Page 13 of Misbooked for Love

The snow crunches under my boots as I make my way down the trail towards the lobby. The sky is gray and heavy, the kind that promises more snow, and for once, the idea of getting lost in it doesn’t seem so bad.

I stand out on the back patio for a bit, scrolling through my work emails and endless messages, catching up on the few photos Erin sent me of their staycation in the snow. It seems ironic, that all I wanted was to take some time with my daughter and bring her to the snow and, unintentionally, my ex-wife got to do that.

And that pisses me off even more, because it was supposed to be my plan. It was my idea.

I push off the railing and start walking toward the bunny slope, where a group of adults are going up the magic carpet, the slow, outdoor conveyor that takesthem up the hill, and then down the beginner run trying to grasp the basics of skiing. And it’s unmistakable—Clara’s hair flapping in the wind behind her, an exhilarated yell as she makes her way down the tiny hill.

“You’re doing great,” I call out, my voice light, trying to keep it casual. She glances over, surprised to see me standing there, but she doesn’t say anything. Her skis keep sliding in my direction and panic covers her face.

“Tom,” she starts, but she’s cut off as her ski slips out from under her, sending her stumbling forward. I reach out instinctively, catching her around the waist before she can hit the ground. It’s a familiar feeling now, the way her body fits against mine, the warmth of her even through the layers of winter gear.

We’re close again, too close, and it’s like everything else falls away—the resort, the snow, the lingering voices of the other skiers. It’s just her, pressed up against me, her breath hitching as she steadies herself.

“You okay?” I ask, my voice rougher than I intend.

She nods, but she doesn’t pull away immediately, her hands lingering on my arms as if she’s not ready to let go. “Yeah. I’m just… Sorry.”

Our eyes meet, and there’s that spark again, that magnetic pull that’s been there since the first time we met, simmering under the surface. I don’t knowwhat to say, don’t know how to navigate this without making things worse, but the silence between us is charged, crackling with everything we’re not saying.

“Clara,” I start, my grip on her waist tightening just slightly, but she slides back, putting space between us. Her movements are awkward and almost like a baby giraffe with her skis on, and it takes her a while to finally turn away from me.

“I should—” she stammers, glancing back between her instructor and me. The group is all looking in our direction, waiting for her to join them. “I should get back.”

I step back, my hands dropping to my sides as she straightens, brushing something invisible from her jacket. She doesn’t look at me right away, instead focusing on adjusting her skis and avoiding the gaze of the instructor waiting a few yards away.

“Thanks for catching me,” she mutters, her voice barely audible over the low hum of skiers slowly gliding by. There’s a group of tiny children giggling close by, and their laughter and shrieks of amusement pierce the air.

“Anytime,” I reply, shrugging like it’s no big deal. But it feels bigger than I want it to. The accidental touches, the way her eyes linger just a little too long, the strange pull that’s been building between us—it’s all starting to crack through the walls I’ve put up.Since my marriage was over, and my focus was on my career and providing for my daughter.

Clara finally meets my gaze, her eyes sharp but softened by something I can’t identify. “Don’t get used to it,” she says, the corners of her mouth turning up ever so slightly. “I’m not planning on falling again.”

“Sure you aren’t,” I reply, smirking. “But just in case, I’ll be around.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s a glint in them, a flicker of something playful, and for a moment, it feels like we’re teetering on the edge of something new. The instructor calls her over, breaking the moment, and she takes a small, shaky breath before nodding to him.

“See you later,” she says, her voice steady again, as if regaining her footing. She pushes off, turning her focus back to the hill, leaving me standing there with a strange sense of satisfaction—and the realization that maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t mind if she needed another hand to hold.

9

CLARA

I disappearinto my room without a word, feeling the sting of cold mountain air still clinging to my skin, my cheeks flushed from the wind and whatever just happened with Tom on the slope. My body feels jittery, like it does when I’ve had too much coffee before work. The way his hands steadied me, the feel of his chest against mine, the heat of his touch lingering longer than it should. I can’t shake it off, can’t pretend that my heart didn’t skip a beat when I looked up and saw him standing there, watching me like I was the only thing in his line of sight.

I flop on my bed, staring at the ceiling, and try to push the thoughts away. It’s just attraction, I tell myself. Just the rush of being in close quarters with ahandsome man, who, despite everything and the quirky circumstances, makes me feel seen. It doesn’t mean anything. It can’t mean anything.

I stand on a groan and head for the shower, stripping off my clothes and stepping under the hot spray. The water scalds my skin at first, but I welcome it, letting the heat seep into my bones, washing away the cold and the tension that’s been coiled tight in my chest since last night.

I close my eyes, leaning my forehead against the cool tiles, and try to focus on the steady rhythm of the water. But all I can see is Tom’s face, the way his eyes darkened when he caught me for a second time, the hint of something in his expression that I can’t place. Something that makes me feel like I’m just not imagining this pull between us.

When I finally step out, my skin feels raw and new, and I wrap myself in a towel, padding quietly back to my room. I put on the first comfortable thing I can find—leggings and another oversized sweater, soft and warm, like armor against whatever’s happening outside this room. I take a moment, staring at my reflection in the mirror, trying to make sense of the girl looking back at me.

I’ve been here before, haven’t I? Getting too close, feeling too much, reading into things that aren’t meant for me. The thought of Tom’s voice on the phone from the other day flitsthrough my mind—honey—and the way he said it, so intimate, so familiar. It’s the reminder I need to put some distance between us, to keep my guard up because I know how this story ends.

But the knot in my stomach tells me it’s already too late for that.

I walk back out to the kitchen, my hair still damp and curling at the ends, and find Tom leaning against the island, staring at the coffee machine like it holds all the answers of the universe. He looks up when he hears me coming, his eyes scanning me intently, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Hello,” I say, my voice soft, tentative, like we’re on the edge of something fragile.

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