By: Ed Dzitko
The flight delay was unbearable, but here she was again, red polish on perfectly shaped toes, each an exact fit with its others. He’d studied her across the aisle.
He moved his bag. A a long shot, but… “Is that seat taken?”
“If you’d like it,” he answered, calmly as he could.
“Denver, right? Heard you on the last flight. Me, too.” She slid out of a sandal, crossed her legs, and her foot dangled enticingly. “Seat 30E.”
“30F. Last seat, last row,” he smiled.
Smiling back, she turned toward him, her foot brushing his calf. “Well, that’ll be fun.”