Page 5 of Misbooked for Love

“Can you call any of the other properties in town? I mean,someonehas to have at least one room.”

“Let me see what I can do.” My shoulders slump, and Laura retreats to a back office, her steps hurried and urgent. This was supposed to be my solo getaway, my chance to clear my head and figure out what the hell I’m doing with my life. Instead, I’m sharing my space with a stranger who already seems to hate me. This is what I get for even thinking things were looking up. I can hear the man’s breathing next to me, his fingers tapping on the reception desk with a completely random tempo.

“I’m Clara,” I mumble, avoiding his gaze because I really don’t want to be here. It’s obvious he doesn’t either, but we have to start somewhere, especially the way it’s looking right now.

“Thomas,” he says, lifting his hand in a lazy wave. “Tom. I’m Tom.” And as soon as the last letter of his name is out of his mouth, his hand goes back to tapping on the flat surface in frontof him. The moment is tense, and at least for me, I’m wishing and hoping there’s a solution. I imagine it’s the same for him, if only because sharing a room with a complete stranger is not ideal.

But as soon as the receptionist comes back, only a few minutes later, her face tells me everything I need to know. “Fine,” I mutter, rubbing my temples and not letting her give me the bad news. “This is not how I pictured spending my vacation.” Just my luck.

Laura nods, her expression genuinely sympathetic. “I completely understand. If anything changes, you’ll be the first to know. But for now…” She trails off, helpless.

I give her a tight smile and turn away, heading back down the hall with a knot in my stomach. Sharing my space with a man—with anyone!—wasn’t on my agenda, and every step I take back towards my room feels like I’m marching down to my own personal hell. Especially because the goal of this trip is to spend time with myself to try to figure out what is next.

The door creaks when I open it, and I peek inside with caution, half expecting to find the man still half naked and fuming in the living room, even though I just saw him fully clothed in the lobby thirty minutes ago. Buthe’s not. I take a hesitant step inside, glancing around. The space looks the same as it did when I first arrived—cozy, with a giant fireplace and an oversized sofa that is practically begging for someone to curl up on it and forget the world exists outside of this mountain bubble. Except now, my problems are very much here, cohabitating with me.

I spot him sitting at the kitchen island, his hair now completely dry and mussed as if he’d run his fingers through it relentlessly. After the conversation with the receptionist and my abrupt walking away, I sat by the giant fireplace in the lobby and looked into the fire. I guess he made it back to the room before I did, and now he’s scrolling through his phone, clearly tense. The moment he hears me, he looks up, his expression something I can absolutely decipher after years in customer-facing roles. He’s annoyed as fuck. And he should be, of course. But it’s not my fault.

“They messed up,” I say, my voice sharper than how I planned it in my head. “They double-booked, and apparently there’s not a single open room in this whole town for me to move to.” I toss my sweater on the counter, my irritation flaring up again just looking at him. “So, unless you’ve got a magic solution, it looks like we’re stuck.”

“I know. I was there.” He sighs, setting his phone down and closing his eyes slowly. One of his hands twitches on the island, as if he wants to grabsomething and throw it to the floor in a classic temper tantrum. “Great. Just great.” He runs a hand through his hair, tousling the brown locks. “I was supposed to have this place to myself.”

“Yeah, well, I was supposed to have this place to myself, too. So, now what?”

The man exhales slowly, his frustration palpable. “Look, I don’t like this any more than you do. But I don’t have anywhere else to go, and clearly, neither do you. So let’s figure this out.”

We stare at each other, two strangers forced into a ridiculous situation. The tension between us feels like it could snap at any moment. Finally, Tom leans back, crossing his arms, and oh boy, the muscles again. I was not prepared for such a sight, and I’ve seen this man half naked, for crying out loud!

“Listen, Clara,” he says. “It’s a big villa. I’ll just take the room and I’ll make sure to stay out of your hair. You do your thing, I’ll do mine. Easy.”

“Easy,” I repeat, lifting one shoulder casually, in the most nonchalant way I know how. Even though I’m feeling very chalant right now. I stand a little straighter, folding my arms to match his stance. “Except that I was here first, so you know, the room is mine.”

He raises an eyebrow but nods. “Okay.”

All right, easy it is, it seems.

“And I like to have breakfast alone,” I blurt outquickly. “It’s my thing.” I inwardly cringe, because that’s not even remotely true, but just his mere energy makes me want to have the last word.

He snorts, though there’s no real humor behind it. “Fine.”

I stare at him. More like glare. And he responds in kind, his light brown eyes studying my face intently. His gaze moves from my eyes to my lips, then back, blinking for a moment before looking away.

He’s handsome. In thatrugged, I work behind a desk and get paid good money to say things likecircle back, andwe need alignment, andmake sure you secure the fundsway. I want to snort at my own joke, because there’s nothing rugged about him, but there’s totally a corporate,finance brovibe emanating from those muscles.

And then I catch myself looking at him with my stupid, dangerous heart eyes, and I stop. Because this is what happens to me, and then disaster comes knocking. So instead, I huff and turn around, frustrated at myself, and make really sure I get the last word in. “Yep, take it or leave it, my dude.”

4

CLARA

My body is freezing cold.The kind that creeps into your bones, that pulls you out of a deep sleep and forces you to pay attention to the way your toes are curling up for warmth. I tug the blanket tighter around myself, but that does nothing to help. Every breath I take is visible in the dim moonlight filtering through the curtains, as if I’d forgotten the actual window open instead of the blackout drapes. I blink into the darkness, and it takes a minute before I realize what is wrong.

My room feels like a freezer.

I lie there for a second, groggy and disoriented, trying to figure out if I’m still dreaming. But when I exhale again and see another puff of my breath inthe air, I know I’m not. I shiver as I sit up, the cold air biting at my skin like I’m outside in the snow rather than wrapped up in the most comfortable bed I’ve slept in in years. My fingers fumble for my phone on the nightstand, and the clock reads 2:14 AM.

Wonderful.

The blanket offers no relief from the biting chill, so I throw on my cardigan and grab my wool socks from the floor, yanking them on with cold, clumsy hands. The villa is silent except for the distant hum of a fan that can’t possibly be the heating system since I’m freezing cold. My breath fogs up in front of me again as I stand up, my body protesting the cold.

---