Chapter 1
Davina Stuart walked through Toronto Pearson International Airport Terminal 1 with a feeling of foreboding. What am I doing, she asked herself as she got in line for the Air Canada flight to Los Angeles. It’s not too late. I can just turn around and go back to the farm.
Last night, Davina’s best friend, Maggie, had insisted on reading Davina’s tarot cards before she left for LA. Davina rarely gave the readings much credit, but Maggie lived her life by them and wanted to make sure that Davina was going to have a successful trip. It was a shock to Davina when Maggie saw success and romance in the cards; all happening while Davina was in California.
“I hope the success part comes true but I’m really not looking for romance,” she told Maggie. “I think I’ve already had my shot at that.”
“Oh, never say that, Davi,” Maggie argued. “It’s never too late for romance, and you still have a lot of love to give someone. Look at what the cards say! Your heart is full of love!”
Oh, if that were only true, she thought. Davina shook her head and came back to reality.
The ticket agent greeted her warmly, “Good morning. May I have your ticket and passport please?”
Davina handed over her airline ticket with her passport.
“Do you have any baggage to put through?”
“No just my carry on.” She didn’t plan on staying long. Just fly in for the meeting with the Hollywood executives, spend a day or two sightseeing then head home to the farm.
“You’re flying Business Class. Here is your ticket and your seat assignment. You can check through these gates and wait in the Maple Leaf Lounge if you would like. Your flight will be called in an hour. Enjoy your flight.”
Davina took her ticket and walked toward the departure area. She wanted to clear customs and get settled in the lounge so that she could collect her thoughts. Apex Studios was flying her to Los Angeles to talk with her about the filming of her bestselling novel, Second Harvest. A meeting with the cast was planned for tomorrow and the studio invited her to sit in. She was thrilled for the invitation, but thought it just a publicity gimmick.
It was only two years ago that Davina was a happily married mother of three. Then unexpectedly, her husband of 25 years died in his sleep from a brain aneurysm leaving her to run the family farm and raise three children by herself. For three months, as she grieved the loss of her husband, Davina kept a journal. Although it was meant to be a private outlet for her grief, when the journal was completed it was a novel and a damn good one. Maggie convinced her to send it in to have it published. Within a year, Davina was a published author with a book on the Best Sellers list that was still going strong. The movie rights were purchased and now it was going to be made into a movie.
Davina breezed through customs and headed toward the Maple Leaf Lounge. Might as well make use of it, she thought, the chance may never happen again. She helped herself to a coffee and muffin then settled comfortably into an oversized leather armchair.
Within seconds, the quiet was disrupted by shouting outside the lounge entrance. She looked toward the door and saw through the frosted glass a large crowd with cameras flashing.
Paparazzi.
The lounge door burst open and Quinn Thomas, Hollywood’s latest heartthrob, barged in. He looked around the lounge quickly then headed over to a leather arm chair far away from the other patrons. He hid his physical attributes well under his trademark jeans, faded T-shirt and grey hooded jacket; his six-foot-three inch frame with broad shoulders and rock hard body, his shaggy thick dark hair, his famous bedroom baby blue eyes and his sensuous kissable lips. Since Quinn’s last movie, his photos had been published in every entertainment magazine and internet celebrity gossip website. He was romantically linked to almost every Hollywood starlet with a new romance every week.
Davina tried her best not to stare at him, but what did it matter, his face was hidden, he couldn’t see her. She found herself fantasizing about him sitting next to her on the flight. Oh give it up, Davi, she said to herself. You’re old enough to be his mother.
She may have been older by about fifteen years, but in no way did she look her age. She was tall, about five-feet-ten inches, with a slender, well toned body from working on the farm. Her dark brunette hair fell past her shoulders and the style enhanced her youthful face. She wore her favorite summer dress that tastefully showed off her curves and brought attention to her long slender legs.
Davina smiled to herself as she thought of the first time she met her daughter at the airport arriving on a flight home from Europe. There she was, that bubbly teenager walking through customs in her pink pajama bottoms and white hooded jacket, not caring what she looked like, just comfortable. Maybe that’s why Quinn always looked like that in the tabloids. Was he being comfortable or hiding from the world? No. He looks like he’s hiding.
The boarding of the flight was announced. Davina finished her coffee and gathered her purse and travel bag. She noticed that Quinn didn’t show any sign of following the group out of the lounge. She smiled to herself as she realized the silliness of her fantasy. He’s on another flight.
“Welcome aboard. Your seat number is Three A. Enjoy your flight,” said the attendant.
“Thank you,” Davina replied. She walked to her seat and put her travel bag in the overhead bin above her seat then sat down. Davina looked out the window and thought, So many planes with so many adventures waiting to take flight. She reached into her bag and pulled out a pen and the manuscript of her latest project. She jotted the words down on the front cover. They sounded corny, but maybe she could make use of them.
While she was writing, she heard the snap of the overhead bin close as someone stored their gear overhead. She felt her seat move as a body fell into the seat beside her. She turned her head to say hello. It was the polite thing to do. Davina opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Sitting in seat Three B was Quinn Thomas.