Stealing Home

Hannah Blake always chose the aisle seat. It wasn’t a preference—it was strategy. The aisle meant space. It meant she could move if she needed to. It meant she wasn’t trapped between a stranger and a window with nowhere to go. It meant control—or at least the illusion of it. Today, it wasn’t enough. Her fingers tapped restlessly against the armrest, a quiet, repetitive rhythm she didn’t even realize she’d fallen into until— “Not a fan of flying?” he asked, a hint of a smile in his voice. Hannah stilled. She turned her head slowly, caught somewhere between embarrassment and surprise. The man beside her looked completely at ease, like they weren’t thousands of feet in the air in something that could fall out of the sky at any second. One arm rested casually on the armrest, his posture relaxed, his expression calm in a way that felt… steady. It threw her off. “That obvious?” she asked. His eyes flicked briefly to her hand, then back to her face. “Little bit.” Hannah glanced down, realizing her fingers had already started tapping again. She flattened her palm against the armrest, forcing it still. “Great,” she muttered. “Now I’m aware of it and still panicking.” That earned her a soft huff of amusement. “Sorry,” he said, though his tone carried more warmth than apology. She exhaled slowly, leaning her head back against the seat. “It’s not the flying,” she said after a second. “It’s the lack of control.” He nodded like that made perfect sense. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “That’ll do it.” No teasing. No dismissing it. Just understanding. It caught her off guard. “I’m Hannah,” she said, shifting slightly toward him. “Everett.” The name fit him. There was something grounded about it. Something steady. She liked that more than she should. “So, Everett,” she said, arching a brow slightly, “do you always analyze strangers mid-flight, or am I just lucky?” A corner of his mouth lifted. “Little of both.” She smiled before she could stop herself. The tension in her chest loosened—just a little. “Where are you headed?” he asked. “Work,” she said. “I’m a writer—travel pieces. I go places and tell people why they should go too.” “Sounds like a pretty good setup.” “It has its moments.” “Favorite place you’ve been?” he asked. She thought for a second. “Greece,” she said. “Santorini. It’s exactly as beautiful as people say it is.” “Sounds like you liked it.” “I did,” she said. “I just didn’t stay long.” “Why not?” She shrugged lightly. “I don’t really stay anywhere long.” He watched her for a beat, like he knew there was more there—but didn’t push. “And you?” she asked. “What do you do?” He leaned back slightly. “I travel a lot too.” “That doesn’t answer the question.” “It answers part of it.” She narrowed her eyes slightly, a smile tugging at her lips. “So you’re avoiding it.” “Maybe.” “That’s suspicious.” “Or mysterious.” “Those are not the same thing.” “Depends who you ask.” She shifted toward him a little more. “Let me guess.” He raised a brow. “This should be good.” She studied him—really studied him this time. “You don’t sit behind a desk,” she said. “No.” “Clearly something physical.” A slow smirk pulled at Everett’s mouth. Her gaze flicked over him again before she could stop herself—broad shoulders, the way his T-shirt stretched just enough across his chest, the easy strength in how he carried himself. And then it hit her what she’d just implied. Heat crept up her neck. She looked away quickly. “That came out wrong,” she muttered. “Did it?” he asked, the smirk still there. She pressed her lips together, fighting a smile. “I meant your job.” “Right,” he said easily. She shook her head, exhaling. “You’re enjoying this way too much.” “Maybe a little.” She huffed out a quiet laugh. “You travel for work,” she continued, trying to recover. “But you’re not overly eager to say what it is… so I’m guessing—professional something.” “Vague.” “I’m narrowing it down.” “Are you?” “I’m a writer,” she said. “I observe people.” “Dangerous skill.” “Very.” She leaned back slightly. “Final guess.” He waited. “Athlete.” A beat. His smile didn’t give it away—but it came close. “Not bad.” Her eyes lit. “I’m right?” “Close enough.” She sat up slightly. “That still counts.” “Persistent.” “Curious.” “Dangerous combination.” “So I’ve been told.” For a moment, everything felt… easy. Like she wasn’t constantly aware of every exit. Like she wasn’t calculating. Like she wasn’t pretending. And then— The plane dropped. Not a small dip. Not a warning. A drop. Hannah’s stomach flipped violently, her breath catching as the world tilted beneath her. Gasps echoed through the cabin. The overhead bins rattled sharply. A few people cried out. Her hand shot out before she could think. She grabbed his. Hard. For a split second, she froze—her fingers wrapped tightly around his, her pulse racing. Then the plane jolted again. Harder. And instead of pulling away— His hand tightened around hers. “Hey,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “Look at me.” She shook her head instinctively, her eyes darting toward the window where the horizon no longer looked steady. “Hannah.” Her name—steady, grounding. Her gaze snapped back to his. “Breathe,” he said. “Slow.” She tried. Her chest hitched, uneven, but she pulled in a breath anyway. “Good,” he said. “Again.” Another jolt. Stronger. The plane shuddered, and the noise in the cabin grew—voices overlapping, fear rising. “I don’t like this,” she whispered. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Me neither.” A sharp ding sounded overhead. The captain’s voice crackled through the speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, please remain seated with your seatbelts fastened. We are experiencing—” The plane lurched again, cutting him off. The lights flickered. Hannah’s grip tightened painfully around Everett’s hand. Around them, the shift was immediate. Flight attendants rushed to their seats upfront, movements quick and purposeful—no wasted motion, no hesitation. The calm professionalism they’d carried moments ago was gone, replaced with something tighter. Focused. Urgent. Seatbelts clicked into place. One of them glanced back briefly, her expression composed—but her eyes gave her away. That was when it became real. Not just turbulence. Not just a rough flight. Something was wrong. “This isn’t normal,” Hannah said, her voice thin. “No,” Everett said. Another voice came over the intercom, tighter now. “We are preparing for a precautionary water landing—” The words hit like a shockwave. Water landing. Her brain struggled to process it. “That doesn’t sound precautionary,” she said. Everett didn’t answer right away. Instead, his thumb brushed lightly across the back of her hand. Small. Steady. Intentional. “Stay with me,” he said. “Okay?” Her breath came fast, uneven. But she nodded. Around them, flight attendants began shouting instructions now—clear, direct, urgent. “Tell me something,” Everett said suddenly. “What?” “Anything. Keep talking.” Her mind went blank. Then— “I hate pineapple on pizza,” she blurted. A beat. Even now, his mouth twitched. “That’s your big confession?” “It’s a serious issue,” she said weakly. “I like pineapple on pizza.” “Of course you do.” Another drop. Longer this time. The plane angled downward. Hannah’s entire body went rigid. “Eyes on me,” Everett said. She dragged her gaze back to him. “You’re going to be okay.” “You don’t know that.” “No,” he said. “But panicking won’t help.” She let out a shaky breath. “Noted.” Outside the window, the ocean came into view. Dark. Endless. Too close. Her fingers tightened around his, lacing with his now without thinking. He held on. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t pull away. “Stay with me,” he said again. She nodded, tears burning at the corners of her eyes. The plane dropped. The water rushed up. And in the final second— Hannah held on to the only steady thing she had.