Page 8 of Misbooked for Love

I let out an incredulous laugh, the sound escaping before I can stop it. “Oh, is that what we’re calling itnow? Because I distinctly remember being here first. And I probably can get you some receipts.”

He snorts and his gaze finds my lips. It catches me off guard, and I feel my cheeks heat. Is he…flirting? No, probably not. But still, there’s something different here, something warmer that throws me off balance. I latch on to it, curious despite myself. “Why didn’t you just… I don’t know, yell at me or something? You seemed more annoyed than surprised.”

He shrugs, leaning back and crossing his arms. “I’ve been living out of hotels and rental places for months. Mistakes happen. I figured you’d freak out and leave. But you didn’t. You stayed. That was… unexpected.”

The admission lands heavier than I anticipate, and I find myself holding his gaze a second too long before glancing away and looking into the fireplace.Unexpected.Yeah, he has no idea.

“Well, I don’t scare easily.” I meet his gaze, and for the first time, it feels like we’re on even ground. “And I was promised a solo adventure. Not an adventure with the prickliest man in town.”

His smile lingers, softer now, and I see a flicker of understanding there, an unspoken acknowledgement of our shared annoyances. It’s not friendship, not by a long shot, but it’s something.

“I’m not usually like this,” he says, almost to himself. “Just… been a long year.”

“It’s only February,” I say with a laugh. “But I get it.” I sink into the armchair opposite him, feeling the weight of my own few years settle on my shoulders. “I’m not usually this snippy either. But this year’s been… well, weird.”

Tom raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Weird how?”

I hesitate, but his question doesn’t feel invasive, just curious. Like a little deeper small talk you would have with your local barista. “I had this plan, you know? Go on a trip, disconnect, figure things out. I’ve been running on autopilot for a while—work, relationships, just…life. Thought I’d take a break and maybe find whatever it is I've been missing.” I glance at him, suddenly self-conscious. “Not that it’s working out exactly how I planned.”

He nods, absorbing my words, and for a moment, the tension between us dissolves, replaced by something quieter, more understanding. “Sometimes you just need to get away from it all, even if it’s just to figure out what the hell you’re doing. The forest for the trees and whatnot.”

I smile, the warmth in his tone surprising me, yet again. It’s the most real moment we’ve shared since this whole mess started, and I feel a small flicker of something that wasn’t there before—maybe it’s understanding, or maybe it’s just relief that he’s not the one-dimensional jerk I’d painted him as.

“Well,” I say, pushing up from the chair, “at leastwe’ve got a good view while we figure it out.” I nod toward the window, where the mountains are bathed in the last light of day, snow glistening like a scene from a fairytale.

He follows my gaze, his eyes softening at the sight. “Yeah,” he agrees, his voice quiet. “Could be worse.”

6

TOM

This entire triphas been one misstep after another, and my body’s still sore from that binding mishap on the slopes yesterday. I make my way over to the resort’s spa, slipping past the bustling lobby, and manage to book a massage with surprisingly little hassle. I’m assuming the majority of the guests spend their days skiing and show up for their massages after the lifts are closed, and the chances of the agenda being completely booked at midday are low.

Ten minutes later, I’m wrapped in a plush red robe and escorted into the dim, eucalyptus-scented waiting room. A small tabletop water feature sits in the corner, the only sound coming from the liquid hitting the flat stones at the bottom. I settle back on thechair, exhaling a long breath, trying to let the stress slip away.

A door opens slowly, and I assume it’s my massage therapist until I hear a familiar sigh—a sigh that’s been directed at me more than a handful of times in the past few days. I glance over, only to find Clara standing there in the same red robe I’m wearing, her face reflecting the same shock I feel.

She narrows her eyes at me. “What are you doing here?”

“Funny,” I say, sitting up straighter. “I was just about to ask you the same thing.”

She lets out an exasperated laugh. “You know?—”

Before she can retort, a cheerful spa attendant steps in, looking back and forth between us with a grin that tells me she’s fully bought into whatever Valentine’s Day marketing scheme the resort has been pushing.

“Welcome!” she chirps, so similar to that front desk woman that I actually start doubting if they’re not the same person. “Mr. and Mrs. Hall,” she says, looking between us.

Clara and I both sputter at the same time.

“No, no?—”

“We’re not—” I try to say.

The spa attendant just laughs and winks at me. “Oh, sorry! We just go by what’s in the system. Apologies for that.” There’s a big smile on her face and shelooks at me, like I’m hiding something and we are complicit in the same secret. “If you follow me, I’ll take you to your room.” She beams as though she’s announced a free vacation.

Clara’s cheeks flush, her jaw tightening as she looks at me, clearly frustrated. “There must be some mistake,” she says, indignation all over her face. I feel the same way, because these things can’t keep happening to us. “I just came here for a massage.”

I nod, my irritation matching her. “Same here. Can we just… fix this?”

---