Today it’s extract time!
Synopsis
This, the fourth and final selection of stories, completes the Seasonal Paths series created by a consortium of best-selling and award-winning North Atlantic writers.
In this anthology you will encounter unintentioned consequences, love in later life, the pull of family dynamics, misguided assumptions and murderous soulmates.
These yarns will take you to new worlds, into a ghostly abyss, across an ocean in pursuit of truth and into the darkness of ancient beliefs.
Make yourself comfortable and surrender to these multi-styled tales, all linked by the theme of summer, within the covers of this book. You will be surprised and entertained by what you find.
Extract
Flying can be dangerous. But maybe not for the reason you think!
Fakes on a Plane
By Gianetta Murray
I’VE ALWAYS LOVED THAT MOMENT when you settle into your seat on the plane at the start of your vacation and suddenly realize nothing else matters.
Not your job. Not the house. And certainly not those unrelenting requests from friends and family to help them plan/move/care for the things that matter to them. Such requests are a part of life when you’re a bachelor with—according to my loved ones—few demands on your time.
But there is absolutely nothing you can do about any of it once you’re on that plane, which is why I’m so happy right now.
For one thing, I decided to throw budgetary caution to the wind (literally, I suppose, in this case) and fly Business class. As soon as the plane takes off, I will use those lovely little buttons on the side of my seat to recline and stretch out my quite-long legs, propping my feet on the built-in footstool at the end of my “pod”. Then the impeccably trained flight attendant will bring me a drink. I checked the entertainment listing before boarding and I’m looking forward to watching several classic action and films as I imbibe my complimentary champagne.
On top of all that, thanks to a generous Christmas bonus, I’m fulfilling a lifelong desire to visit Greece, the purported cradle of civilization. After a short stop in Athens, I’ll be spending a blissful week in Santorini where I can relax on my whitewashed hotel balcony, soaking up sunshine and the sound of the surf. I’ve even snagged a window seat in the last row for the flight over. The pod next to me seems to be empty, so I have high hopes this will be a quiet, enjoyable journey.
What more could anyone want, I ask you?
I hear a bit of a kerfuffle going on at the front of the plane and when I look up I realize my last thought was premature. A stunningly gorgeous woman is trying to drag a hot-pink suitcase down the aisle as the flight attendant follows, annoyance making her voice carry as she insists there is no room in the overhead bins. After a short, tense standoff, the beauty throws up her perfectly manicured hands and surrenders the luggage to have it taken to the hold.
I check my watch and note she has certainly left her arrival until the very last moment. The plane is due to take off in ten minutes, and I can hear grumbling from the other passengers as they worry the plane may be delayed. I glance sideways to see this tardy goddess enter the pod next to mine and I do not feel a second of disappointment at the loss of my solitude because my new neighbor is even more attractive close up: straight, silky dark hair, a smooth, lightly tanned complexion, and a slim figure negligibly encased in a lime-green halter top and purple sweats. As she turns and bends down to place her handbag in the drawer provided, I see the word ‘Juicy’ emblazoned on the butt in silver studs. I can’t help wondering if the studs are uncomfortable to sit on as she finishes loading her carry-on into the crammed overhead locker and sinks gracefully into her seat.
She suddenly looks through the open divider space between the pods to find me watching her, and I’m struck by the deep violet of her eyes. She’s practically a modern-day Elizabeth Taylor, I think. The resemblance is enhanced by what appears to be real diamond earrings and a rather large solitaire diamond necklace. Our two seats face each other and I relish the thought of being able to enjoy that view over the next twelve hours.
Gazing back at me she smiles, showing just the right amount of predictably white, even teeth, except for one slightly crooked molar. This tiny imperfection only adds to her allure.
“Hi, I’m Charity,” she says. “It looks like we’re seatmates for the next few hours.”
Her voice is lower than I expected it to be—not that it matters at this point, all other expectations having been thoroughly exceeded. I do a quick check to ensure the absence of an Adam’s apple (I’ve been fooled before) and am reassured to see everything about her says she’s all woman. I also think I can hear a subtle Mediterranean accent.
I suddenly realize I’ve been staring and mentally slap myself out of my daze. “Uh, hello. I’m Frank. Pleased to meet you.”





























