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lunch?  “Oh yeah?”  I try to wrap my mind around his words while the wine numbs my senses a bit too much.  Is he asking me out?  This can’t be happening.  Hasn’t he read the handbook?  “I simply adore lunch,” I hear myself say.
    “We can talk just as easily now,” he says.
    I angle my body in the seat toward his, as much as I can with the seatbelt on, and keep my mouth shut for fear of saying something in appropriate.  Talking to Kyle will distract me from my fear of this flight.  I’ll concentrate on the smooth texture of his face, letting it calm me.
    He withdraws a battered legal pad from his leather carry-on.  “It’s essential as we move forward, that we set up a customer plan of action.  Tradeshows are a great way to reach out to our client base and let them know we’re the leader in the marketplace.”
    Disappointment hits me like a Tae Kwon Do chop.  Kyle Nettles has Corporatitis.  Too bad.
    I shake my head.  What exactly do I mean by “too bad?”  Obviously he has read the handbook and is keeping things strictly business.  Like I should.
    Over the loud speaker, we hear, “Flight attendants cross check and prepare the cabin for takeoff.”
    Lights flicker.  Doors swoosh shut.  The air conditioning stalls.
    I can’t breathe.
    I’m trapped.
    There’s no way out.
    I need that air.
    Shit!  Now the plane’s moving.  Why didn’t I mention to Aislin that I have an unhealthy fear of flying?  Why won’t the wine kick in more?
    I squeeze my eyes tightly.
    Oh please, oh please, oh please...
    Breathe.  Breathe.  Breathe.
    “Are you okay, Vanessa?” Kyle asks with concern.
    My chest is heaving like I’ve been underwater too long and I’ve just broken the surface for some precious air.  I dart my gaze to him, then look away, ashamed.  “Umm…  Yeah, sorry, the taking off part freaks me out a little.”  I swallow hard and look him square in the eyes.  “I have pteromerhanophobia.”
    He smirks a little.  “Is that contagious?”
    I take a swipe at him, but return my palms to grip the armrest.  “Don’t be a jerk.  It’s not funny.  Pteromerhanophobia is the fear of flying.  I’ve been tested for it.”
    “I thought fear of flying was called aviophobia.”
    I shake my head.  “My dad says it’s pteromerhanophobia.  And he should know.  He used to be an Air Force pilot.  Even took me up in an F-16 once when I was a teenager to help me get over it.”
    “That sounds amazing,” he says.  “What happened?”
    “I puked in the flight mask.”
    Kyle politely covers his snort and laughter with his fisted hand to his mouth.
    Why am I telling him such a gruesome and embarrassing memory?  And why hasn’t the pilot turned the air conditioner back on?  I’m turning into a huge ball of sweat and my heart’s going to come bursting out of my clothing at any moment.
    The plane bounces along on the tarmac and my blood pressure accelerates.  I don’t know if I can do this.  It would be extremely embarrassing for me to ask them to turn the plane back.
    Kyle reaches over and soothes my hand with his.  “Hey, Vanessa.  It’s okay.  You’ll be all right.”
    “I don’t think—”
    “Don’t think,” he says softly.  “Gaze out at the horizon and just breathe.”
    His voice is soothing and kind and I find myself doing as he says.  Somehow, my fingers have laced through his larger ones, gripping to him like a lifeline.  I’m too terrified to be embarrassed, so I continue to cling.  He doesn’t make any effort to separate himself from me, only telling me to breathe and focus.  I peer out the window at Boston Harbor as it rushes by on my right and then suddenly, we lift off the ground and bank up over the ocean below.  Once we’re airborne, I stare out the window in horror as the flaps groan and moan like they haven’t been serviced in years.  Of course they slip back into place and all is well as we bank into a cloud.  Kyle is eyeballing me and