Page 18 of Misbooked for Love

Tom watches me, his expression thoughtful. “That sounds amazing. Must be nice to just…leave everything on the ground.”

I nod, stirring my water with my straw. “Yeah. It’s freeing. But it’s also exhausting. Always being away, always feeling like you’re in transit, like you never really land anywhere.”

He smiles softly, a hint of understanding in his eyes. “I get that. My job’s the same way. I’m always on the go, always somewhere new. It’s great, but it’s also…lonely sometimes.”

I lean forward, intrigued. “What do you do, exactly? I’ve been dying to ask but didn’t want to seem nosy. Especially because we started off on the wrong foot and... you know.”

Tom rubs the back of his neck, a sheepish smile crossing his face. “I work with horses. I used to play polo professionally, up until a few years ago, and now I’m more on the horse-breeding side?” His answer comes out as a question, as if he’s trying to explain to himself what he’s doing. “There’s so much that goes into play when we are talking about polo horses, it’s fascinating. But it’s also a lot of travel, a lot of movingpieces. A lot of competition and very, very high standards.”

“Wow,” I say, genuinely impressed. “That sounds… intense.”

“It is,” he admits, his gaze flicking to the window for a moment, like he’s lost in thought. “It’s not as rewarding as I thought it would be, unfortunately. It’s just taking me away from Ellie, so I’m trying to figure out if this is what I should continue to do or not.”

I nod, understanding the meaning behind his words. I can see it in his eyes, the way he talks about his work and his daughter. It’s maybe turned into just a job for him now—not something that drives him, that makes all the sacrifices worth it. And I get it. I’ve felt that, too, they way flying used to make me feel invincible, like I was chasing something just out of reach, but at what expense?

“I’ve been thinking more and more about maybe making a switch. I spoke with my business partner right before this trip and with the whole solo fiasco, I… I was supposed to use this time to come up with a plan for slowly selling my part to him and maybe starting something else. Use my connections in the polo world to maybe set up some sort of stables or something to rehab retired horses and use them for therapy or for riding lessons, or even for polo but at a lower, more amateur level.”

I gasp, and he smiles, the movement reaching his eyes. “That sounds exciting.”

“Yes, and I’m warming up to the idea more and more.” He’s so handsome, even in this ultra pink restaurant, the ceiling covered in faux pink flowers and heart-shaped garlands. “Ellie would love it, too.”

We fall into an easy rhythm, sharing stories about our travels, laughing over the absurdities of airports and missed connections, and swapping tales of the most ridiculous passengers and clients we’ve dealt with. It’s effortless, and I find myself leaning closer, hanging on his every word. There’s something so magnetic about the way he speaks, this quiet confidence that makes me want to keep listening, to keep learning.

The waiter brings our food, and the smell of the French onion soup wafts up, rich and comforting. Tom watches as I take my first spoonful, his eyes lighting up when I let out a small, appreciative hum.

“Okay,” I say, pointing my spoon at him. “You were right. This is amazing.”

Tom raises his glass, a playful grin on his lips. “To good soup and unexpected company.”

I clink my glass against his, smiling as I take a sip of my wine. It’s so easy to be around him, to let my guard down in a way that feels dangerous and thrilling all at once. I’ve never had this kind of connection withsomeone so quickly, this immediate comfort that makes everything else fade into the background.

As we eat, the conversation dips into deeper waters, and before I know it, I’m telling him things I haven’t told anyone in years—about the endless string of failed relationships, the constant feeling of not being enough, and the restless urge to keep moving, keep searching for whatever it is that’s missing.

Tom listens, his attention never wavering, and when he speaks, it’s with a kind of honesty that cuts right through me. “I get that,” he says, his voice soft. “I’ve spent a lot of years thinking if I just kept moving, kept working, I wouldn’t have to deal with…all the stuff I didn’t want to face. But it catches up to you, you know?”

I nod, feeling the weight of his words settle in my chest. “Yeah. It does.”

There is a lull in the conversation, the kind that should feel awkward but doesn’t. I look at Tom, really look at him, and I realize that I’ve never felt this kind of easy with anyone. Not even with Santiago, who was such a wonderful man, and our relationship was good—until it wasn’t.

It scares me how much I want to reach across the table and touch him, to close the distance between us.

“Clara,” Tom says, his voice drawing me back. “I’m glad we’re doing this. I know it’s complicated, but I’m glad.”

“Me, too,” I admit, my heart pounding in my chest. And I mean it. Being here, in this cozy little restaurant, surrounded by too many Valentine’s Day decorations, feels like exactly where I’m supposed to be.

But then, as if the universe is reminding me not to get too comfortable, the waiter comes to our table, a giant grin on his face and a plate with chocolate cake in his hand. What is it with people in this town and their secretive, conspiratorial smiles? Tom’s eyes widen, and we both burst out laughing, the tension between us breaking like a dam.

“No,” he says quickly to the waiter, who is about to place the dessert in front of me. His expression is so mischievous, it has to mean that he’s hiding a secret. “I don’t think that’s for us.”

“Oh my god,” I say between fits of giggles, wiping a tear from my eye. “This is so over the top. I can’t believe it happened again.”

Tom shakes his head, still laughing. “I swear I didn’t plan this. But if you start crying, I’m going to have to get on one knee.”

“Oh, please don’t,” I gasp, clutching my sides. “I can’t handle a grand gesture today.”

Tom extends his hand in my direction, placing it on the table, and I follow. His hand wraps around mine and we sit there, looking at each other like two fools in love. “Would this be an acceptable place to propose, then?”

I look around for the first time at the other tables. Everyone is sitting down, laughing, smiling, enjoying their food, in their own little universes. Just like we are.

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