Put your seat in the upright position

"click...whir" The flaps rearrange themselves on the wing as the aircraft loses altitude and my ears pop. I count slowly and glance over to my right. The arm has edged closer, and I can feel the warmth of another human - way too close for my liking.

Faded denim sleeve with worn stitching. Brass buttons are scuffed and dented. A hole, but not one of those designer holes. Could it be a bullet hole? I berate myself, "Stop being so melodramatic!"

The hand emerging from the frayed sleeve is huge, with surprisingly clean, manicured nails. The whites are even, and the cuticles tidy. A ring on the pointer finger - chunky with a stone that looks like an emerald. The man clenches his knuckles, and I quickly turn my head to the window pretending to be fascinated by the wing.

I wake to the sound of pinging. How long have a been asleep? The sight of the wing must have lulled me to sleep. My head is resting on something soft, and is that drool on the side of my...

I sit bolt upright and remove my head from the denim sleeve. He must be asleep because there's no movement. A glance quickly at the profile, yep, sound asleep - phew! I wipe the drool from the corner of my mouth and reach for a bottle of water. Better not drink too much because how will I get to the ladies?

The plane is humming, and the lights are dim apart from the one directly above my head. I steal another look at my seat partner. Legs clad in what looks like black leather. There is a damp mark on his thigh where his hand rested when I first woke. His fingers are folded into his palm, and the green stone catches the overhead light.

I turn away as he shifts in his seat and stretches his fingers so they are splayed wide. I try to make myself as small as possible; the memory of drooling onto the faded denim fills me with shame. I bury my head in my book, a spy thriller that really hasn't captured my imagination. Real-life imaginings are so much better!

The man turns to me and holds out his hand, the one with the ring. "Hi, my name is Jason; pleased to make your acquaintance," I mumble something and take the proffered hand. It's warm, and the palm is warm. I allow his hand to swallow mine.

We chat about the flight and where we are going. He is a carpenter who lives in Sandiego, and I tell him that I write children's books (a slight exaggeration - I edit books for second-rate publishers). I say I like his green ring; he rotates it on his finger and smiles but offers no further information. His voice is deep and soft, and when he speaks, I lean in to listen

I ask him about the hole in his jacket; he smiles at me and turns away signaling to the hostess. He asks me if I will join him in having a drink.

"Sure," I say, "make mine a double." He gives me a puzzled look and looks for his wallet in the seat pocket. "Ah, I was thinking of a cup of tea, actually," he said softly. I laughed and turned it into a joke. "I was just kidding; a cup of coffee will do just fine, thank you." Could he be any more perfect? I was not a drinker, but I had always wanted to throw that line into a conversation.

As he was ordering the drinks, I took some time to study his profile. Soft lips, the beginnings of a five o'clock shadow, and tousled hair, along with the most piercing blue eyes. I sucked in my breath and busied myself by lowering my tray table, ready for the plastic cup of scalding liquid and a small packet of sweet biscuits.

I munched my way through the three sugar-coated biscuits - I hadn't realised how hungry I was. Crumbs fell onto my lap in a way that suggested I was devouring the cookies like the furry puppet on Sesame Street, the Cookie Monster. Jason had no crumbs anywhere because his biscuits were still wrapped on the table. He was watching me with those intense eyes. I trembled inside as my heart stepped up a notch.

I cleared my throat and sipped the liquid in the cup, coughing as the heat seared my tongue and throat. Jason was still looking straight at me, and I wondered if I had a crumb on my eyebrow or something. He licked his lips and reached over to brush crumbs from my shoulder, his hand lingering longer than it should. The large hand with perfect nails rested on my arm.

I shifted in my seat and turned towards Jason, his hand now on my cheek and those eyes gazing straight into mine. Oh..

"Please put your seat in the upright position and return your tray table..." a voice broke into my head. I dropped my spy thriller and shook my head, wondering if I had moaned out loud. A quick glance to my left and I could see "Jason" was packing his phone and items into a backpack. He turned towards me, and I was disappointed to note the harsh line of his lips, and his nondescript hazel eyes looked tired.

He gave me a tight smile and looked forward as he waited for the plane to land. The denim jacket looked cheap, and the pants that I thought were leather were just a cheap imitation.

I packed my spy thriller and tidied up my area. One of these days, I thought, my imagination would get me into trouble.