Page 12 of Misbooked for Love

Tom shifts slightly, and his leg brushes against mine, sending another spark skittering through my veins. I can’t tell if it’s intentional or just the natural result of sharing a small space, but it doesn’t matter.It’s enough to make me catch my breath, my mind reeling with the sudden, overwhelming awareness of him.

I turn to say something—anything to break this tension—but the words die on my lips when I see the fire in his eyes. There’s something there, something urgent and heavy, and it’s the kind of look that makes my stomach flip in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.

“Ready to leave?” he whispers in my ear, his breath warm and sweet.

The fireworks explode in a series of rapid bursts, the noise drowning out everything but the thudding of my heart. I should move, get up and put some distance between us, walk back to the villa and lock myself in my bedroom until it’s time to leave this mountain. But I can’t bring myself to do it. Not when the air between us feels so charged, so full of possibility.

“Yep,” I say as I get up hastily from the bench. I stumble as I stand, my foot catching on the edge of the blanket, and before I know it, I’m off balance, pitching forward. The world tilts, and for a split second, all I see is the blur of the ground rushing up to meet me. But then, Tom’s arm is around my waist, strong and steady, pulling me back before I can fall completely.

“Whoa, easy,” he whispers, his voice low and calming as he steadies me, his hands gripping either side of my body just a little too tightly, fingers pressing into my skin. The heat of his touch sends a shiverdown my spine, and I’m suddenly hyper-aware of the firmness of his chest, the way his fingers linger as if reluctant to let go.

His touch is electric, grounding and overwhelming all at once, and my heart is racing, not just from the near fall but from the way his presence wraps around me, warm and consuming.

“I— Uh, I’m just gonna…” I mumble, gesturing vaguely towards the villa in the distance, my mind spinning in a dozen different directions. The only thing I can hear is the beat of my heart, a reminder that this is wrong, that Tom’s not mine to think about like this. But my body isn’t listening; it’s already memorizing the warmth of his touch, the way his fingers feel against my skin.

“Clara, sweetheart,” he says softly, and the sound of my name on his lips makes something flutter deep in my chest. It’s tender, the way he says it, like he’s asking me to stay, to not run away from whatever just sparked between us.

The loud applause breaks me from my panic.

“I’m just… I need to head back,” I stammer, backing away, my eyes darting everywhere but at him. “Long day, you know?”

Tom watches me, his expression unreadable, and for a second, I think he might stop me, that he might say something to acknowledge whatever just happened between us. But he doesn’t. He just nods,his gaze following me as I fumble with the blankets and make my escape.

I hurry back to the villa and once inside, I slam the door to my room, leaning against it as I catch my breath, my heart still fluttering in my chest. I’m trying to process it all—the warmth of his touch, the way he looked at me like I was the only person in the world—it’s too much.

But it’s there. And it’s undeniable.

8

TOM

I’ve been staringat the coffee pot for what feels like an eternity, trying to shake off the tension from last night. There’s a heaviness in my chest that wasn’t there before, a lingering charge that refuses to let me go.

Clara hasn’t come out of her room yet, and I’m half relieved, half disappointed. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to her after the way we left things. That moment sitting on the bench watching whatever that parade was, the way her body felt pressed against mine—it’s been on a loop in my head since I got back. The softness of her skin, the hitch in her breath when I caught her before she fell. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it, and it’s messing with my head.

The villa feels too quiet, the kind of quiet that onlyhighlights how alone I’ve been, how much I’ve been missing. It’s a stark contrast to the noise of my usual life—press conferences, crowds, the constant hum of expectation. But here, it’s just me and my thoughts, and lately, those thoughts have been wrapped around the gorgeous blonde more than I care to admit.

I hear her door open, the soft click of it pulling me out of my head. Clara steps down the stairs and into the kitchen, her hair slightly tousled, wearing an oversized sweater that looks like it’s swallowing her whole. She pauses when she sees me and clears her throat. “Hi,” she says, her voice tentative, as if she’s testing the waters.

“Hi,” I reply, trying to keep my tone light and casual, like nothing’s changed. But it has. I can feel it in the way she’s avoiding my gaze, her focus on the coffee pot instead of me.

We stand there in silence, tension hanging heavy in the air between us. I should say something, make a joke, anything to break this awkwardness, but my mouth feels like it’s filled with lead. She makes herself a cup of coffee, her movements slow, deliberate, and for a moment, it’s like we’re strangers all over again.

“I’m going to?—”

“About last night?—”

We both speak up at the same time, but I shut my mouth immediately, because it was clearly the last thing Clara wanted to hear. She recoils, walkingbackwards with her mug clutched against her chest. “I’m taking a ski lesson today. Gotta run.”

I watch her retreat, her footsteps quick and purposeful as she moves towards the stairs, but there’s a slight tremble in her hand that gives her away. Clara is not as put together as she’s pretending to be, and that flicker of vulnerability—the one she’s trying so hard to hide—only makes my chest tighten more.

“Clara, wait—” I start, but she’s already in her room, the sound of the door closing echoing through the villa. The silence that follows is deafening, the kind that digs in deep and won’t let go. I’m left standing there, my coffee untouched, staring at the space where she’d been just moments before, her scent still lingering in the air—something floral and soft, like jasmine.

I take a long breath, running a hand through my hair, trying to pull myself together. This was supposed to be simple. Just a few days away from work, a chance to clear my head, spend quality time with my daughter and figure out what the hell I’m doing with my life. But now, it feels like everything’s been flipped on its head, and it’s all because of her. Clara, with her bright eyes and easy laugh, her habit of walking into a room and lighting it up without even trying.

I head to the living room, slumping onto the couch, the weight of it all pressing down on me. It’s ridiculous how quickly this got complicated, how fastshe’s gotten under my skin. I can’t remember the last time I felt this way—like I was right on the edge of something I couldn't quite control, something that could either be the best or the worst thing to happen to me.

After what feels like hours, I grab my jacket and head outside. I need the cold air, the sting of winter biting at my skin, something to jolt me out of this mess in my head. All my attention should be on my daughter or my career path, but I can’t even manage a simple call with her without turning my head and looking for Clara everywhere.

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