The cute dark-haired flight attendant gave him a nice smile and handed him a visitor packet. "Have a wonderful time during your stay. This should give you some ideas for things to do."
Asch had waited until last to disembark so he could chat with her. He had the impression that she had paid more attention to him than was strictly necessary during the flight. "It's liable to be a long stay. I got a one-way ticket. Gonna check the island out rather thoroughly, I hope. Does this packet happen to have anything for longer-term visits, like a boarding house or something?"
"I know a good restaurant in town. Maybe they could help you." She tilted her head and smiled.
Asch was no dummy. "Does that mean you could show me a good place to eat this evening? My treat, if you care to join me."
She looked thoughtful. "Take the jitney to a place called Momma Rita's—the driver'll know where it is—get some coffee, and study the packet. I'll join you and we can go over what you find. I should get there about half an hour after you. Okay?"
"Deal. Are you spending the night here by chance?" He blinked. "Wait—that didn't sound right."
She smiled. "That's okay. I know what you meant. I think." She looked him sideways in the eye. "But yes, they put us up at the Islander and we fly out in the morning."
He looked around as he stepped off the plane. Warm breeze, palm trees irregularly everywhere, mountainous hills in the background. "Not half bad for a start," he thought.
Momma Rita's was about as full of local color as a restaurant could get. Local artifacts all over the walls; plenty of regulars, judging from the banter; well-worn floor and tables; and well-used menus that everyone seemed to ignore. He found a corner booth, ordered coffee, told the attractive young waitress he was expecting someone, and settled in to look over the promotional material. From habit, he pulled out a pencil to mark the mistakes he knew he would find.
Presently he detected a body headed purposefully toward him, and looked up. She still had her uniform jumper on, her hair was down, makeup gone, and the neckline of her top without the blouse underneath accented the curves of her figure. He tried not to stare when he stood up to greet her.
"Nice job of not staring," she quipped as she sat down.
"Nice job of making it hard not to stare," he replied. The dress was a wide scoop neck and the top of her breasts was a pleasant sight.
She smiled at the compliment, then changed the subject. "Okay, rule one," she said pretend-severely, "Let's don't talk about the airline industry or anything related to it."
"Okay."
"Rule two: I dress like this because I like to be looked at, so you can look, but don't touch."
"Okay. And I'll try not to ogle. Besides, you have perfectly nice eyes and you're cute when you try to look stern. And I'm pretty sure you're an excellent conversationalist."
"Thank you. Her eyes twinkled. "Okay, I recommend the quiche. Every single place on this island has excellent seafood, but this place has quiche to die for." They ordered, and she reached for the packet. "Now let's see what this packet actually contains."
She leaned forward to see the brochures. The motion pressed her breasts against the table, causing them to bulge. He suspected that she didn't have a bra on.
He summarized what he had found. "Your guess was right—all resorts and places to spend money at, plus a few excursion-type things. A couple state parks." He spread out the brochures. "Also a couple realtors, and this one place that looks like a mom-and-pop rooming house to stay at, back in from the coastline."
"Hm. That is back in and high up. For nature lovers, not scuba divers. Not that any place here is very far from water." She raised her eyebrows and looked at him. "Might be interesting."
"I think if the Islander has a room for me, I'll stay there and check these folks out in the morning."
"Sounds like a plan."
The food arrived and they dug in. He kept making reflexive furtive glances at her neckline, even though his intention was to glean info and have pleasant conversation, not a one-night stand. Those sure were nice curves, though.
She eyed him and sucked on the celery stick from her drink. "Okay, I know you flew here from the northern tundra, and you mentioned that you plan to stay here for a while. What else?"
"Hm, unexpected widower—bad spousal health—retired for the time being, even though I'm too young for traditional retirement. Mainly I'm collecting myself, I guess. I like the outdoors and indoors both. Folk and classical music, bicycling, scuba maybe, Disney movies."
"To which I can add that you take care of yourself physically and I'll bet you're good with your hands and well educated. And you seem like a gentleman."
"Guilty as charged. I hope. I like woodworking and I tie decorative sailor knots on occasion. What about you?" He took another bite of quiche. "This is really good, by the way."
"Single. I like to travel, no interest in settling down yet. Which means at least one sad guy in every airport in the country." She snickered. "And they can stay sad for all I care; they were all no-good bums anyway. Hence my no touch rule. Flying, snorkeling, sculpture, especially pottery."
"That means you have strong hands."
"I suppose. Here, try my grip, but don't hurt me." She offered her hand and he took it, expecting to easily match whatever her grip was. It was almost all he could do to match it. And then she held his hand a little longer than necessary before releasing it.
