Chapter 3 — Emergency Landing in London
Third Person
The announcement crackled over the intercom, interrupting the low hum of the plane’s engines and the scattered murmurs of passengers. The captain’s calm but firm voice sent a ripple of tension through the cabin.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Due to a technical issue, we will be making an emergency landing in London. Please remain calm and follow the instructions of the cabin crew.”
Mia Carter’s grip on the armrest tightened, her knuckles paling as she turned to look at Jack Bennett, seated next to her. His sandy-blond hair was disheveled, and the perpetual five o’clock shadow on his jawline seemed sharper under the harsh cabin lights. Her heart lurched—whether from the announcement or the proximity of her ex-husband, she couldn’t be sure.
Jack caught her gaze and leaned closer, his expression a mix of concern and his usual irreverent humor. “Well,” he said lightly, though tension laced his voice, “looks like we’re making an unscheduled stop. London’s not a bad consolation prize, right?”
Mia tore her eyes away, fixing them on the window where the faint lights of the English coastline flickered below. The plane’s descent felt precariously smooth, as if balance itself was a fragile thing. She hated the lack of control—this helpless limbo where her plans, her carefully rebuilt life, were at the mercy of forces she couldn’t command. Her chest tightened, and her fingers moved instinctively to the pocket watch hanging from her necklace, brushing over the cool floral engraving. The familiar weight steadied her, though it couldn’t dispel the unease coiling in her stomach.
“I suppose it depends on how long we are delayed,” she said eventually, her voice clipped. “I have meetings scheduled in Paris. This detour is… inconvenient.”
Jack studied her, his blue eyes narrowing in faint amusement as he leaned back in his seat. “You’d think the universe would cut you some slack after the turbulence earlier.” His tone softened, teasing but not unkind. “Maybe it just really wants us to catch up.”
Mia’s sharp hazel eyes flicked toward him. “Somehow, I doubt the universe cares about our unresolved history.”
Jack’s smirk faltered slightly, and for a moment, something unspoken passed between them—an echo of all the things they’d left unsaid. The plane touched down on the rain-slicked runway with a smoothness that belied the tension in the cabin. Rain streaked the windows, blurring the glow of the terminal lights. Mia’s fingers tightened around her pocket watch as the familiar weight of it steadied her. Yet, despite the grounding gesture, her breath came shallow, her thoughts racing ahead to logistics. Stranded. With him.
---
The terminal was a hive of activity, its bright lights reflecting off the damp tile floor as passengers disembarked. Some grumbled about missed connections, while others clutched their belongings with quiet resignation. Mia strode ahead, her carry-on bag rolling smoothly behind her, her heels clicking in a rhythmic staccato that betrayed her impatience.
Jack followed at a more leisurely pace, his vintage Leica camera slung over his shoulder. He adjusted the strap absently, his fingers brushing the worn leather as he watched her navigate the chaos with her usual efficiency.
“You know,” he said as he caught up to her, “you don’t have to walk so fast. It’s not like the flight’s taking off anytime soon.”
“I am trying to find information about the next available flight,” she replied without looking at him, her tone frostier than the damp London air outside.
Jack shrugged, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket. “You could try relaxing for a second. I hear it’s not fatal.”
Relaxing? The word bristled against her frayed nerves. Mia ignored him, her eyes scanning the departure board. The glowing letters confirmed her worst fear: the next flight to Paris wouldn’t depart until the following morning. She exhaled sharply, the sound tinged with frustration.
“Perfect,” she muttered under her breath.
Jack leaned casually against the counter beside her, his expression amused. “What’s the plan, boss?”
She refused to rise to the bait. “I will book a hotel and arrange transportation. We’ll be in Paris by midday tomorrow.”
“Sounds efficient,” he said, his tone teasing. “But how about we make the most of it? We’re in London, after all. Could be worse.”
Mia turned to face him, her sharp gaze narrowing. “Jack, some of us have responsibilities that require punctuality. Not everyone has the luxury of treating life like a series of spontaneous adventures.”
“Ah, yes. The Amelia Carter Method for Success.” He smirked, though there was no malice in it. “Keep everything on a tight schedule, and nothing can go wrong. Except, oh wait… life doesn’t work that way.”
Before Mia could retort, a cheerful voice cut through their tension.
“Excusez-moi, mademoiselle, monsieur!”
They both turned to see a middle-aged man approaching, his round face framed by a salt-and-pepper mustache and a colorful scarf draped over his shoulders. He carried himself with an easy confidence, his brown eyes twinkling with mischief. A faint jingling accompanied his movements, drawing Mia’s attention to the charm keychain hanging from his pocket.
“I could not help but overhear,” he said, his French accent thick but melodious. “You are headed to Paris, yes? Ah, but of course! Look at you two—already bickering like an old married couple.”
Mia stiffened. “We are not—”
“Not married,” Jack interrupted smoothly, grinning. “Not anymore, at least.”
The man’s eyebrows lifted in mock surprise. “Ah, les amoureux déchirés! Even more interesting.” He extended a hand. “Henri Duval, at your service. I am a cab driver in Paris, but tonight, I am merely a traveler like yourselves, stranded in this dreary English airport.”
Mia hesitated, her instincts warning her against engaging with this stranger. But Jack, true to form, shook Henri’s hand enthusiastically.
“Jack Bennett,” he said. “And this is Mia Carter. She’s the organized one.”
Henri chuckled, his charm keychain jingling softly as he gestured toward Mia. “And you are the… how do you say? The dreamer.”
Jack tilted his head, considering. “I’ll take that.”
Henri’s gaze flicked between them, his smile deepening. “Well, my friends, it seems fate has brought us together. Perhaps it is a sign! You see, Paris has a way of revealing truths to those who are willing to see them.”
Mia crossed her arms, her skepticism clear. “And what truths would those be, Mr. Duval?”
Henri shrugged, his grin widening. “Ah, that is for each of us to discover. But I can tell you this: Paris always helps people find their way. Even when they don’t know they are lost.”
Jack laughed, the sound warm and unguarded. “I like this guy.”
Mia, however, was less amused. She turned back to the counter, her mind already racing with logistics. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to confirm our accommodations for the night.”
Henri watched her retreat with a knowing smile, then turned to Jack. “She is… formidable, no?”
Jack’s expression softened as he watched Mia from across the terminal. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “She always has been.”
---
By the time they reached the hotel—a modest but comfortable stopover near the airport—the rain had turned into a steady drizzle. Henri, having charmed his way into sharing a cab with them, regaled them with tales of Parisian romance and adventure during the ride. Mia remained politely detached, her mind preoccupied with tomorrow’s arrangements, while Jack laughed at Henri’s theatrical anecdotes.
As they checked in, Henri clapped Jack on the shoulder. “Tomorrow,” he declared, “we will all arrive in Paris. And when we do, I shall drive you to the city of love myself. Consider it my gift to you!”
Mia raised an eyebrow. “That won’t be necessary.”
“Nonsense!” Henri insisted, his grin unwavering. “You will see. Paris has its plans for you, whether you like it or not.”
Mia didn’t respond, instead turning toward the elevator with her bag in tow. Jack lingered for a moment, watching Henri with a mix of amusement and curiosity.
“You really believe all that, don’t you?” Jack asked.
Henri’s smile softened, his jovial demeanor giving way to something more thoughtful. “Ah, monsieur, life is too short not to believe in a little magic. Especially in Paris.”
---
Up in her room, Mia sat on the edge of the bed, staring out at the rain-streaked window. Her pocket watch rested in her palm, its silver surface cool against her skin. She traced the floral engraving absently, her thoughts a tangle of frustration, fear, and something she couldn’t quite name.
In the room next door, Jack leaned against the windowsill, his camera in hand. He snapped a photo of the rain, the soft click of the shutter echoing in the quiet. The image on the screen was blurred, imperfect, but somehow it captured the moment exactly as it felt.
Neither of them slept well that night.
