Chapter 1 — The Unexpected Reunion

Claire

Claire Bennett tugged at the lapels of her tailored blazer, the smooth fabric a comforting armor against the chaos of the airport. The steady click of her heels echoed through the bustling terminal as she approached the business-class counter. She’d paid for the upgrade with a mixture of irritation and resignation—her assistant had bungled the original booking, and the overnight flight to Paris was too important to leave to chance. This trip held the potential to define the next stage of her career. Everything needed to be perfect.

As the attendant handed her the boarding pass, Claire allowed herself a small exhale of relief. She tucked the pass into her leather bag, the familiar weight grounding her, reminding her of control. Her fingers briefly brushed against the engraved initials on the clasp—a small but deliberate detail that screamed competence. Paris was a city of opportunity, but it had also been a city of ghosts, lingering memories she wasn’t ready to confront. Memories she’d buried under years of meticulous planning and relentless focus. She shook off the thought, her polished exterior intact. Everything about this trip had to stay on track.

Inside the plane, the dimly lit business-class cabin enveloped her in muted luxury. Wide leather seats gleamed under the soft glow of the overhead lights, and the faint scent of pressed linens mingled with freshly brewed coffee. She slid into her assigned seat, a window spot, and adjusted the silk scarf at her neck before pulling out her tablet. No distractions. Just focus.

Her fingers hovered over the screen, poised to scroll through the notes for her presentation, when movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention. Someone was sliding into the seat beside her. The faint sound of a bag being stowed overhead, the rustle of a jacket. Claire didn’t look up immediately, assuming it would be some anonymous executive absorbed in their own agenda. Then she heard his voice.

“Excuse me.”

Two words, simple and polite, but they yanked her back like a taut rubber band snapping into place. Her breath caught, her grip tightening on the tablet as her head turned sharply. Hazel eyes locked onto a pair of familiar blue ones. For a moment, her carefully curated exterior faltered.

Michael Hayes.

He looked both different and exactly the same. The messy dark blond hair, the perpetual five o’clock shadow, the quiet confidence that belied his slouched posture. The flannel shirt beneath his jacket had been paired with a casual blazer, as if he’d made a half-hearted attempt to dress for the occasion. Typical Michael, she thought, torn between exasperation and something softer she refused to name.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said, her voice sharper than intended.

Michael blinked, his expression shifting from surprise to a flicker of wry amusement dancing at the corners of his mouth. “Hello to you too, Claire. Nice to see you again.”

She stared at him, her mind racing. Of all the flights, of all the seats—this had to be some cruel twist of fate. She hadn’t seen Michael in five years, not since they’d signed the divorce papers and gone their separate ways. And now, here he was, settling into the seat beside her as if the universe had decided she needed a personal lesson in irony.

“What are you doing here?” she said, her tone brittle, an edge of disbelief creeping into her words.

Michael leaned back into his seat, his hands resting lightly on the armrests as if he had all the time in the world. “I’m on my way to Paris,” he said simply. “A school break trip. You?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, betraying her irritation. “Work.”

“Of course.” His tone carried something she couldn’t quite place. Admiration? Regret? Whatever it was, she dismissed it immediately. Michael had always been good at making her second-guess herself, and she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction now.

The attendant approached, offering sparkling water and champagne. Claire took the water, her fingers lingering on the cool glass as she fought to compose herself. Michael, naturally, chose the champagne.

“You’re awfully relaxed for someone stuck on a redeye,” she said, her words edged with sarcasm.

Michael shrugged, his easy smile infuriatingly unchanged. “I don’t mind night flights. Gives me time to think.”

Claire bit back a retort and turned her attention to her tablet. She could feel his presence beside her, an unwelcome reminder of a chapter she’d worked so hard to close.

The hum of the engines filled the silence between them, but it wasn’t long before Michael broke it. “So, Paris. Big deal?”

She didn’t look up. “Always is.”

“Still chasing what’s next,” he murmured, his voice low, almost contemplative.

Her head snapped up, hazel eyes narrowing. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Michael held her gaze, his expression thoughtful, his hand brushing against the armrest as though steadying himself. “Nothing. Just… you always had a way of making the next thing seem inevitable. Like it was already yours.”

Claire wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or an observation meant to cut. Either way, it hit too close to home. She turned back to her tablet, determined to ignore him.

But the memories crept in, unbidden and sharp. The last time they’d flown together had been their honeymoon. She could still see it: the way he’d leaned over the armrest, pointing out the soft pink glow of the sunrise breaking over the horizon, his voice low and full of wonder. The warmth of his hand brushing hers as he gestured toward the window. The way she’d laughed, teasing him for being so sentimental, but secretly loving that about him.

She shook her head slightly, clearing the memory. That was a lifetime ago.

The flight attendant’s voice crackled over the intercom, announcing the safety briefing. Claire forced herself to focus on the present. She’d built a life—a successful company, a reputation for excellence. She didn’t have time for nostalgia or regret.

Michael, damn him, didn’t seem to share her resolve.

“Do you ever think about it?” he asked softly, his voice barely audible over the hum of the engines.

Her hands stilled, her grip tightening on the tablet. “About what?”

He hesitated, and for a moment, she thought he might let it drop. But then he said, “What went wrong.”

Claire’s chest tightened. The question hung between them, and for a moment, she felt the weight of all the things left unsaid. The miscarriage. The arguments. The silence that had grown between them like a chasm. But she couldn’t go there. Not now.

Instead, she turned her face toward the window, the dark expanse of sky offering no solace. “I don’t see the point,” she said finally, her voice clipped, closing the door on the conversation.

The tension between them was palpable, thick as the clouds outside. Claire adjusted the silk scarf at her neck unnecessarily, more to occupy her hands than anything else. And then, as if the universe itself had decided to escalate things, the intercom crackled again.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We have a medical emergency onboard and will be making an unscheduled landing in Iceland. Please remain seated and follow the crew’s instructions.”

Claire turned to Michael, her hazel eyes wide with disbelief. His expression mirrored hers, though there was a flicker of something else in his gaze. Amusement? Or perhaps resignation.

“Well,” he said, raising his champagne glass in a mock toast, “looks like we’re not getting to Paris just yet.”

Claire groaned inwardly, pressing her fingers to her temples. This flight had already been a disaster. And now? Now she was stuck with Michael Hayes for who knew how much longer.

As the plane began its descent, she glanced at him briefly, catching the faintest glint of something silver around his neck—a compass pendant, if she wasn’t mistaken. The sight tugged at a half-forgotten memory, an image of Michael holding it up years ago, saying something about finding his direction. She pushed the thought away. This stopover in Iceland—whatever it was destined to be—felt like the beginning of something she wasn’t ready for.