Page 30 of Misbooked for Love

“Here they come,” the gate agent’s voice echoes again, and I look up, expecting to see another frazzled business traveler or a tired parent dragging their kids along. But what I see instead hits me like a bag of bricks.

Tom.

He’s running down the jet bridge, his bag slung over his shoulder, his hair a disheveled mess from the wind. He’s out of breath, his eyes scanning the plane as he reaches the door, and when he sees me, his expression shifts—relief, hope, something so raw and real that it knocks the air out of my lungs.

“Tom?” I breathe, my voice barely a whisper, andhe looks at me like he’s been searching for something and has finally found it.

“Clara,” he pants, his chest rising and falling as he catches his breath. “I?—”

“Sir, you need to take your seat,” María Marta cuts in, her voice gentle but firm as she gestures toward the cabin. “We’re about to push back.”

Tom holds up a hand, not taking his eyes off me. “Just a second, please.”

The cabin is buzzing with impatience, passengers craning their necks to see what’s holding up the departure, but all I can see is him—standing there, in front of me, like he’s just walked out of my dreams and back into my life. I want to ask him why he’s here, how he found me, what he’s doing on my plane, but the words stick to my throat, tangled up with everything I’ve been too afraid to admit.

“I’m sorry,” Tom says, his voice low and urgent. “I know this is crazy, but I had to see you. I couldn’t just?—”

“Sir, please,” María Marta urges again, but I hold up a hand, silencing her. I need to hear him out. I need to know why he’s here, why he’s risking this.

Tom takes a step closer, his eyes locking onto mine. “I’ve been a mess since I left. I thought I could just go back, figure things out on my own, but every minute without you felt wrong. I kept thinking abouteverything we said, everything we didn’t say, and I realized I don’t want to figure it out without you.”

My heart is pounding so hard in my chest, I can barely hear him over the rush of blood in my ears. I want to reach out, to touch him, to pull him close and never let go, but we’re on a plane, at my place of employment, surrounded by passengers and crew, and I don’t know how to make sense of any of this.

“You didn’t have to come all the way here,” I manage, my voice cracking. “You didn’t have to do this.”

Tom shakes his head, a determined glint in his eyes. “Yes, I did. I didn’t want to leave things the way they were. I don’t care about the distance, about the complications, about any of it. I lo?—”

“Sir, please take your seat,” María Marta interrupts, her patience wearing thin. “We really need to close the door.”

Tears well up in my eyes, and I blink them back, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment.

“I’m going, I’m going,” Tom says, holding up his hands in surrender. He looks at me one last time, his expression a mix of hope and fear. “Please, sweetheart.”

He turns, heading down the aisle to find his seat, and I’m left standing there, my heart in my throat, my mind racing. I feel María Marta’s hand on my shoulder,a reassuring squeeze, and she gives me a knowing smile. “You okay?”

I nod, but I don’t know if I’m okay or if I’m about to break apart. “Yeah,” I say, my voice unsteady. “I think so.”

“That’s one love declaration if I’ve seen one,” she says, fanning her face. Her eyes are shining with what I assume are happy tears, and I laugh, a wet sob coming out of my throat in surprise and… I don’t know what.

The door finally closes, the plane lurches forward, and I watch as Tom settles into his seat, his eyes still searching for mine. The flight attendants go through the safety demo, and I try to focus, but all I can think about is him—right there, just a few rows away, and the way he looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered.

When we’re in the air, cruising at ten thousand meters, I make my way down the aisle, my heart thundering in my chest. Tom looks up as I approach, his expression softening when he sees me. I kneel beside his seat, ignoring the curious stares of the passengers around us, and for a moment, we just look at each other, both of us caught in this impossible, beautiful bubble.

“I love you,” I whisper, and Tom smiles, his hand reaching out to take mine. “I don’t know how it happened or when, but…”

“I love you, sweetheart,” he whispers back, leaningtowards me and tucking a strand of hair behind my ear like he’s done many times before. It’s wildly unprofessional, but I don’t care. “I don’t think I can live without you.”

“You really came all this way?” I whisper back, straightening my back so that at least this appears less of an intimate conversation and just business as usual.

“I told you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m not done with you yet.”

I laugh, a choked disbelieving sound, and squeeze his hand.

“We’ll figure it out,” he says. “One day at a time.”

He leans forward and places his forehead on mine. “Never been so glad to be misbooked in my life.”

EPILOGUE

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