Excerpt: Claire Holloway Is Winging It
- 1 hour ago
- 10 min read
One week until the arrival of my first flight attendant romcom!!!
In hopes that you find CLAIRE HOLLOWAY IS WINGING IT to be as delightful as Library Journal did, I'm sharing the first chapter below.
CLAIRE
Sometimes you gotta fall before you fly.
— Unknown
Passengers mistakenly assume I know what I’m doing simply because I’m wearing a flight attendant uniform. They couldn’t be more wrong.
I know how to arm airplane doors for departure. I know how to put on an oxygen mask. I know how to make a pot of coffee. I do not know where to find the S terminal at the Seattle airport. I’ve never been here before in my life.
Glancing heavenward, I spot a sign with letters and arrows. The letters must represent terminals, whereas the arrows clearly offer direction.
The S is a little faded against the blue background, so I don’t blame the frazzled middle- aged woman for missing it. Maintenance needs to repaint the letter white to make it more legible.
As for my new career, I may not officially be on the clock, but the job starts now.
I smile at the woman wearing a plaid blazer and sporting a hairstyle Princess Diana made trendy in decades past. She’s carrying a garment bag, and I hope she’s heading to a wedding and not a funeral. Either way, it explains the stress she must be under.
I point past the food court with the giant wall of windows overlooking the runway and mountains of evergreens in the distance. “That way.”
“Thank you.” She squeezes my arm and takes off at a jog, dodging other passengers. “I’ve only got a few minutes,” she yells back over her shoulder.
My eyes bulge with concern. Maybe she was a track star in college.
With a shake of my head and a deep inhale of earthy scented coffee brewing at one of the many Starbucks, I glance back at the sign overhead for directions to baggage claim. Once I’m working trips, I’ll pack everything in a carry- on, but today I’m moving into my crash pad and needed to bring some extras.
I head in the direction the arrows point me. Wheels on my roller bag click against tiles until I reach a double set of sliding glass doors leading to the outside world. The doors whoosh open, but I stop.
Passengers part from behind me to cross through the threshold ahead. They probably have friends waiting to pick them up. They might even be going home. As for me, I’m on my own in a new city.
My pulse thumps harder. I should call my boyfriend, Wyatt, before I leave the safety of airport security. I want to give him my full attention, and the moment I exit the safety of the sterile area, my attention will be on my surroundings.
This is where my true-c rime obsession comes in handy. I constantly watch for suspicious- looking characters. I’m always practicing to help police find a getaway car by memorizing random license plate numbers. And flight attendant training taught us how to defend ourselves by making a weapon out of a can of soda in a sock.
As for my checked luggage, it could take up to twenty minutes to arrive at the carousel. I’ve got time.
I sidestep so as not to impede the flow of humanity any longer and pull my phone from my crossbody bag. The contact list displays Wyatt posed in front of the Golden Gate Bridge, the wind lifting his messy blond curls, and sunglasses concealing his icy- blue gaze. He’s not smiling, but he wears the knowing smirk that intrigued me in the first place. He possesses the confidence that I’ve lost.
I tap the old-school phone icon, then hold its modern version to my ear. The ringer trills. I bite my lip.
Another ring. I glance at my watch.
At least Wyatt and I are in the same time zone for the moment, so we don’t have the complication of trying to catch each other at different hours of the day. It’s almost four thirty, meaning he could be in one last meeting or trying to beat the rush-hour traffic home.
The call beeps that it’s been disconnected moments before my phone vibrates an alert of an incoming message. I read Wyatt’s text. He’s in a meeting.
I needed to hear his encouraging words. Even if he was distracted or rushed, I could have found strength in the sound of his voice, in knowing I’m not alone.
I didn’t used to mind being alone so much. I was fiercely independent.
Determined to succeed.
Until I failed.
Glancing around, I make sure I’m still not in anyone’s way before typing out a quick response.
Landed. I’ll call again when I get to my crash pad. Love you.
I love him enough that I wish I’d given up this job to be with him right now, but as a former ballerina who dropped out of college to join a dance troupe and currently can’t even demonstrate technique in teaching, I don’t have many choices. I mean, I could be a barista, but serving coffee in the sky comes with free flight benefits. So here I am with hopes of a honeymoon in Maui. Though if I’m not transferred home to be based at SFO at the end of the month, the free flights are not worth our time apart.
After stuffing my phone inside the pocket of my company peacoat, I lift my chin to face the world. I won’t delay my journey any longer.
With a deep breath, I merge back into foot traffic, making my way into an open area of ticket counters and winding TSA lines. An escalator lowers me to baggage claim. I pause at a monitor to check which carousel will spit out the luggage from San Fran.
“I missed my flight.”
The back of my neck prickles at the familiar tone. I’m in a foreign city. No tones should sound familiar. Unless it’s the woman I’d directed to the S terminal.
Glancing over, I spot her plaid jacket. At least she’s on her phone and not talking to me. My stomach still churns in anxiety for her.
“I won’t be able to make the wedding now.”
A groan escapes my lips right as a pilot strides between me and the passenger. He pauses, facing me, and his expression of surprise blocks my view.
“You okay?” Concern darkens his eyes to the color of French roast, but he offers a hopeful smile. And somehow he carries off a clean-cut look even with a five o’clock shadow. Could be his perfect eyebrows.
“I’m fine.” I lean forward to explain in confidence. “I just overheard a passenger say she was going to miss a wedding.” I nod past him toward the woman on the phone. “I gave her directions to Terminal S, but evidently her plane left without her.”
His head tilts. “Terminal S?”
I scrunch my nose. “I knew she was cutting it close, but I still feel bad.”
He faces me completely, one hand resting on the top of his suitcase handle. His uniform is fancier than mine. Gold stripes line the shoulders of his black sweater, and if that’s not enough, it’s worn over a white button- down and black tie. He also has a thick diver’s watch on his wrist, which I kind of admire. In the age of smartwatches, he’s an analog guy.
“Are you based here?” he questions.
“Yes. It’s my first day in Seattle.” I blow out my breath to get rid of jitters. “Is it that obvious?”
“Well.” He rubs the stubble on his cleft chin. “Had it been your second day, you might have known Terminal S is closed for construction.”
My heart thumps to a stop, and I grip my chest in the same way as a victim of cardiac arrest. “She asked me to point her toward Terminal S. I saw a sign.”
He glances up at the sign nearest us.
I follow his gaze to find the blue S, hard to read once again. It must be purposely colored in to hide it, like camouflage. The Lady Di wannabe is missing a wedding because of me.
“Oh no.” I’ve barely started my new career, yet I’ve already failed this one as well.
“Don’t be too hard on yourself.” One corner of his mouth quirks up. “She would have had to take a shuttle to get to the temporary remote location, and if she was already running late, it’s not probable she would have made it anyway.”
Though the two of us both wear crew uniforms, he’s the employee passengers should be asking for directions. I only wore mine to get through security with a full- sized bottle of shampoo.
“Hope your day improves.” The pilot nods goodbye, then heads toward the exit.
As soon as he moves, I’m exposed.
The woman ends her call and scans the area.
My stomach churns as if I’m about to get caught doing something wrong. Unfortunately, it’s too late to fix the mistake. My best bet is to escape confrontation.
I trot to catch up with the pilot and use him as a shield from the passenger’s gaze. Then, because I need a disguise to keep from being recognized, I rip my caramel brown hair from its standard bun and shake it free to hang down past my shoulders.
He stops again. “What are you doing?”
I stop with him, digging inside my crossbody bag for sunglasses. There.
I slide the tortoiseshell frames up my nose. “I don’t want her to spot me.”
He takes me in. “You do realize it’s October in Seattle, right? Wearing sunglasses in the rain will only make you more conspicuous.”
I twist my mouth in concession to his logic, but I refuse to remove my shades. “Maybe people will simply assume I’m a celebrity trying to conceal her identity.”
He blinks. “In a flight attendant uniform?”
My shoulders sag. This dress is going to be the death of me.
“Hey.” He touches my upper arm. “You tried to help. You did your best. What are you afraid of?”
I snort. If sending travelers to a gate that doesn’t exist is my best, then I should be fired before I even begin. “I’m afraid she’ll be angry with me.”
He crosses his arms like he’s buckling in for the duration of my flight from this passenger. “You’re a people pleaser, huh?”
I’ll take People Pleasing for $500, Alex. With a side of self-criticism and some unwanted psychoanalysis.
I roll my eyes, though he can’t see them behind the dark lenses. “It’s my job to make passengers happy.”
“It’s never your job to make anyone happy.”
Okay, now I’m more lost than the traveler looking for a gate that doesn’t exist.
He obviously reads my confused expression, because he explains. “As a flight attendant, your job is to do what’s best for customers, even if it makes them unhappy. Think of all the unhappy people when a flight is canceled due to mechanical failure. Yet it’s better for them if they don’t fly on the plane until it’s fixed.”
If only. “A mechanical failure is a lot different from my failure.”
“Okay, you failed. Now go apologize and make it right.”
I rip the sunglasses off my face to make sure he receives the full impact of my crazy eyes. “I can’t get her on a plane that’s already taken off.”
He clicks his tongue.
“Oh, there you are.” The woman I’d been hiding from circles the pilot/ therapist to confront me, and I’m not sure which will be worse— his reprimand or the rebuke I’ve got coming. “You look different with your hair down.”
The pilot lifts his dark eyebrows, as if waiting to see how I respond. Or maybe he’s questioning my previous response. Probably both.
I cringe inwardly, wishing I’d ducked into a bathroom stall rather than behind this guy. Though this guy did give me advice for awkward situations.
I swallow down my dread. “Ma’am, I’m very sorry you missed your flight. Today is my first day in Seattle, and I didn’t realize Terminal S is under construction.”
She trills in laughter.
I eye the pilot to see if he’d expected such a reaction. I sure didn’t.
He rubs his mouth, perhaps attempting to hide amusement, but his straight white teeth are too bright to be hidden.
I frown at him before focusing on her.
She adjusts the garment bag over her shoulder. “My nephew got cold feet and canceled his wedding. If I’d made it onto the flight, it would have been a waste of the whole weekend.”
My lips part, but I remain speechless. I guess today could have been worse. I could have been the jilted bride.
Waving off my shock, she attributes our circumstances to “God’s mysterious ways and all that.” Then she plants a hand on her hip and looks around. “Could you help me retrieve my checked luggage?”
My jaw continues to hang open. I slide my gaze toward the pilot. He knows more about this stuff than I do. “I don’t think you’re asking the right person . . .”
He straightens his tie and shoots me another dazzling grin before stepping in. “You’ll want to head to the customer service desk.” He motions toward a booth between carousels. “They’ll take care of you.”
“Oh, thank you.” The woman squeezes his arm, then reaches to squeeze my hand as well.
I awkwardly grasp her cold fingers. This is definitely not how I expected our interaction to end, and if that’s part of God’s mysterious ways as well, then I’m grateful. Though I’ve never really stopped before to give Him thanks. “Take care.” I watch her run off.
The pilot lifts his chin, as if to say, I told you so.
I jam my sunglasses back on rebelliously. “What?” For all he knows, I really am a celebrity in disguise.
He extends a hand. “Nathan Stuart at your service.”
I hesitate before accepting his handshake. Yeah, he helped me out, but I don’t want him to think I welcomed his lecture.
He drops his hold, but that quirky corner of his lips slides up and down a couple of times. “After all that, you’re not going to properly introduce yourself?”
I push my shades atop my head to meet his mocking gaze directly.
“You’re the one who told me it’s not my job to make others happy.”
“Well, you’ve failed.” Nathan’s half smile opens into full bloom. “Because it makes me happy that you’re taking my advice.”
My icy glare melts under the warmth of his beam, and I can’t help laughing at the irony. “As a people pleaser, I call this a win-win.”
“Touché.” Nathan studies me, his smile thinning into contemplation. “And what do I call you?”
This is where I either tell him my name or escape into anonymity. Though I’d claimed to feel like a winner, it’s still been an embarrassing first day that I’d prefer to keep from becoming airline lore.
My longing to succeed wars with my desire to make others happy, but as Nathan already stated, not trying to make him happy still makes him happy. Thus, I’ll bid him adieu and hope that we never work a trip together and he never learns my identity.
“Claire Holloway.” My name echoes over the loudspeaker.
I startle. So much for refusing to introduce myself. “What’d I do now?” Booming voice: “Please claim your luggage at carousel eight.” Oh. Of course.
Nathan grins in triumph. “Nice to meet you, Claire Holloway.”
I give a resigned shrug. “Why settle for a proper introduction when I can wait for yet another embarrassing moment?”
He chuckles. “Go get your luggage. I’ll watch your carry- on.”
I narrow my eyes. They say you’re not supposed to leave luggage with people you don’t know. Then again, I suppose we’ve been introduced, however awkwardly.
Still cautious, I walk backward toward carousel eight. “Are you just trying to keep me from causing more chaos on my first day?”
He grins. “Somebody has to.”
***
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