Chapter 3 — Grounded by Fate
Third Person
The announcement crackled over the airplane’s intercom, the captain’s voice calm and measured, as though delivering a weather update instead of the news that the plane would not be landing in Paris. A strike had disrupted air travel into the city, and the flight was being rerouted to a small regional airport nestled in the French countryside.
Emma Bennett’s fingers tightened around the strap of her leather satchel, the worn leather creaking under her grip. Her mind raced, calculating the ripple effects this detour would have on her meticulously planned itinerary. Beside her, Liam Carter shifted, his broad shoulders brushing hers in the cramped seating arrangement.
“Of course,” Emma muttered under her breath, her voice sharp enough to slice through the growing murmur of complaints around them.
Liam turned his head toward her, his blue eyes flickering with an unreadable mix of amusement and sympathy. “Well,” he said lightly, “at least it’s not an ocean landing.”
She shot him a look, one eyebrow arching high. “That’s the silver lining you’re going with?”
He shrugged, the faintest curve of a smile tugging at his lips. “Perspective is everything.”
Emma exhaled sharply and turned toward the window. The French countryside sprawled below, a quilt of emerald fields stitched together with winding rivers that glimmered in the late afternoon light. It should have been picturesque, even calming, but all Emma could see was a disruption to her plans—a carefully constructed domino chain now scattered across the floor.
The landing was uneventful, though the murmurs of discontent among the passengers grew louder as they disembarked into the modest terminal. A harried airline employee tried to corral the increasingly restless group of travelers, her voice rising to be heard over the din.
“I understand your frustration,” the woman said, though the strain in her expression suggested otherwise. “Transportation to Paris is limited due to the strike. For those needing immediate accommodations, we’ve arranged lodging in a nearby village. A bus will take you there shortly.”
Emma’s stomach sank. The words “no quick fix” rattled in her mind like loose change. She clutched her satchel closer, the weight of her leather notebook inside pressing against her side like an unspoken challenge.
Beside her, Liam stood with his hands in his pockets, his easy posture a stark contrast to her simmering frustration. He caught her eye and raised an eyebrow. “Looks like we’re stuck.”
“You don’t say.” Her words came out clipped, as if she could somehow cut through the absurdity of the situation.
The bus ride to the village was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of luggage and murmured conversations. Emma stared out the window, her thoughts locked in a loop of irritation and unease. She had been prepared for Paris, not this detour into pastoral purgatory. The notebook in her satchel called to her, the temptation to capture her frustration in words momentarily stirring, but she resisted. Writing about this place would feel too much like accepting it.
The village emerged like a painting come to life. Cobblestone streets wound through clusters of stone cottages adorned with window boxes overflowing with geraniums and lavender. The air was fragrant with the mingling scents of fresh-baked bread and flowering vines. It was, Emma noted begrudgingly, almost offensively charming.
As the bus pulled up to a small inn at the heart of the village, its ivy-covered facade and rustic wooden beams seemed to exhale a welcome. A petite, silver-haired woman stood in the doorway, her green eyes sparkling with warmth. She wore a colorful scarf draped over her shoulders and carried a basket of what appeared to be freshly baked pastries.
“Bienvenue!” she called out, her voice bright and musical. “Welcome to my inn. Please, come in, make yourselves at home.”
Emma hesitated on the threshold, the weight of her satchel digging into her shoulder. Liam, standing just behind her, let out a low whistle. “Well, this is… cozy.”
She shot him a sidelong glance. “If by cozy you mean inconvenient, then yes.”
The woman approached, her expression a blend of curiosity and concern. “Madame, monsieur, you look tired. Come, I will show you to your room.”
Emma blinked. “Room?”
“Yes, of course,” the woman said, as though the arrangement were self-evident. “The village is small, and space is limited. But do not worry—I have given you my best room.” She winked, her smile widening. “Sometimes, fate brings people together in unexpected ways.”
Emma opened her mouth to protest, but the words faltered under the woman’s beaming smile. She turned to Liam, expecting him to object, but he simply shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching in what might have been amusement.
“Well,” he said, “it’s not the worst thing we’ve shared.”
Her cheeks flushed, and she turned sharply, following the woman—Colette, as she introduced herself—up the narrow staircase without another word.
The room was, as promised, charming. The wooden floors creaked underfoot, and lace curtains framed a window that overlooked the village square. An antique writing desk sat in one corner, its surface adorned with a vase of freshly cut flowers. The bed—singular—was draped in a quilt that looked handmade, its vibrant colors softened by age.
Emma dropped her satchel onto the desk with a sigh, pressing her fingers to her temples. This was not happening.
“Relax,” Liam said from the doorway, his tone maddeningly calm. “It’s just one night.”
She turned to face him, her hazel eyes narrowing. “You seem remarkably unbothered by all of this.”
He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ve learned to roll with the punches. You should try it sometime.”
Her glare deepened, but before she could retort, Colette appeared in the hallway, her basket of pastries in hand.
“I have brought you something to eat,” she said, her smile undeterred by the tension in the air. “And perhaps a little wine will help you relax, oui?”
Emma managed a tight smile. “Thank you, but I—”
“Nonsense,” Colette interrupted, setting the basket on the desk. “You must eat. And you must enjoy the village while you are here. It is a special place, you will see.” She adjusted the scarf draped over her shoulders, her gaze lingering on Emma and Liam with a knowing sparkle. “Special places have a way of showing us what we didn’t know we needed.”
With that, she left them alone, her footsteps fading down the hall.
Emma turned back to the window, her reflection faintly visible in the glass. The village square below was bathed in the warm glow of twilight. Children laughed as they chased each other around the central fountain, their joy a stark contrast to the heaviness in her chest.
Behind her, Liam cleared his throat. “Look, I’m not thrilled about this either. But maybe it’s not the worst thing to slow down for a minute.”
She glanced over her shoulder, her expression softening despite herself. “I don’t do ‘slow,’ Liam. You know that.”
He smiled faintly, his blue eyes holding hers for a moment longer than necessary. “Maybe that’s the problem.”
The words hung between them, unspoken truths woven into the quiet. Emma turned back to the window, her fingers brushing the edge of her satchel. The weight of her leather notebook inside felt heavier than usual, as though it carried not just her words but the choices she had made to get here—to this moment, to this room, to this man she had once loved and left behind.
Outside, the village carried on, its rhythms unhurried and its beauty unyielding. For now, Emma was grounded—not just by fate, but by something she couldn’t quite name. And for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t sure whether to fight it or let it be.
