Page 22 of Misbooked for Love

Clara’s eyes meet mine, and she nods slowly, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “She’s lucky to have you.”

I shrug, feeling a familiar pang of guilt. “I don’tknow about that. Half the time, I feel like I’m just screwing it all up.”

“You’re not,” Clara says firmly, her fingers squeezing mine. “You’re doing the best you can, and that’s all anyone can ask for.”

I swallow hard, her words hitting me in a way I wasn’t expecting. There’s a vulnerability in her voice, a quiet kind of strength that makes me realize just how much I needed to hear that. I pull her closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead, and she melts into me, her warmth seeping into my bones.

“You ever wonder why we met?” I ask, my voice muffled against her hair. “Like, what the hell kind of twist of fate brought us here?”

Clara laughs softly, her breath tickling my chest. “Oh, I’ve stopped trying to figure that out. I’ve decided the universe is just messing with me at this point.”

“Probably,” I agree, my fingers tracing lazy circles on her back. “But I’m glad it did. Mess with you, I mean.”

She tilts her head up to look at me, her eyes searching mine. “Yeah,” she says, her voice barely audible. “Me, too.”

15

CLARA

The morning lightseeps through the cracks in the curtains, painting soft lines across the bed and illuminating the room in a hazy, golden glow. I blink against the brightness, my mind still foggy with the remnants of sleep and the warm weight of Tom’s arm draped over my waist. His breath is even, soft against the back of my neck, and for a moment, I let myself just lie there, sinking into the comfort of his presence.

This isn’t how I imagined waking up this morning. In fact, I didn’t imagine waking up next to him at all. But here we are, tangled up in each other, the sheets twisted around our legs like they’re trying to keep us from moving, from breaking whatever spell this is.

I shift slightly, trying not to wake him, but his armtightens around me, pulling me closer, and I can feel the steady beat of his heart against my back. I close my eyes, biting back a smile. It feels good—too good—and that’s the part that scares me. I’ve been here before, in this space between hope and reality, and I’ve been burned more times than I can count.

But Tom isn’t like the others. He’s different. I knew that from the first moment he offered me coffee in the kitchen, his asshole exterior hiding something softer, something real. And last night, when he looked at me like I was the only person in the world, I believed it. I believed him.

I turn in his arms, careful not to disturb him, and find myself face-to-face with a version of Tom I haven’t seen before—soft, unguarded, still asleep with his hair a tousled mess and his stubble shadowing his jaw. He looks younger like this, all the worries and stress smoothed out, and it hits me just how vulnerable this moment is, sharing this space with me.

I reach out, my fingers tracing the curve of his cheek, and his eyes flutter open, sleepy and unfocused. For a second, he just blinks at me, like he’s not quite sure if I’m real or if he’s still dreaming, and then his lips curl into a slow, lazy smile.

“Hey,” he says, his voice thick with sleep, and there’s something so endearing about the way he says it, like it’s the first word he’s everspoken.

“Hey,” I whisper back, my thumb brushing over his bottom lip. “Did you sleep okay?”

He nods, stretching like a contented cat, his muscles rippling under the sheets. “Yeah. Best sleep I’ve had in a while.”

“Same,” I admit, and it’s the truth. “And this coming from a flight attendant that is regularly sleep deprived and can, almost literally, fall asleep anywhere.”

I look at him, my eyes moving to study his face in the early morning light. I can’t remember the last time I felt this at ease, this…safe. It’s a strange feeling, and I don’t know what to do with it.

Tom shifts, propping himself up on one elbow to look at me, and his eyes are bright and curious. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

I laugh softly, shaking my head. “Nothing. Everything. I don’t know.” I bite my lip, feeling suddenly shy under his gaze. “Just…thinking.”

“About?” he prompts his thumb tracing idle circles on my hip.

I hesitate, chewing on my bottom lip as I try to find the right words. “This. What happens after.”

The questions hangs between us, heavy and unavoidable, and Tom’s smile fades, replaced by something more serious. “I’ve been thinking about that, too.”

I nod, swallowing hard. “This is… This is temporary, right? We go back to our lives, and this is just a nice—super nice,” I say with a smile, “memory.”

Tom’s brow furrows, and he looks at me like he’s trying to figure something out, like he’s weighing his options. “It doesn’t have to be.”

My heart skips a beat, and I force myself to look away, my gaze fixed on the sliver of sunlight creeping across the floor. I wonder if he got up last night to close the blinds before we drifted off to sleep. “Tom, you have a life. A daughter. I’m just… I’m just a detour.”

“You’re not a detour,” he says, his voice firm, and I can feel his eyes on me, burning with intensity. “You’re not some pit stop on my way back to reality. You’re—” He pauses, struggling to find the words, and when he finally speaks, his voice is quieter, more vulnerable. “Maybe you’re exactly what I didn’t know I needed.”

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