The Zephyr . 7.

He stepped in the aisle to just in front of her row, and placed his hand on the edge of the seat there. This was it. He stood silent, gathering nerve. She was arranging things in her seat area. He waited. She looked up and smiled.

"Caramel?" He pronounced the name slowly, and as in the spanish, almost 'Car-a-mel'. He thought he was prepared for anything. The emotions he saw flit over her face were so many that he was suddenly afraid. Afraid it wasn't her, that he had missed her after all. Afraid it was her and she would turn away, or that she wouldn't turn away, but be disappointed in him.

The surprised look gave way to a questioning look. "Yes, thats my name." At his hesitation, she smiled slightly. "Can I help you with something?" The look on her face changed again. As he watched, a look he had seen a thousand times on people who deal with the public came on her face.Impersonal, but helpful. He felt a flicker of anger almost that she didn't recognize him. Then the momentary fear again that she would turn away.

He realized she had repeated it again. "May I help you with something?" The ladies in front were turning now, ready to somehow defend her if she needed it. He heard, but didn't focus on their murmurs of support for her.