Chapter 2 — Proximity and Politeness

Daniel

Daniel adjusted his tie for the third time, though he wasn’t wearing a jacket. The motion was automatic, a nervous tic he couldn’t quite suppress. His fingers lingered on the knot before falling away. The faint reflection in the scratched airplane window stared back at him—a man trying harder than he wanted to admit to project confidence. His sharp blue eyes betrayed the tension simmering beneath the surface. Exhaling, he dragged his gaze to the cabin around him, the low hum of the engines and the occasional shuffle of passengers providing a steady backdrop.

But no amount of ambient noise could drown out the presence of the woman beside him. Claire.

It felt like a cosmic joke, the cruelest coincidence. Of all the flights, of all the seats. She was angled slightly away from him, her auburn hair gathered in a loose bun, the kind of artful messiness that looked effortless but probably wasn’t. A few strands brushed the nape of her neck, catching the dim cabin light in a way that shouldn’t have been distracting but was. Her fingers traced an absent rhythm on the strap of a satchel resting on her lap, faint smudges of paint visible even in the low light. Of course.

He cleared his throat, the sound breaking the silence between them. “So,” he said, his voice tighter than he intended. “Paris, huh?”

Claire turned her head slowly, one eyebrow arching in that familiar, infuriatingly poised way that could simultaneously amuse and unnerve him. “Yes, Daniel. Paris.”

Her tone was clipped, polite but distant, like the edge of a knife sheathed in velvet. But she wasn’t as unaffected as she wanted to seem. Her fingers tightened slightly on the satchel’s strap, and the tension in her shoulders told him enough. She wasn’t immune to this either.

He fought the urge to wince. They were barely minutes into this forced reunion, and already she had him second-guessing every word.

“For business?” she asked, her voice even, her gaze deliberately fixed somewhere over his shoulder.

“Yes,” he replied, keeping his tone neutral. He hesitated, unsure whether to elaborate, but the pause felt too long, too awkward. “A deal with a firm in Paris. It’s… significant.”

Her hazel eyes flicked toward him, sharp and assessing, before returning to the tray table in front of her. She was avoiding looking at him directly, and for a moment, he wondered if it was irritation—or something deeper. Claire had never been good at hiding her emotions. It was one of the things he used to love about her. Now, it only made the silence between them heavier.

“And you?” he ventured, cautiously testing the waters.

Her fingers stilled on the strap. “An art residency,” she said after a pause, like she was deciding how much to share.

Daniel nodded, a swirl of pride and regret tightening in his chest. Of course, she was going to Paris for art. It was what she’d always dreamed of, always fought for. What he hadn’t supported the way she’d needed him to. “That’s… great,” he said, his voice softer now, though the words felt inadequate.

Her lips twitched, just barely. It could have been a smile—or the ghost of one. “How’s the corporate world treating you?”

There it was. The jab, dressed as a harmless question. He straightened in his seat, brushing invisible lint from his sleeve. “It’s treating me well, thank you. If this deal goes through, it could open some important doors.”

She laughed softly, a sound sharper than it should have been. “Doors to what? More doors?”

His jaw tightened, and he turned to face her fully, the edge in her voice cutting deeper than he wanted to admit. “Not all of us have the luxury of—” He stopped himself, the words hovering dangerously close to the surface.

Her head snapped toward him, her eyes narrowing. “The luxury of what, Daniel? Following a dream? Taking a risk?”

He exhaled sharply, unclenching his fists before they betrayed him further. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Didn’t you?” she shot back, her voice low but biting.

The silence that followed was almost oppressive, thickened by the tension hanging between them. Somewhere nearby, a flight attendant passed, the soft clink of a drink cart punctuating the unease. Daniel leaned back in his seat, letting his head rest against the cushion as he stared toward the dim overhead light. He needed to steer this conversation somewhere safer, somewhere less precarious.

His gaze dropped to the satchel at her feet. “You still have that bag,” he said, nodding toward it.

Claire blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the abrupt change in topic. Her eyes followed his, landing on the worn leather. “Yes,” she said cautiously, her fingers brushing the edge of the strap again.

“I remember when you bought it,” he continued, his voice softer now. “After your first painting sold. You were so… proud.”

Her lips parted slightly, and for a moment, he thought she might not respond. But then her thumb traced the frayed edge of the leather, her shoulders relaxing just barely. “I still use it for everything,” she murmured. “It’s held up better than I expected.”

“It suits you,” he said, allowing a faint smile to touch his lips. “Practical, but with a little flair.”

This time, she did smile, though it was faint and fleeting. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me in years.”

Daniel chuckled softly, the sound surprising even himself. “Well, I suppose there’s a first time for everything.”

The tension between them eased, if only fractionally. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to remind him of what they’d once been—before the fights, before the walls they’d built between themselves.

“Do you ever miss it?” Claire asked suddenly, her voice barely audible over the hum of the engines.

Daniel frowned, caught off guard by the question. “Miss what?” he asked carefully.

Her gaze dropped to her lap, her fingers tracing the strap again. “The way things used to be. Before… everything.”

The weight of her words settled over him, heavy and suffocating. Did he miss it? Of course he did. But admitting that felt dangerous, like stepping onto thin ice. “Sometimes,” he said finally, his voice measured. “But I think… we both wanted different things.”

Claire looked up at him then, her hazel eyes searching his face with an intensity that made him want to look away. “Maybe. Or maybe we just didn’t know how to want the same thing.”

The engines hummed on, and faint turbulence rippled through the cabin, a subtle jolt that echoed the unease in his chest. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come.

The overhead intercom crackled to life, announcing that dinner service would begin shortly. The moment between them shattered, and Claire turned away, reaching for the in-flight magazine tucked into the seat pocket.

Daniel stared at her for a moment longer, then shifted his gaze out the window. The clouds outside were thick and endless, their gray expanse stretching into the horizon.

Paris was still hours away. And yet, he already knew this flight would feel much, much longer.