This man from Utah and women from Idaho, both in their late 30s, are seated in bulkhead seats 2C and 2D on a Salt Lake City-bound Canadair Regional Jet. I am next to them in 2B.
She talks about her dying mother and her two teenaged daughters staying with her ex. He talks about his favorite alcoholic beverages and what he does for a living. The conversation never gets any deeper than that.
He orders a rum and Coke; she, a vodka and cranberry juice - but only if they serve Skye vodka.
The small talk continues for another 400 miles and another round of drinks. I can't help but notice by then she is rubbing the inside of his thigh and he has his arm around her waist. Soon it turns quiet and, despite myself, I look up from my book only to discover the two chatterboxes embraced in a passionate kiss. Then another and another, each with a little more dedication. I began to wonder what will happen if this last-minute lustfest suddenly goes from PG-13 to R in a hurry.
Thankfully, we touch down and they decouple.
As we wait to deplane, 2D turns to 2C and says, "So what do you like to be called? Sweetie? Honey? Babe? Me, I like to be called Babe."
And 2C responds, "I really think we should fly together at least twice before we get to that stage, don't you?"