Page 1 of Misbooked for Love

1

CLARA

The cold isthe first thing that hits me. Icy and sharp and right in my eyes.

I wrap my scarf tightly around my neck and draw in a sharp breath. My lungs immediately fill with crisp, freezing air. It’s nothing like I’ve experienced before—the winters I know back in Argentina are humid and warmer, not like this dry, seeping cold that cuts through to my bones and bounces around inside my skull.

There’s a golden glow illuminating the buildings in the distance; twinkling lights are starting to shine in the early light of dusk, draped from bare tree trunk to bare tree trunk in the plaza I can see from where I’m standing.

It’s already stunning, breathtaking, and I didn’t even get to see the mountain yet. My heart responds in kind—a level of excitement I haven’t felt in years, probably since my first flight as a flight attendant—fluttery nerves that make me giddy with anticipation.

Everything is white, covered in snow and looking so much like a picture that…it’s magical, and the sigh that leaves my lips is nothing short of dramatic.But in a good way.A great way, even.

The best way.

This place feels like something out of those corny Christmas movies, the kind I used to watch late at night growing up, while wrapped in a blanket with the air conditioning at full blast, pretending it was winter and snowing outside. Even though, for us, Christmas was in the dead of summer, and unless something apocalyptic happened, snow wasn’t ever in the forecast.

The closest I’ve ever been to touching snow is the frozen morning dew on a bitter winter morning in the city, but that doesn’t even last enough to count.

I take a hesitant step forward from the shuttle towards the hotel entrance, and my boot sinks into the fresh snow with a soft crunch. A shiver runs up my spine—not only from the cold, but from the thrill of being somewhere so unfamiliar, so utterly different from what I’ve known until now.

Snow. Actual snow. I want to laugh at how ridiculousI must look, a woman in her mid-thirties, standing here, gaping at frozen water like I’ve never seen a winter in my life. I haven’t. Not like this, at least.

I look around, trying to take it all in. The Canadian mountains loom big in the distance, not too far from where the small plaza ends, their peaks dusted with white and fading into a dusky sky. Somewhere nearby, the sound of laughter mingles with a constant thud, a noise I’ve never heard before and can’t place. A couple walks past me and into the hotel’s revolving door, their cheeks flushed red from the cold, holding hands and giggling like they’ve just shared a naughty secret.

I steady myself, taking another deep, cold breath, and forge ahead toward the main lodge where I can see the warm, welcoming glow of the entrance.

Inside, the air is thick with the scent of vanilla and flowers. A large fireplace, probably five stories high, dominates one side of the lobby, and clusters of guests sit in oversized chairs in the main sitting area, sipping warm drinks and chatting. Quite literally like a movie. It’s lovely.

“Hi there!” There’s a chirp behind me that interrupts my ogling, and I turn to see a uniformed attendant waving at me on the other side of a large wooden desk. “Welcome to Sugar Peak Resort,” she greets, her voice a warm polarity to the chill outside. “Checking in?”

“Yes,” I say, trying to sound casual, though my breath still comes out in little puffs, clearly the contrast between the hellish summer I left behind in Argentina and the cold winter wreaking havoc on my body. “Clara Ledesma.”

“Let me just find your reservation.” She hums and taps a few keys on her computer, her polite smile never leaving her face. “Ah, here we are,” she says, dropping her sunny voice with the last syllable and blinking a few times. I stare at her, not completely understanding her expression. “Looks like you’re staying in villa fourteen, one of our coziest spots!” she continues with that big customer service smile again, making me a little dizzy with all the flip-flopping expressions. “You’re in for a treat. The view of the mountain from there is to die for!”

I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face, regardless of that small moment of doubt she made me have. “I’m excited.”

The receptionist—Laura, as her name tag reads—hands me a key card. “We have a Winter Wonderland bonfire tonight on the main terrace, right through those doors.” She gestures with her hand, her eyes set on a pair of sliding glass doors towards the end of the building. “Hot chocolate, marshmallows, live music… It’s a lot of fun if you’re interested. And don’t worry, there’s plenty of outdoor heating, so you’ll be comfortable all night.” She chuckles, turning her head back to me. “First time in the snow?”

“What gave it away?” I ask with a smile, dragging my hand through the long hair that is poking out of my hat. But I stop for a moment—maybe my face is more telling than I thought. It was a horrible year for me, and this is my chance to get away, disconnect from my actual life and find…what’s missing.

Laura nods with a grin. “Don’t worry, you’re not the only one. We get a lot of first-timers here, especially this time of the year. You’ll blend right in.”

I laugh and grab my suitcase, feeling that little flutter in my chest again. Maybe I did make the right call, coming here to start fresh after that string of… Whatever that was.

The past few years weren’t any better either. And it all started when my boyfriend of many years, who I’d been living with, broke up with me out of the blue. One day we were together, in his hometown, about to celebrate his grandmother’s milestone birthday. The next, I was on a bus returning to Buenos Aires and moving out of the apartment we shared, running back to my parents’ house until I could figure it out.

“Just wait until you see it at night, completely lit up.” She sighs, a soft smile on her lips. “Now, if you need anything, just give us a call. And enjoy your stay.”

“Thank you,” I say, and head towards the hallway, following the sign for the villas, my large suitcaseclunking along the polished wooden floor beneath me. I can’t stop smiling as I pass by the floor-to-ceiling windows, catching glimpses of the slopes outside, bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun. There are no skiers on the mountains, and instead large machinery is grooming the hills, moving up and down, flattening the snow and making it look pristine.

Villa fourteen is towards the end of the hallway, tucked right where the building turns a corner to the right and it continues, doors on either side of the walls, numbered up to twenty. The door clicks open, and I step inside, greeted by a rush of warm air. The room is even cozier than I’d imagined—soft, earthy tones, a stone fireplace that crackles gently in the middle of the living room and big, fluffy throws draped over a large leather sofa that looks the right amount of worn-in and comfy as can be. And the view… I walk over to the window, my breath catching as I look out at the snow-covered hills, the trees dusted with white, and the town’s lights twinkling below.

“This is good,” I whisper to myself, feeling the tension from the past few months starting to melt away. This is exactly what I need. A fresh start. A break from everything. A turn in my luck. Maybe coming here on a whim isn’t such a terrible idea after all. So far, things are looking up. Much better than they’ve been for the past few years.

My phone buzzes in my purse, jolting me from my thoughts. I pull it out and seeMamáon the screen, but I hesitate for a moment before answering, because I know exactly what’s coming.

“Hola, Ma,” I say, smiling as I greet her. The woman has an uncanny ability to detect bullshit. It made for very difficult teenage years, because when all my friends were going out clubbing at seventeen and lying to their parents, I was stuck at home. It wasn’t bad, not at all, but sometimes I wish I’d been a little more rebellious.

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