Page 22 of Ice Ice Maybe
“That’s it?” I whispered to Zena as we collected our bags.
Zena laughed. “Welcome to private aviation, Nolan. Where the only thing faster than the jets is the security process.” She gestured to the well-stocked refreshment area. “Want anything before we board? It’s all complimentary.”
I scanned the assortment of snacks, my eyes widening at the selection of protein bars, yogurt, Belgian chocolate, fresh pastries, gourmet coffees, organic trail mix, sandwiches, and fancy cheese and cracker packs.
“All of this is free?” I asked, incredulous.
“Yep. Help yourself,” she said.
Despite the temptation, I shook my head. “I’m good, thanks.”
We had barely settled into the comfortable leather chairs when a man in a crisp business suit wheeled his carry-on in our direction, his gaze briefly meeting mine.
“Hello,” I said with a nod and a smile.
The man’s pace slowed for a fraction of a second.
“Hi,” he replied, before continuing on his way.
Zena studied me, suspicion creeping into her expression. “Do you know him?”
I shook my head. “Nope.”
She opened her mouth, clearly about to say something else, but then a distinguished-looking gentleman approached us. The guy was in his mid-fifties, with a neatly trimmed silver beard. He wore a navy-blue jacket adorned with four gold stripes on each sleeve, a crisp white shirt, and a black tie peeking out from beneath. Atop his head sat a matching cap with a polished golden insignia, completing his authoritative look.
“Good morning, Miss Dalton,” he said with a warm smile.
“Good morning, Jack,” she said, returning his smile. “How are you?”
“I couldn’t be better—thanks for asking.” He turned to me, extending his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Reid. I’m Captain Jack Albright. I’ll be flying you to Las Vegas.”
“Oh, wow, okay,” I said, surprised. “Nice to meet you as well.”
“If you’ll follow me, we’re ready for takeoff,” he said.
We shuffled behind Jack across the tarmac toward the waiting jet.
I shook my head in amused disbelief. “The pilot comes to get you? Now, I’ve seen it all.”
“Trust me, Nolan,” Zena said. “Youhave notseen it all. Not even close.”
Boarding the jet was like stepping into another world. Leather seats, gleaming wood panels, and enough legroom even for Shaquille O’Neal.
I whistled, glancing around, running my fingers along the leather. “I’m speechless.”
“Wait till you try the bathroom. It doesn’t require contortionist skills to use,” Zena quipped, settling into her seat.
After I sat in the seat next to her, a flight attendant appeared as if by magic, offering us mimosas on a silver tray.
I held up my glass. “Here’s to painting a masterpiece of make-believe on the canvas of reality.”
Zena nodded with appreciation. “So poetic …”
“Thank you,” I said. “I was channeling my inner Maya Angelou.”
She smiled and clinked my glass. “Cheers.”
We sat for a few minutes in silence, enjoying our mimosas. The flight attendant returned and informed us we were getting ready for take-off. Zena and I exchanged a quick glance before tipping back our flutes and downing the remaining mimosas in a few swift gulps. The bubbles tickled my nose as I savored the last sip. With a graceful turn, the flight attendant disappeared behind us with our empty flutes.
