The plane drew in, the pressure was immense and – worst of all – the passengers were becoming restless.

'Please remain in your seats for the duration of the landing. We will shortly be arriving in New York. We thank you for your co-operation and appreciate you choosing to fly on Consolidated Airlines.'

I was exasperated. My dream job of becoming an airline hostess had turned out to be less than ideal – so much for my free travel, wonderful experience, and actually being paid to have a good time. No, it was only senile, perverted old men and bitchy business class.

Three long months of constant travel and never-ending jetlag had made me a complete pessimist, and I was ecstatic at the thought of two whole weeks spent in the comfort of my family home; mum would make cookies, I would eat them and have a great time. Then go back and kill myself at the gym to meet the "physical requirements" of the job. My boss is, of course, a man.

I took a deep breath, felt my diaphragm expand to the point of combustion, then exhaled loudly, much to the obvious chagrin of one of the old ladies in economy who that that they were all that.

'Excuse me, hostess person, it would be appreciated if you did not breathe all over me' said the grandmother, with obvious distaste in her voice, and a look dirty enough to justify an Ajax advertisement. Hey, it would save me the job.

'My apologies, ma'am, I will ensure to breathe to your exacting standards in the future'. This comment was made, of course, with the smile you would expect of someone who is paid – however poorly – to do so.

I began the countdown. Five minutes. Another stupid kid screaming his bloody head off, I must go to comfort him. What do mothers do nowadays?

Three minutes. Yes ma'am, it is too late to order the steak. The meal was offered to you three hours ago, you will just have to arrange something for yourself once we land.

One never-ending minute left. 'Ladies and gentlemen, please prepare to land. We hope you have enjoyed your flight and thank you again for flying Consolidated.' And it is over.

All I had to do now was collect my bags and get on the midnight flight to Connecticut. Bags, bags. Where for art thou dearest bags? The loudspeaker answered that.

'Attention ladies and gentlemen, we are sorry to report that all baggage from flight 309 Sydney to New York has been lost in flight. We apologise for any inconveniences caused by this. We will have the baggage available at 12:45 am'

Just what I needed; another hour waiting around to get a stupid bag – I would miss my flight and get home late and, oh dear god, people would come complaining to me.

It seemed to happen all at once; at first I was just another person put out by stupid weather and disorganisation. Then, I became the target for all of the anger that people held, just because I was in uniform.

'Why aren't you more organised?'

'How long will this take, lady?'

'Do you know how much this stuffs me around?'

I couldn't deal with this right now. I was exhausted, looked shocking, and – worst of all – hadn't so much as kissed a guy in about six months.

'Listen people, this lady cannot help you as she is obviously not working at the moment. Please, just give her some space – she can't help you, so why make life hard for her?' He was gorgeous, a complete gentleman, and he had saved me from the evil angry customers.

'Thanks so much. You have no idea how much I have to put up with when I am actually on duty'. My laugh was forced, and I hadn't moved from my "forced smile look", but I think he got the message. Well, at least he didn't run away or just ignore me.

'Oh, I think I could imagine. I used to work for Air New York, but I recently got a job as a photographer for Vogue'. Great, he was gorgeous, and gay. I mean, how could he not be? He was a fashion photographer who worked as an airline hostess . . . or host.

'Wow, sounds cool. How long have you had the gig for?' And so my wonderful-yet-never-truly-satisfying-seeing-as-I-know-that-he-can't-satisfy-me-in-a-way-that-I-need-to-be-satisfied-in conversation began.

'How about we go to the bar? You look like you could use an apple martini to get your mind off your, let me guess, aching feet.' How considerate was that? But of course he had to suggest a completely gay drink, I mean, couldn't he give me at least something to hope for?

'Sounds amazing and you got the foot thing right. Seventeen hours in heels is torture. One thing, though, I am more of beer type girl; my dad taught me well.' Oh dear god, please make him laugh. And he did.

'Sounds great. One thing, though, I am meeting up with a mate, so if you have, like, Asperger's, it may not work out too well . . .'

'Oh, so you're a comedian too, eh? Well, never you worry, I have no kind of social disorder or any form of autism, so you are most certainly covered Mr. . . . '

'Mr. Edward Cullen. And you are . . ?'

'Miss Bella Swan.'

And so we drank and talked about sports and girls and fashion and airlines and the general incompetence of society. It was approaching two in the morning, and I was beginning to wonder where the mystery mate was. I was also wondering when the bloody plane would be ready, although that thought had lessened significantly on my list of priorities as I skimmed Edward's body. There is no problem in looking, even though I can't touch.

I took a final swig of lager and began to order another one as I saw a man walking towards us. He was about as gorgeous as the better looking cousin of George Clooney and Brad Pitt, so I nearly had a heart attack as he seemed to smile at me. But then I heard Edward say hi, as he began to introduce me to Mr. Sexy Mystery Man. Why does the lord have to be such a damn tease? Honest to god, every single good looking man is either gay or taken. Actually, any man who wasn't a serial killer was either gay or taken.

'Bella, this is my, erm, good friend Emmett. Emmett, this is Bella, the dashing young airline assistant who I so graciously rescued from an angry mob.' I punched him, only lightly, though. In a kind of mates-watching-the-footy-and-drinking-beer way. Hey, if I wasn't going to get laid, I may as well make a friend.

'Hi Bella, it is a pleasure to meet you' his sincerity made me blush. No, trust me, the pleasure is all mine.

Unwillingly, a large yawn escaped my mouth, and I began to feel that kind of tired that can only go away with a long sleep.

'Aw, look here, little Bella is sleepy', a grinning Emmett teased.

'Am not.' Cue looks of disbelief. 'Ok, maybe just a little'.

I was now really beginning to wonder where my bags were, and also what I would do for the night if I wasn't flying.

Ladies and Gentlemen the missing baggage from flight 609 Sydney to New York has not been recovered as of yet. We do apologise sincerely for any inconveniences caused by this. Please acknowledge that you baggage will be returned to you tomorrow morning at 9 am. Again, Consolidated apologises for any inconveniences caused by this . . . .

I was going to end with complete and utter incompetence, but I figured that I should at least pretend to be at least somewhat committed to my job.

'Ah fuck. Where am I going to stay?' I whined, half to myself, half to those around me who may be able to offer accommodation. Wink, wink.

'I am wondering the same thing, Miss Bella' a grinning Emmett said. 'Maybe we will just have to spend the night out'. A mighty fine suggestion, but I was just so incredibly tired. Alcohol hadn't worked, and neither had being incredibly horny – two things which always managed to get me up and going. Alas, my countenance betrayed my true emotion.

'Bella is much too tired, I think' Edward said, possibly conveying a tinge of sadness? Maybe? Or was I being overly optimistic to combat my former pessimism.

'Of course I am not too tired. Besides, this is New York at Thanksgiving – I don't think that we will be able to find a place to stay easily. And this is New York – we should be partying!' I replied, with a tad too much enthusiasm; it sounded it sounded too much like my work voice. Nevertheless, Emmett chuckled and picked me up, beer and all.

'It sounds like a bloody good plan to me.' He said as he carried me, pathetically fighting back, out the door, followed closely by a chuckling Edward.

Oh, we were most definitely beginning a night to remember.

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xcooper