Chapter 1 — Boarding Tensions

Claire

The boarding gate buzzed with the restless energy of travelers—snippets of conversation, the rhythmic scraping of rolling luggage, the shrill beeps of boarding announcements. Claire Bennett adjusted the strap of her paint-stained satchel, her fingers brushing against the faint smudges of blue and ochre. The mingling scents of turpentine and lavender clung to the leather, grounding her as she edged closer to the front of the line. Paris awaited her—its wrought-iron balconies, golden light, and the promise of the artist residency she’d dreamed of for years. It was a chance to prove, to herself and to everyone who’d doubted her, that the sacrifices hadn’t been in vain.

And yet, doubt coiled around her ribcage like a persistent vine. Did she deserve this? Would she fall short? Her grip on the satchel tightened, her thumb brushing the faint indentation of her initials on the brass clasp—a reflexive anchor. Yes, she’d earned this. But the whispered echoes of her past failures were harder to silence.

“Boarding pass, please,” the gate agent said, snapping Claire from her spiraling thoughts.

She handed it over, offering a tight smile. Moments later, she stepped into the jet bridge, the stale, metallic air mixing with the warmth of her breath as she exhaled slowly. The hum of the engines seeped through the thin walls, a low vibration that seemed to settle in her chest. One step closer to Paris. One step closer to—

The airplane cabin greeted her with its muted navy and gray tones, a space that felt both cramped and impersonal. Overhead bins slammed shut, the quiet chaos of passengers settling in filling the air. She glanced down at her boarding pass. 14B. Her boots clicked softly against the narrow aisle as she scanned the rows for her seat.

And then she saw him.

Daniel.

Her breath snagged in her chest, her steps faltering for the briefest moment. He looked up from his phone, and their eyes met—his sharp blue gaze locking onto her hazel eyes with a flicker of unguarded surprise. His lips parted slightly, as if he, too, hadn’t expected this. But then, as if on cue, his expression smoothed into the composed mask she knew too well.

“Claire,” he said, his voice calm, deliberate, and maddeningly even.

Her heart plummeted like a stone, the weight of three years of silence crashing down on her. Daniel Rhodes. Her ex-husband. The man she hadn’t seen since the ink dried on their divorce papers. And now, here he was, sitting in 14A. He was dressed as impeccably as she remembered—an oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled just so, dark jeans with sharp, deliberate creases. Always put-together. Always in control.

“Daniel.” Her voice came out clipped, a sharp edge cutting through her shock. Her gaze darted to the seat beside him, her stomach tightening. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

His lips twitched, not quite a smile but close enough to needle her. “Trust me, this is as much of a surprise to me as it is to you.”

The line of passengers bottlenecked behind her, forcing her hand. She wanted to demand a seat change, to put the Atlantic Ocean’s worth of distance between them once more. But the weight of impatient eyes pressed her forward. With a resigned sigh, she slid into the seat beside him, careful to keep her movements brisk and impersonal. Her scarf snagged on the armrest as she sat, and she yanked it free with a sharp tug.

The air between them felt charged, like the moments before a thunderstorm, heavy with unspoken words. Claire focused on buckling her seatbelt, her fingers fumbling as she avoided looking at him again.

“What brings you to Paris?” His voice broke the silence, low and measured, as if they were nothing more than old acquaintances making polite conversation.

She turned her head just enough to glance at him, her expression carefully neutral. “Work.”

“Art residency?” he guessed, his tone light but probing.

She bristled, the tension in her shoulders sharp as wire. “Yes.”

He nodded, his gaze flicking briefly to the satchel on her lap. “Congratulations. That’s… impressive.”

Her chest tightened at the unexpected compliment, a pang of vulnerability cutting through her defenses. A part of her—a small, traitorous part—wanted to thank him, to relish the acknowledgment from the man who once doubted her. Instead, she shrugged, her tone as crisp as the winter air. “And you? Business, I assume?”

He leaned back in his seat, his posture casual, though his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Yes. Meetings with some firms in Paris.”

“Ah,” she said, her voice laced with faint sarcasm. “Still chasing the next big deal.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, the faintest flicker of irritation breaking through his calm exterior. “And you’re still turning everything into a critique.”

Her fingers curled around the strap of her satchel, the movement reflexive, protective. “I’m not the one who started this conversation.”

The plane shuddered as the engines roared to life, and the flight attendants began their safety demonstration. Claire turned her gaze to the window, watching the blinking lights of the tarmac blur as tears pricked the corners of her eyes. She blinked them away furiously, inhaling sharply. She would not let him see her falter. Not now. Not after everything.

As the plane ascended, the cabin lights dimmed, casting the space in a muted glow. The hum of the engines settled into a steady rhythm, a white noise that filled the silence between them. Claire stared out at the deep indigo sky, her reflection faintly visible in the window. Her pulse was still racing, her chest tight. Unbidden, her mind wandered to the last time they’d flown together—a trip to New York for one of his conferences. She had spent the flight sketching, her notebook balanced on her lap, while he pored over spreadsheets. Even then, their worlds had felt miles apart.

“Long flight,” Daniel murmured, his voice softer now, almost tentative.

She didn’t turn to him. “I’m aware.”

He hesitated, and when he spoke again, his tone carried a faint note of vulnerability she hadn’t expected. “It doesn’t have to be this hard.”

She turned to him then, her hazel eyes sharp, searching his face for cracks in the armor. “Hard for whom?”

His gaze held hers, steady and unyielding. “Both of us.”

For a moment, she considered firing back, letting her words cut as deeply as the wounds he’d left behind. But the fatigue of the day, the weight of the past, and the endless hours still ahead drained her of the will to fight.

“Fine,” she said finally, leaning back into her seat and closing her eyes. “Let’s just… not talk.”

The hum of the engines filled the silence that followed, a mechanical lullaby that smoothed the edges of her frayed nerves. Claire tried to focus on the residency ahead, on the atelier she’d spent months dreaming of, on the canvases that would carry her emotions into color and form. But her thoughts kept circling back to the man beside her, to the years they’d spent building a life together, only to watch it crumble.

She opened her eyes, staring at the seatback in front of her. Her hands rested atop her satchel, the leather soft beneath her touch. She let out a slow breath, steadying herself.

This was just a coincidence, she told herself. An inconvenient, uncomfortable coincidence.

And yet, as the plane soared higher, carrying them both toward Paris, a nagging thought took root in her mind. The universe had a way of forcing confrontation, of peeling back the layers they’d spent years building around their pain.

She didn’t dare look at Daniel again, but his presence loomed beside her, steady and inescapable. The cabin lights dimmed further, passengers shifting into quiet as the long haul began.

Paris couldn’t come soon enough.