1 Chapter 1

I peer, unfocused, into the mirror behind the bar. Whether it was put there to make the stock of liquor bottles look twice as large, or to make the tiny airport lounge appear more spacious, I don’t know, but it does provide me the opportunity for a little quiet introspection. I contemplate the woman staring back at me and decide that she still looks good—damn good. Just not good enough for him. Not anymore.

“This seat taken?”

I shift my gaze, and judging by cap tucked up under her arm and the gold wings over her breast pocket, I’m looking into the eyes of a pilot. “Suit yourself,” I say.

I watch as the bartender wordlessly makes his way over to set a clear, fizzing drink, garnished with a slice of lime, in front of this newcomer in her pressed, dark blue suit. I move my eyes back to my own glass of Pinot, swirl it once around, and take another swig.

“A little liquid courage for your flight?”

“Hmm?” I turn to face my chatty new drinking companion—my pilot in her crisp blues with the gold stripes encircling her wrists—who is gazing at the wineglass in my hand. “No, I got bumped. I don’t fly out until tomorrow now.”

“What airline?” My companion sips her drink and smiles. “I do know a few people in the industry. Maybe I can fix that for you.”

I take a look at the company logo that adorns her tie clip. “The other guys,” I say. “Thanks, though.”

“No problem.”

I turn my concentration back to my glass of Pinot.

After a long period without saying anything, my pilot pipes up again. “You like jazz?”

I shrug.

“I know the best little hole in the wall jazz club.” She flashes me a smile. “I was going to head down there for dinner. Care to join me?”

I take another look at my pilot—a long look—probably longer than what is considered polite. I admit to myself that I like what I see.

I’ve always considered myself hetero, but after the divorce, I haven’t exactly ruled out the same sex as a possibility. And, I have to say, this woman sitting next to me exudes all the qualities I find attractive. Nice short cropped dark hair, strong jawline, eyes that crinkle when she smiles, and judging from the way her uniform hugs her, slim and fit as well.

A short haircut doesn’t make her a lesbian, though. Does it? Does it matter?I drain the last of my Pinot in a single gulp. “You lead, I’ll follow.”

“Great.” She stands up and offers me her arm.

Chivalrous, too.I decide right then that I hope to God she is a lesbian, because so far she’s about the nicest person I’ve met in a while. I’m going on my first date with a pilot.

* * * *

The music in the club is loud, but not so loud that it makes conversation impossible. I’m sitting at a little cabaret table, looking into the eyes of my pilot. She’s sipping at another club soda and lime, while I continue nursing my second glass of Pinot. The dinner dishes have already been cleared.

“So, what brings you here?” she asks.

“Connecting flight. After a girls’ weekend.” I take another sip of my wine. “The Trophy Wives Club,” I announce, “Retired.”

“Retired?”

“Yeah, as in all of us have been dumped. Traded in for a newer model with lower mileage, you might say.”

“Ouch.”

“Mm-hmm. My ex is a corporate lawyer. Once he hit the big time—”

She’s chuckling. My so far exceedingly polite pilot has a big grin plastered over her face and is laughing at my story.

“What?”

“Sorry,” she says. “Sounds very familiar, is all. My ex is a high-powered attorney, too. She’s very successful, with a well-respected firm.”

Bingo! She isa lesbian.I file that little tidbit away. I’ll decide if I want to act on it later.

“And she fooled around on you?” I say.

“Nah.” My pilot plucks the lime off the rim of her club soda, squeezes it once, and drops it in the glass. “The key to starting a successful legal practice, from what I have gathered, is to build your client base. That means choosing a location and putting down roots.

“Now, when you’re a pilot, like me, you have to be close to the airline’s hub. For the major carriers that means Chicago, Atlanta, or Dallas. It also means that changing airlines means changing cities.”

“And you changed airlines?”

“Didn’t want to, but yeah. It was the recession and all. But my wife was already entrenched with a growing legal practice. We tried long distance for a while, but the spark was gone. She might miss having her dashing pilot on her arm, but she’s never mentioned it. We still exchange cards at the holidays, but that’s about it.”

“At least she wasn’t schtupping one of the legal assistants at the firm.”

“No. I can imagine that would be tough to take.”

I say nothing, just peer into my glass and decide to down the last of it in one swig. “Sorry for boring you with my sob story.”

“It’s okay. We’ve all got one, don’t we?” she says. “You wanna dance?”

“Hmm?” I’m too distracted marveling over the similarities of our breakups to make out everything she says over the music.