Page 22 of The Proximity Effect

I paid and moved to the side to wait. The place wasn’t busy yet, and I was grateful I could zone out for a few minutes.

I was lost in thought when someone crashed into my arm, nearly spilling their coffee. “Oh God, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t—Archer?”

Tessa. Because, of course, it was Tessa. I hadn’t been tortured enough lately.

Her eyes widened as they swept from my head to my toes and back up again, a blush creeping across her cheeks. “You’re wearing jeans. And a hoodie. And a baseball hat. Obviously, you’re wearing clothes. Not that I was thinking about you without... I meant... Do you ever wear it backward? The hat. Not that you should. Or shouldn’t. Shit. I really need to work on not doing this. It’s very unattractive.”

Something warm and dangerous unfurled in my chest at her rambling. It was... cute. The kind of cute that made me want to see what other adorably flustered things she might say. Which was exactly the kind of thought I needed to squash immediately, preferably with the same ruthless efficiency I applied to everything else in my life.

“Mr. Blackwell, here’s your large sugar-free vanilla almond milk latte, extra shot, with light foam, one and a half pumps of sugar-free vanilla, and a sprinkle of cinnamon,” the barista called out. I reached for the drink, grateful for the distraction, even as part of me wanted to see how long Tessa would keep going with that hat tangent.

Tessa’s eyebrows shot up, her lips quirking into a smile. “Wow. First the ice cream and now a complicated drink order?” She tilted her head, studying me like I was a puzzle she was determined to solve. As if my coffee preferences were somehow the key to unlocking all my carefully guarded secrets.

“It’s not complicated.” I cradled my perfectly crafted drink like it was a shield between us.

I should walk away. I should absolutely not do what I was about to do. Every instinct screamed at me to make my excuses and retreat to a safe distance. But apparently, my mouth had developed a mind of its own when it came to Tessa Callahan.

“Would you like to join me?” The words tumbled out before I could stop them, and I genuinely didn’t understand what was happening to me. This wasn’t part of any plan. “To discuss last night,” I added quickly, as if tacking on a business reason somehow made it less obvious that I wanted to spend more time studying the way her eyes lit up when she smiled. Or the way she managed to make even the simple act of holding a coffee cup look graceful. God, I was in trouble.

Tessa’s fingers tightened around her cup, and for a moment, I thought she’d refuse. “I suppose we should talk about it.”

I led the way to a quiet corner table, choosing one partially hidden behind a large potted plant. The early morning sun streamed through the windows, catching the steam rising from our cups and creating a dreamy haze between us. Before sitting down, I reached up and deliberately turned my baseball cap backward, watching Tessa’s reaction from the corner of my eye.

Her mouth fell open slightly, and I had to bite back a smile. I wasn’t usually one for playing games, but something about the way she’d rambled about the hat earlier made me want to see what would happen. I took a long, slow drink from my coffee, letting my tongue dart out to catch a stray drop from my lip.

Tessa’s eyes followed the movement, her own coffee forgotten in her hands. A flush crept up her cheeks, and I felt a surge of masculine satisfaction at having caused it. It was juvenile and completely beneath me, but I couldn’t deny the thrill of watching her squirm.

“What brings you into town so early?” I acted perfectly casual, as if I hadn’t deliberately tried to short-circuit her brain.

She blinked rapidly, like she was coming out of a trance. “I, uh... couldn’t sleep. Too many thoughts. Plus, there’s a bakery down the street I wanted to check out as a potential vendor.” Her fingers drummed against her cup. “I know we haven’t discussed any specifics about me working at the resort yet, but I figured it couldn’t hurt to make some connections.”

“You would be reforming them… that bakery used to be a vendor for the resort.” I kept my expression neutral but could tell from the way her face softened that I didn’t do a good job. Was I losing my face of steel, or was it only around her?

“Do I even want to know why they’re no longer a vendor?” She leaned forward, trying to piece together another part of the puzzle that was Sterling Pines and, by extension, me.

“Probably not. Stupid decisions fueled by grief and anger.” I shrugged, fiddling with the sleeve of my cup. “I wasn’t exactly in the best headspace for making rational business decisions when I first got here.”

I wanted to spill my guts to this woman, which was both terrifying and completely foreign to me. The urge to tell her everything about why three grown men were sharing a cabin like some twisted summer camp experiment pressed against my chest. Me, the guy who preferred communicating exclusively through email and text to avoid small talk.

As if sensing my discomfort, she slid her hand toward my drink. “Can I... would it be okay if I tried your drink? It’s such an interesting combination.”

I slid my cup across the table, not trusting myself to hand it to her directly. Our fingers brushing right now would be dangerous territory.

She lifted the cup to her lips and took a small sip. The sound she made was somewhere between a moan and a sigh, and it shot straight through me like an electric current. Her eyes closed in pleasure, and I had to grip the edge of the table to keep fromdoing something incredibly stupid, like yanking her across it and finding out if she’d make that sound again if I kissed her.

The image of her sprawled across my desk at the resort flashed through my mind, and I mentally slapped myself. This was exactly the kind of thinking I needed to shut down. Now.

“About last night…” My voice came out rougher than intended, and I cleared my throat and tried again. “I want to apologize for my unprofessional behavior.”

Her eyes snapped open, the dreamy expression replaced by confusion. “Oh?”

“If you’re going to come on as our chef, even temporarily, we need to maintain appropriate boundaries.” The words were like sawdust in my mouth, but they needed to be said. “What happened in the kitchen was a lapse in judgment that won’t be repeated.”

I watched the light dim slightly in her eyes, and I immediately wanted to take back my words. But this was the right thing to do. The smart thing. The safe thing.

“Right.” She straightened in her seat and slid my drink back across the table. “Of course. Completely professional. I understand completely. It would be... inappropriate... to mix business and pleasure.”

The way she said “pleasure” made me want to throw all my carefully constructed rules out the window, but I held firm. “Exactly. I’m glad we understand each other.”

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