me laugh without trying particularly hard, that she was confident without being overbearing, and that she had a way of making an ordinary conversation feel like something worth remembering. I also knew I wanted another chance to learn about her when neither of us had a flight or vacation schedule hanging over our heads.

A little farther along we stopped near a low stone wall overlooking the water. She leaned against it, turning toward me while I stood beside her. She asked whether I’d ever dated someone whose work involved traveling as much as hers did.

“I haven’t. Although I’m not sure that qualifies as a problem when we’ve only been on one date.”

She smiled at the answer and admitted she’d been wondering whether the distance between Columbus and Charlotte would make another meeting seem unrealistic. I understood the question. My own schedule could be demanding, and hers clearly required more flexibility than a typical office job, but neither of us had suggested abandoning our lives to make an interesting evening last forever.

“I like your company enough to want another date,” I said. “I’m perfectly capable of driving or booking a flight if we find a weekend that works.”

She looked pleased, although she didn’t immediately answer. Instead she glanced toward the harbor and laughed quietly at herself before admitting she’d spent part of dinner wondering whether I was simply enjoying the excitement of meeting someone while traveling.

“Charleston is beautiful,” I said. “But the city hasn’t been responsible for most of the fun I’ve had this evening.”

She looked back at me with a smile that made it difficult to think about much else. For a moment we stayed close without saying anything. Her hand was still in mine. When she shifted toward me the distance between us became small enough that I could see the faint freckles across her nose. I’d noticed she was beautiful the moment she’d fallen toward my seat. Standing there with her felt entirely different. There was no accident, no professional obligation, and no reason for either of us to be that close unless we wanted to be.

I brushed my thumb lightly across her fingers. She stepped nearer until her free hand rested against my chest. I looked at her mouth before meeting her eyes again. She smiled as though she’d caught me considering something fairly obvious.

“Alden, you can kiss me if you want to.”

I laughed softly, touched her waist, and leaned in. She met me halfway. The first kiss was warm and unhurried, her fingers curling lightly against my shirt. When we parted she stayed close enough that I could feel her smile before I saw it. I kissed her again, a little more confidently this time, and she slipped her arm around my shoulder. Whatever uncertainty I’d carried about whether the attraction was mutual seemed considerably less important after that.

Eventually we drew apart and started walking toward the streets that led back to her hotel. She was still smiling, although she made an exaggerated show of checking that both her feet were securely on the ground.

“I appreciate the precaution.”

“I’ve already made enough memorable entrances around you for one day.”

We laughed, then walked for a while with our hands together and the comfortable awareness that something between us had changed. I wasn’t thinking about suddenly declaring myself in love or planning where we’d spend Christmas. I simply wanted to see her again, and I was willing to do something about it.

When we reached a quieter intersection I asked whether she knew what her schedule looked like over the next couple of weeks. She explained that she was expecting two consecutive days off later in the month, although the roster hadn’t been finalized. She’d been considering spending them at home in Charlotte, but she hadn’t committed to anything yet. Then she looked at me and suggested that if the dates worked out she could come to Columbus instead.

I liked that she was offering to make the trip herself. “I’d be very happy to show you around.”

She warned me that I’d be expected to demonstrate the same excellent sightseeing skills I’d shown in Charleston, which seemed like a challenge I was willing to accept. By the time we reached the block near her crew hotel it was getting late enough that I knew we should say good night. She had to report for duty in the morning, and as much as I liked the idea of continuing the evening, I liked the fact that she took her responsibility seriously.

We stopped beneath the light outside a small restaurant that had already closed. She turned to face me. Her hand settled against my arm as she thanked me for a wonderful evening.

“I enjoyed it more than I expected,” I said. “I want you to get some sleep rather than blame me for being exhausted on your next flight.”

She laughed and assured me she was perfectly capable of managing her bedtime, but she appreciated the concern. Then she stepped closer, put her hands lightly against my shoulders, and kissed me again. I held her at the waist, enjoying the simple fact that neither of us seemed interested in pretending this had been a casual dinner between two people who happened to meet at an airport.

When we separated she said she’d check her schedule as soon as the dates were confirmed and let me know when she could visit. I told her I would keep that weekend flexible. She smiled, kissed my cheek, and started toward the hotel entrance, turning once to wave before disappearing inside.

I walked back through Charleston feeling considerably happier than I had any reasonable right to be after knowing someone for less than a day. The streets were quieter now. I took my time enjoying the cooler air and the chance to think about the evening without rushing anywhere. At my hotel I found a message from her saying she’d made it upstairs and was getting ready for bed. I replied that I was back safely too, then added that I hoped her next flight involved fewer unexpected encounters with seated passengers. She answered with a laughing emoji and told me she was planning to remain upright for the entire journey.

I put my phone down, changed clothes, and sat by the window for a few minutes before going to bed. Tomorrow she’d be flying somewhere else while I continued exploring Charleston. Eventually I’d return to Columbus and the routines I’d left behind. We hadn’t promised anything grand, but we’d shared a memorable evening, kissed because we wanted to, and made the beginnings of a plan to see each other again. That was enough for the moment. Still, as I set my alarm and turned out the light, I couldn’t help wondering what it would feel like to see Dileia in my own city without an airplane, a layover, or a beautiful vacation destination helping bring us together. We’d both said we wanted another date. Now we had the chance to find out whether we meant it.

Part 3

The next morning I woke up to a message from Dileia saying she’d made it to the airport and was getting ready for her flight. I wished her a smooth trip, then added that I hoped she’d managed to stay on her feet during the walk through the terminal. She replied that she’d successfully navigated several moving walkways without falling into anyone’s arms, which I considered an encouraging development.

I smiled at the phone before getting dressed and heading downstairs for breakfast. Charleston looked just as beautiful as it had the previous afternoon, and I still had several days of vacation left. I spent the morning wandering through the historic district, taking photographs of old buildings, and stopping whenever something caught my attention. At one point I passed a little bookstore tucked between two restaurants and thought she would probably enjoy it, especially considering her habit of buying books she never finished. I went inside, browsed for a while, and bought a paperback for myself.

Later that afternoon, after she’d finished her flight and had some time to relax, she sent a message asking whether I’d managed to explore Charleston without getting distracted by every interesting sidewalk. I told her I’d made reasonable progress but had already found several places worth revisiting. She wanted pictures, so I sent a few. What I liked was that we weren’t trying to recreate the previous evening through our phones. We were simply finding small ways to remain part of each other’s days.

The rest of my vacation passed pleasantly. I made an effort to enjoy it rather than spend every hour wondering what might happen with her. I visited the waterfront again, tried a restaurant someone at the hotel recommended, and spent one afternoon exploring a garden I’d been particularly interested in seeing. We exchanged messages when we had time—sometimes about our days, sometimes about absolutely ridiculous things. She sent a picture of a sandwich she’d bought during a layover and declared it the most disappointing meal she’d eaten in months. I replied with a photograph of a spectacularly crooked park bench and asked whether she thought it qualified as modern art. She informed me that the bench was probably more comfortable than an airplane jump seat, which I had no intention of testing.

By the time I returned to Columbus we’d also talked on the phone twice. Those conversations were different from our evening in Charleston, but in a good way. I learned that she liked quiet mornings when she wasn’t flying, had a younger brother who routinely borrowed things without returning them, and sometimes spent her days off doing nothing more exciting than laundry and grocery shopping. She learned that I wasn’t nearly as organized at home as my travel notes suggested, and that I could spend twenty minutes explaining why a tree had been planted in the wrong place. When she laughed at that I found myself wishing she were sitting across from me instead of several hundred miles away.

The following Monday I returned to work. The familiar routine made the connection between us feel a little more real. I wasn’t on vacation anymore, and she wasn’t simply the charming woman I’d met during an unusually memorable flight. She was someone I enjoyed hearing from after work, someone whose opinions I was beginning to understand, and someone I wanted to see again without needing Charleston as an excuse.

On Wednesday evening we were talking on the phone when she mentioned that her schedule for the following week had finally been confirmed. She had two consecutive days off, just as she’d hoped, and she’d checked the flights from Charlotte to Columbus.

“Do you still want to come?” I asked.

She laughed. “Alden, I’ve already spent ten minutes comparing arrival times. I think that answers your question.”

I told her I’d pick her up whenever she arrived, although I suggested choosing a flight that didn’t require either of us to get out of bed before sunrise. She agreed and booked her trip for Saturday afternoon, returning Monday morning. We decided she’d stay at my apartment, where I had a separate guest room, and I promised to make sure she had a comfortable place to sleep. She thanked me, then warned me that if I produced a laminated visitor schedule she was going straight back to the airport.

“I’ll restrict myself to a moderately detailed welcome package.”

She laughed. Before we hung up she said she was really looking forward to seeing me. I told her I was too. The simple fact that we now had an actual date on the calendar made the coming weekend feel especially promising.

Saturday afternoon I arrived at John Glenn Columbus International Airport about fifteen minutes before her flight was scheduled to land. I checked the arrival information twice, which was apparently a habit I couldn’t abandon even when I wasn’t the one traveling. I waited near the baggage claim area, watching passengers come through the doors with suitcases and backpacks. Then I saw her.

She was wearing jeans, a burgundy sweater, and white sneakers, a small overnight bag over her shoulder. She spotted me almost immediately, and the smile that crossed her face was worth every minute I’d spent looking forward to this. She walked straight toward me, dropped her bag beside her feet, and wrapped her arms around my neck. I held her close. When she leaned back she kissed me without the slightest hesitation.

“Hi,” she said, smiling.

I laughed. “That was considerably better than our first meeting.”

She looked down at her feet. “Managed the entire flight without falling into anyone’s lap.”

I picked up her bag, took her hand, and we headed toward the parking garage together. I’d made dinner reservations at a small restaurant I liked near German Village, but we had time to wander before eating. She wanted to see somewhere I actually spent time rather than a list of attractions selected for visitors, so I took her through a few familiar streets and into a bookstore I’d visited for years. She teased me when the owner recognized me, then spent nearly twenty minutes examining the shelves before buying a novel she’d apparently been meaning to read.

Watching her explore a place that had always been part of my ordinary life was unexpectedly enjoyable. Later we walked along the Scioto riverfront. She asked about the parks and buildings we passed. I told her a little about the landscape design, but she was more interested in hearing which places I liked and why. When I admitted that I sometimes came down to the river after particularly difficult work days, she slipped her hand into mine and said she could understand the appeal. There was no spectacular vacation scenery to impress her—just my city on an ordinary Saturday. She seemed perfectly happy to be there.

During dinner she asked whether I’d ever spent much time in Charlotte. I told her I’d passed through a couple of times but never properly explored it. She smiled and suggested that perhaps she should return the favor and show me around on one of my free weekends. I liked the suggestion, and we started discussing possibilities without pretending that two people with different schedules could make plans effortlessly. Her roster sometimes changed, and I occasionally had projects that required weekend attention, but neither of those things seemed like a reason to give up before trying. I told her I’d be happy to come to Charlotte the following month if we found dates that worked. She agreed and said she’d check her schedule when it became available.

What mattered to me was how naturally we approached the conversation. Neither of us was demanding a promise about the distant future, and neither was pretending our interest would somehow survive without effort. We were making room for another visit because we genuinely wanted one.

When we reached my apartment later that evening she stepped inside and looked around with a curiosity I’d come to recognize. She noticed the books on the shelves, the photographs I’d taken on earlier trips, and a small plant beside the window that I admitted had been struggling for several months. She gave me a doubtful look when I explained that I designed landscapes professionally but occasionally forgot to water my own plants.

After I showed her the guest room and left her space to settle in, she joined me in the kitchen while I made coffee. She leaned against the counter and watched me for a moment before smiling.

“You know, when I asked if you were traveling alone, I wasn’t expecting any of this.”

I handed her a mug. “I’d been expecting a quiet vacation and maybe a few decent photographs.”

She set her coffee down, stepped closer, and slipped her arms around my shoulders. “I think we both got something better.”

I put my hands at her waist and kissed her. She stayed close when we pulled apart. A few minutes later we carried our coffee into the living room and settled together on the couch, talking about what we might do on Sunday. She was in my city because she’d chosen to be, and I was looking forward to showing her more of it.

When I first boarded that plane I really had been traveling alone, and I’d been perfectly happy with that plan. Meeting Dileia hadn’t changed everything about my life overnight, but it had given me someone I genuinely wanted to share more of it with. The turbulence brought us together for a few seconds. Everything that followed happened because we kept choosing each other.