Chapter 3 — Unexpected Layover

Mia

The announcement came just as Mia was on the verge of losing herself in the low drone of the airplane’s engines. She’d been staring blankly at the small screen in front of her—some predictable romantic comedy playing on mute—her mind a haze of exhaustion and unease. The captain’s voice crackled through the speakers, shattering her fragile focus.

“Ladies and gentlemen, due to inclement weather in Paris, we’ve been diverted to London Heathrow. We apologize for the inconvenience and will provide further updates as soon as possible.”

Mia blinked, the words sinking in like pebbles dropped into still water. Diverted? To London? Her stomach twisted with frustration. The murmurs of discontent rising around the cabin only deepened her sense of disorientation. She tightened her grip on the armrest, her nails pressing into the faux leather as her thoughts spiraled. This wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She’d wanted a clean break—a fresh start in Paris, far from the shadows of her old life. Instead, she was stuck in limbo, and worse, she was stuck with him.

Beside her, James sat motionless, his posture as straight and unyielding as ever. His expression was unreadable, but Mia knew better than to expect any outward sign of annoyance. James had always been the picture of unflappable composure, a trait that used to ground her in moments of chaos. Now, it only grated, a reminder of how easily he could mask whatever he was feeling—or not feeling. She glanced away before he could catch her looking, her chest tightening at the unbidden memory of his hand covering hers during the turbulence earlier. The ghost of his touch still lingered, unwanted and undeniable.

As the plane taxied to its gate, the disembarking passengers moved with the weary shuffle of disrupted travelers. Mia hesitated at the cabin door, her steps faltering as the damp, chilly air seeped in. Heathrow’s sprawling terminal loomed ahead, a maze of hurried travelers, garish fluorescent lights, and sterile corridors. She clutched her travel journal close to her chest like a talisman and ducked her head, determined to lose herself in the crowd. The last thing she needed was more of James—his calm, collected presence reminding her of everything she’d left behind and everything she couldn’t quite escape.

But the universe, it seemed, had other plans.

At the baggage claim, she stood at the carousel, her eyes scanning the endless loop of suitcases in vain. Her heart sank with each rotation. The tag in her hand felt like a cruel joke, mocking her with its useless certainty. She tapped her foot against the tile floor, her jaw tightening as frustration bubbled to the surface. Around her, other passengers muttered complaints or called out to companions, their voices blending into an indistinct hum. Snippets of conversation floated past—mentions of missed connections, delayed plans, and unexpected reunions. One phrase caught her ear: “Maybe it’s fate.” She dismissed it with a sharp exhale, but the words lingered, unwelcome and intrusive.

After what felt like an eternity, she pushed her way to the airline attendant stationed nearby, her polite smile barely masking her exasperation. “Excuse me, my luggage hasn’t arrived. I need to file a claim.”

The attendant, a young woman with tired eyes and a name tag that read “Chloe,” barely glanced at her. “You’ll need to fill out this form and wait in line for processing,” she said, sliding a clipboard toward Mia without breaking stride in her conversation with another passenger.

Mia’s hand froze mid-reach, her frustration mounting. “Wait in line? But I’ve been standing here for—”

“Problem?” The voice behind her cut through the noise like a taut violin string. Cool. Controlled. Familiar.

Mia turned, her shoulders stiffening as she faced James. His carry-on hung over one shoulder, his dark coat immaculate despite the long flight. Not a hair out of place. Of course not. James Bennett never looked anything less than perfectly assembled, no matter the circumstances. She hated that about him sometimes—how he could make her feel so untethered simply by existing.

“No problem,” she lied, her voice clipped. “I’m sure it’ll turn up.”

His eyebrow arched, a faint flicker of amusement softening the sharp angles of his face. “You’re a terrible liar.”

The heat rose to her cheeks, and she cursed her inability to mask her emotions as well as he did. The carousel continued to spin, empty now save for a lone, battered suitcase that wasn’t hers. She glanced back at Chloe, who was still juggling a crowd of disgruntled passengers. The thought of joining the fray made her stomach churn, but stubbornly she pushed down the idea of asking James for help. She didn’t need him. Not now. Not ever.

“I can handle it,” she said, her tone sharper than she intended.

James studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he shrugged, turning to leave. “Suit yourself.”

For a fleeting, stubborn second, she considered letting him go. But practicality, as always, had its way of creeping in. She was stranded in London with no luggage, no plan, and no patience for bureaucracy. She sighed, the sound heavy with defeat. “Wait.”

He stopped, glancing back over his shoulder. There was something almost smug in the slight tilt of his head, though he didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to.

“Fine,” she muttered, the word tasting bitter on her tongue. “If you can help, then… help.”

True to form, James wasted no time. He approached Chloe with his measured stride, speaking in calm, authoritative tones that cut through the chaos like a blade. Within minutes, the claim was filed, and Mia had a vague promise that her luggage would be delivered to her destination—whenever that might be. She stood to the side, arms crossed, watching him navigate the situation with his usual precision. He made it look so easy, and that only made her feel more off-balance.

When he returned, she offered a begrudging, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied simply, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—a hint of hesitation, maybe, or something unspoken. She couldn’t quite place it, and that unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

They left the baggage claim in awkward silence, the din of the terminal filling the space between them. Rain streaked the windows, blurring the view of the tarmac outside. The chill in the air matched the tension hanging between them. Mia’s thoughts tumbled over themselves as she considered her next move. Find a hotel. Book the next flight to Paris. Avoid James at all costs. But before she could act, he broke the silence.

“I take it you don’t have a hotel booked,” he said, his tone maddeningly practical.

She frowned, her arms tightening across her chest. “Why would I? I wasn’t planning to be here.”

“Neither was I,” he replied, a faint trace of humor softening his words. “But here we are.”

The corners of her mouth twitched, though she quickly suppressed the reaction. Did he expect them to stick together? Surely not. Before she could argue, he added, “There’s a small hotel near the airport. Nothing fancy, but it’ll do for the night.”

“And you just assume I’m going to stay there too?” she shot back, her voice laced with defiance.

He shrugged. “You’re welcome to find your own place. But it’s late, it’s raining, and you’re without luggage. This is the practical choice.”

The worst part was, he was right. She hated that about him too—his knack for being right, even when she didn’t want him to be. She sighed again, the weight of the day pressing down on her. “Fine. Lead the way.”

The hotel was exactly as he’d described: small, unassuming, and just a short cab ride from the airport. The rain outside had picked up, weaving silver threads across the windows. The lobby was dimly lit, the soft hum of a television in the corner barely audible over the rhythmic drumming of rain on the roof. Mia shivered despite herself, the damp chill seeping through her coat.

At the front desk, James requested two rooms without hesitation, his tone polite but firm. The clerk handed over the keycards, and Mia’s shoulders relaxed slightly. At least they wouldn’t be sharing a room. That was one boundary she wasn’t ready to cross—not now, not ever.

“Goodnight,” she said quickly, snatching her keycard and heading toward the elevator before he could respond.

“Goodnight,” he replied, his voice calm and steady as always.

In the quiet of her room, Mia sank onto the edge of the bed, letting out a long breath. The events of the day weighed heavily on her—unexpected diversions, lost luggage, and, most of all, James. She thought she’d left him behind, packed him away with the rest of her old life. But now, here he was, back in her orbit, as if the universe was determined to test her resolve.

She opened her travel journal, her fingers tracing the worn leather cover. It had been her anchor through so many moments of uncertainty, and she needed it now more than ever. As her pen hovered over the page, she hesitated, the words caught somewhere between her heart and her hand. Instead, she sketched—rough, hurried lines of rain-streaked windows and weary travelers. Her strokes were uneven, chaotic, a reflection of the storm inside her.

James had his watch, his perfect precision, his need for control. She had her journal, her messy sketches, her search for something more. Maybe that was the difference between them. Or maybe, she thought reluctantly, it was just one of many.

She set the journal aside and climbed under the covers, the quiet hum of the air conditioning filling the room. Outside, the rain continued to fall, relentless and unyielding. She stared at the ceiling, her mind replaying the day’s events, the tension with James, the unspoken words hanging between them. She hated how he could still get under her skin after all this time—how he could still make her feel so… untethered.

Tomorrow, she thought, her eyelids growing heavy. Tomorrow, she’d find a way forward. But tonight, all she could do was wait for the rain to stop.