I didn’t even know her last name, nor she mine. Did we really go from being perfect strangers to this? My fingers tightened a little on her delicate hand. I could feel every finger, the softness of her skin…the heat of her palm so wanting to be held and touched. I tried to say something, anything, but words wouldn’t come. We sat quietly looking at the seat backs and tray tables in front of us, not trying to hide from one another, but to be alone in our thoughts, to make sense of what had just happened, and to imagine what would unfold before this day was done.

Beep. The seatbelt sign went on. Thank goodness, a voice breaking our silence: “We will be landing at Chicago’s O’Hare International Airport…” Does Mary live here? Is she married? What the hell are we doing?

The wheels touched down. “Welcome to Chicago where the local time is 6:30 pm.” I felt Mary squeeze my hand. “I guess we should gather up our things,” she said. “Yes, we should do that,” I responded like the articulate person I am.

I was seated on the aisle so I rose up and opened the overhead storage. Lands End, I asked? She nodded. So editor-like, I thought. I held her bag for her as she wiggled her well-proportioned body into the aisle next to me. “Coach sucks!”

As we deplaned, I followed closely as Mary blazed a trail down the jetway. Seeing her from the back confirmed my good choice in strangers. We could easily be mistaken for husband and wife…a very lucky husband and a very attractive wife, for sure. Once again, the possibility of Mary being married flashed into my mind.

Past the gate we walked, edging into the crowd heading to wherever, a destination that Mary and I shared. “My last name is McGuire. What’s yours?” “Conner,” I said, smiling “but you can call me Mr. Conner.”

“Well, Mr. Conner, it’s nice to make your acquaintance. Can you help me out with my tummy problem?”

Did she really ask that? My heart felt like it was going to explode. I struggled to say yes without stammering. I failed. We stopped, as if on cue, to face one another. The sea of fellow travelers made way for us as our eyes met…those magical, Anne Hathaway eyes of someone’s beloved daughter and sister, and maybe someone’s wife. Please, not that, not someone’s wife. Not this woman.

“I need a cocktail. I so need a cocktail.” She laughed at the pleading tone in my voice. Grabbing my hand once again, she led me through the crowd to a nearby airport bar. “We both need a cocktail, Brian,” she said, smiling.

Finding an empty table away from the entrance, we placed our bags on the floor and sat down. After ordering quickly our eyes met once again. She reached out for my hands. Her touch felt so good as did her words. “I’m not sure what’s going on with us, Brian, but I am sure that I really like you. Weird, huh? Also, I’m not married. If I were, we wouldn’t be here.”

I stopped her just as she was about to continue. “You’re a mind reader. I’m so glad you aren’t married. I didn’t want that. And, yes, this is so weird and I really like you, too.” She smiled back at me. Her hands gripped mine a little harder. “May I kiss you, Mr. Conner?” she asked, sheepishly? They leaned forward, lips barely touching, the gentleness of their affection masking their bubbling passion.

Witnessing this very special moment as he approached the table, the waiter paused. A little embarrassed, Brian and Mary settled back into their seats as their drinks were placed before them. Thank you they said. “You’re welcome” said the waiter, “and thank you. That was such a beautiful kiss. You make a handsome couple.”

Brian chuckled to himself as the waiter sauntered off. “You know, Mary,” he mused, “we’ve known each other for only a few hours and already we’re a couple. Can you imagine what we’ll be in a few hours?”

“Yes Brian, I can. And I can’t wait.”