Page 3 of Speechless

He’s quite cute, mostly white with gray ears, very shaggy fur. He looks a bit like the Old English I grew up with back in Bedford but seems much too small to be the same breed.

Now she’s humming again, and I can clearly hear the tune. Is that really what she’s listening to? I look around for a screen of some sort. Maybe she’s watching the film on a tablet? I realize then that her eyes are actually closed and look back to the dog for answers.

A feeling comes over me, one that I’m entirely inexperienced with: a compulsion to meet this woman, to speak to her, somehow.

But,how?

I’m always armed with medication when traveling alone—even though I hate the lingering effects it has on my writing—so I might be able to saysomething.

But I have no idea how to approach a woman. My social life consists of the mates I live with and the endless dates my agent forces on me that never end well. In reality my mum is my best friend, and I can’t exactly call her right now to ask for advice.

I feel my nerves settle as the Xanax takes control.

This is it, now or never. Any moment now they could tell us the flight is canceled and I’ll never see her again.

We’re only a few feet away from each other. Should I stand? Move toward her? Close the distance between us? I don’t want to invade her space, nor do I want to tower over her.

God, I think I’m sweating.

She should definitely be able to hear me alright from here, well, depending on how loud the volume is on those headphones she’s wearing.

“Hello, erm, hi.”

I did it.

I spoke to her. I didn’t freeze. This is marvelous!

Shit. She can’t hear me. I wave my hand around like some lunatic to get her attention.

Brilliant.

“Sorry?” She lowers her headphones onto her shoulders and looks up at me apologetically. Uncertainty knits her brows as she waits for me to dole out my complaint to her. And of course, I haven’t any clue what to say.

“Your dog.” That’s it? Come on Henry, your English is better thanthis.

“Is he bothering you? I can move if you need me to, but I promise he’s very friendly.”

“No, of course he’s not bothering me.” I really do sound like an arse. Go on, say something else, anything else. “I was wondering what breed he was. He reminds me of my Old English but so much smaller.”

“Oh!” Her face immediately lights up. “Yeah, he’s a Sheepie, just a tiny one. Rowan was the runt of the litter but he’s perfect for me. I don’t know how I’d manage a dog over forty pounds.”

“Rowan? Isn’t that a name for redheads?”

“Yeah, I know. He’s actually named after one of my favorite book characters. If you ever readThrone of Glass, and make it to book three in the series, his name will make perfect sense for his white fur.” She smiles knowingly then, like I’ve just been invited into some secret club.

Mental note to read whateverThrone of Glassis.

There’s a beat of silence that seems to stretch too long and I see her pick up her headphones again. Sweat starts pooling at the back of my neck but the tightness I'm so used to feeling around new people is absent.

“You were humming earlier.”

“Ah, that’s embarrassing. Sorry to bother you, I promise to keep it down.” Her sheepish grin is absolutely adorable.

“No bother at all, I was just curious what the song was. It sounded a bit familiar.”

“Oh. No, you probably heard wrong. It’s not really a song even. It’s a movie score. I’m kind of obsessed with this composer and I listen to his scores every day. This one is from a pretty bad movie actually, one of those teen vampire dramas, but the music is just magical. It’s a full hour if you listen straight through so I figured it was perfect for waiting in the airport, but after all these delays I’m about to start round three...” She notices my face go slack and her eyes squint in what looks like embarrassment. “Sorry. I’m rambling. I have a habit of talking too much.”

I’ve been at a loss for words millions of times in my life, but this is different.

---