Chapter 1 — The Boarding Gate
Mia
Amelia "Mia" Carter adjusted the strap of her leather tote bag, her perfectly manicured fingers tightening their grip as she scanned the crowded boarding gate. The faint scent of coffee and freshly baked pastries wafted from a nearby café, mingling with the clamor of boarding announcements and muted conversations. Her sharp hazel eyes flicked over clusters of passengers—families herding children, couples exchanging soft words, solo travelers engrossed in their phones. The scene was one of organized chaos, a familiar backdrop she usually navigated with practiced efficiency. But the moment she spotted him, her world tilted.
Jack Bennett.
He stood near the window, leaning casually against the frame as if time itself bent to his ease. The golden light streaming through the glass painted his sandy-blond hair in soft halos, tousled in that infuriatingly effortless way she remembered too well. His vintage leather camera bag hung from one shoulder, the strap worn and frayed from years of use. With one hand tucked into the pocket of his weathered jeans and the other cradling a steaming cup of coffee, he looked every bit the picture of unbothered charm.
Her stomach tightened, her pulse quickening as her carefully curated composure threatened to crack. Mia inhaled sharply, steadying herself. She had prepared for the possibility of seeing him in Paris—after all, their professional paths often crossed. But here, at the boarding gate for the very flight she was taking, the sight of him felt like a cruel twist of fate.
Her heels clicked softly against the tiled floor as she approached a row of chairs, deliberately choosing one far enough to avoid immediate interaction but close enough to keep him in her peripheral vision. Lowering herself into the seat with practiced grace, she smoothed her tailored blazer and exhaled slowly. The polished exterior she presented to the world—every hair in her sleek bob perfectly in place, every detail of her outfit exuding understated elegance—felt like a fragile shield against the storm of emotions rising within her.
Three years. It had been three years since their marriage had unraveled. Three years since she had packed up the life they had built together and retreated to the sanctuary of order and predictability. Yet now, just one glimpse of him was enough to make the carefully compartmentalized memories threaten to spill over. Regret. Hurt. Anger. And something else—something more dangerous—that flickered briefly before she extinguished it.
She brushed her fingers against the cool metal of the silver pocket watch that hung around her neck. The intricate floral engraving pressed against her palm as she checked the time, though she didn’t need to. The action was instinctive, grounding her as the watch’s steady ticking seemed to mock the turbulence inside her.
Jack hadn’t noticed her yet, and for a fleeting moment, she considered slipping away, retreating to a quieter corner of the terminal. But before she could act, her gaze betrayed her. Her eyes found him again, drawn to the familiar slope of his shoulders, the way he held his coffee like it was an anchor. Then, as if sensing her presence, he turned.
“Mia?” His voice, warm and slightly raspy, carried across the din, freezing her in place.
Her breath caught. He was closer now, his piercing blue eyes locking onto hers. There was a hesitation in his expression, a flicker of something unspoken that vanished as quickly as it appeared. For a moment, she felt caught, suspended between the urge to flee and the compulsion to stay. But years of professionalism took over, smoothing her features into a mask of calm.
“Jack,” she said, her tone measured, betraying none of the turmoil beneath. Rising to her feet, she smoothed her blazer again, the motion more nervous habit than necessity. The faint scent of his cologne—woody and familiar—drifted toward her, stirring a pang of something she refused to name.
His lips curved into a faint smile, one that could have been polite or teasing. “I thought that was you. Heading to Paris?”
She nodded, her fingers tightening around the strap of her tote. “For work.”
“Me too,” he said, tilting his head slightly as he studied her face. His gaze lingered, and for a moment, she thought he might say something else. Instead, he added, “It’s been a while.”
“It has.” Her response was clipped but polite. She wouldn’t let him see how much his presence unsettled her.
A thick silence settled between them, filled with the hum of boarding announcements and the rustle of nearby conversations. Mia crossed her arms—not from cold, but as a barrier, a line she refused to let him cross. Jack, in typical Jack fashion, seemed entirely at ease with the quiet.
“So,” he said finally, his tone light, “what are the odds we’d end up on the same flight?”
Mia arched an eyebrow, her voice cool. “Paris is a popular destination. It’s not that surprising.”
“True,” he said, a glint of mischief flickering in his eyes. “But still... feels a little too coincidental, doesn’t it?”
“Or just inconvenient.” The words slipped out before she could stop them, sharper than she intended. She glanced away, pretending to adjust the strap of her bag, but not before she caught the faint twitch of his smile.
The boarding announcement crackled over the speakers, cutting through the tension. Passengers began gathering their belongings and forming a line, and Mia seized the opportunity to extricate herself.
“I should get in line,” she said briskly, already moving toward the queue.
Jack fell into step beside her. “Looks like we’ll be spending some quality time together. I’m in 22A. You?”
Her stomach sank. “22B.”
His grin widened, and she cursed the universe’s cruel sense of humor. “Well, this just keeps getting better.”
Mia ignored him, focusing instead on the methodical process of presenting her boarding pass and making her way down the jet bridge. She could feel Jack’s presence behind her—the unhurried rhythm of his footsteps, the quiet jingle of his camera bag strap. When they reached their row, she allowed him to slide into the window seat first, unwilling to let him have the aisle. She placed her tote carefully beneath the seat in front of her and settled into 22B, her posture stiff and her expression neutral.
As the plane filled with passengers and the overhead bins clicked shut, Mia stared straight ahead, willing herself to ignore the man seated inches from her. But it was impossible—the brush of his arm as he adjusted his bag, the sound of his breathing, the faint scent of his cologne. Every detail demanded her attention, no matter how much she fought it.
“Mia,” Jack said softly, breaking the silence.
She turned her head slightly, meeting his gaze out of reflex. His expression was uncharacteristically serious, his blue eyes searching hers.
“It’s good to see you,” he said, his voice low enough that only she could hear.
The words, simple as they were, carried an undercurrent of sincerity that made her chest tighten. She wanted to respond, to say something equally honest, but the walls she had built around herself were too firmly in place.
Instead, she nodded once, her voice steady. “Let’s just get through this flight.”
Jack’s lips quirked into a rueful smile. He leaned back in his seat, turning to gaze out the window as the plane began to taxi. Mia gripped the armrests tightly, her knuckles whitening as the engines roared to life.
As the plane lifted into the sky, she allowed herself a fleeting glance at him. He was gazing out at the clouds, his expression thoughtful, his hands resting lightly on his camera bag. For a moment, she wondered what he was thinking—if he was feeling the same turbulent mix of regret and longing that she was.
But then she caught herself, straightened her posture, and looked away. She had spent three years building a life without him. She wasn’t about to let a chance encounter undo all of that.
And yet, as the plane leveled out and the city below disappeared into a sea of clouds, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this flight was the start of something she wasn’t ready to face.
