How annoying, my sweater was snagged on the seatbelt again. I struggled to get my bag into the overhead compartment. How did I end up this short anyway? I thought. My sister and brother are tall. I'm so jealous. My bag fell again, hitting me in the head for the third time.

"Need help?" someone said from behind me. I spun around and my ponytail whipped him in the face.

"Sorry," I said. "Yeah, I guess I could use a hand." I was embarrassed. From head to toe, he looked organized. He was nicely dressed, had a great smile, and no wedding ring. He looked too old for me.

"My name is Lance. Looks like we are seated together. Do you want to sit by the window?"

"Okay," I managed. He was gorgeous. "Where are you from, Lance?" I asked.

"Chicago. I don't really like it there. I'd rather be in the West. I grew up there and miss it," he answered.

"Well, what are you doing in Philadelphia then?" We were flying to Phoenix. He must travel a lot.

"Business. What about you? Where are you from?" He angled his body toward me. That made me nervous.

"Um ... I'm on business as well." I said. He looked as surprised as he should have. I look my age, eighteen. I should be barely be out of high school ... "So, I'm going home today. I live in Phoenix."

"Wow, you look young to be on a business trip. What do you do?" He asked.

"Oh, you'd never guess it. I'm an interpreter. I went to college when I was eleven and learned eight languages." What was I saying? I stared out the window trying hard not to laugh.

"Wow! That's amazing!" He exclaimed. I couldn't believe he believed me.

"Yeah, I suppose. What do you do?" I asked trying to change the subject. This was going to be a long flight.

"Boring, compared to what you do. I'm an investor's consultant. I do the same thing every day. It's very unsatisfying." He was opening and closing the ashtray. "So, what languages do you know?"

"Well, let's see ... English, French, German, Spanish, Russian, Latin, and Hawaiian." I hoped all of those were really languages.

"That' s seven." He said correcting me.

"Oh, and Swahili. I'm not so good at that one. I don't practice it that much. I can't even remember the last time I had to use it. It's very unusual."

"Write something down for me in some language." He was truly amazed. I stared into his excited blue eyes. They were beautiful.

"Okay," I agreed. He got out a pen and paper from his briefcase. I wrote down four words and handed it to him. He smiled.

"I meant in a language I don't know. But, thanks. You have beautiful eyes, too." 1