Page 4 of The Proximity Effect

I pulled out my phone to order room service, but the lack of cell service mocked me once again. The landline caught my eye, but the thought of talking to another human being right now felt like too much effort. Besides, I’d already humiliated myself enough for one day.

The minibar beckoned like a beacon of processed-food salvation. I grabbed everything that looked remotely filling: a bag of mixed nuts, some fancy potato chips, a chocolate bar, and a stick of jerky that was grass fed. My stomach wasn’t picky at this point.

I sat in a chair by the window, staring out as the snow fell, enjoying my fancy dinner. It was quite tasty, and I devoured everything in record time.

Dragging myself to the bathroom, I started filling the tub, determined to at least end this day warm and clean. My eyes landed on the minibar menu propped innocently against a display of aromatherapy bath salts. Who the hell puts the minibar menu in the bathroom next to the tub?

“Twenty dollars fornuts?” I screeched, snatching up the menu. “Eight dollars for acandy bar?”

I’d just eaten forty dollars’ worth of snacks. Forty. Dollars. That was like... four normal bags of nuts. Or two actual meals. Or one really nice bottle of wine that I desperately needed right now.

I hit the button for the jets in the tub. Nothing happened. I pressed it again, harder this time, as if sheer force would make it work. Still nothing. I jabbed at it repeatedly, giving all my frustration to the useless button. “Come. On. You. Overpriced. Piece. Of?—”

That’s when I caught sight of myself in the mirror and froze. There, on the back of my jeans, was a massive muddy streak from my earlier tumble. It looked exactly like I’d had an unfortunate accident while trying to scale Mount Never-Should-Have-Come-Here.

“No,” I whispered, horrified. “No, no, no.”

The events of the evening replayed in my mind: Archer helping me with my bags, Archer walking behind me into the lobby, Archer’s expensive-looking SUV with its pristine leather seats that I’d sat on for a good three minutes.

I slid down the wall to sit on the floor, which was probably covered in overpriced rose petals that would now be stuck to my mud-stained butt. “He thought I pooped my pants. The hot guy thought I POOPED MY PANTS.”

A hysterical laugh bubbled out of me. Because really, what was a little pants-pooping assumption between strangers? Especially when said stranger ran a resort with canceled shuttles, heart-shaped beds, and jacuzzi tubs that were fancy bathtubs with delusions of grandeur.

“You know what?” I stood up, pointing accusingly at the jet button. “You deserve that mud stain on your fancy car seat, Mr. Archer Whatever-Your-Last-Name-Is. You and your stupid broken jets and your forty-dollar snacks and your chocolate-covered lies masquerading as strawberries.”

The tub was full now, steam rising invitingly despite its jet-less state. I stripped off my mud-stained clothes, making a mental note to burn the jeans at the first opportunity.

As I sank into the hot water, I consoled myself with one thought: at least I’d never have to see Archer again. How often did the management interact with guests anyway?

The universe, I was sure, was already laughing at that assumption.

I woke up feeling surprisingly optimistic, considering I was cocooned in pink satin sheets that made me feel like a discount Barbie. The sun streaming through the windows painted the mountains in shades of gold and pink, making even the heart-shaped bed seem less tragic in the morning light.

I stretched my arms above my head, ready to try again. New day, new attitude, new... everything.

I dressed appropriately this time, pulling on thick leggings, a chunky sweater, and my snow boots. The sweater was one of my favorites, a cozy oatmeal-colored number that made me feel like I belonged in a cabin somewhere, sipping hot chocolate and living my best Hallmark movie life. Which, come to think of it, wasn’t too far off from my current situation, minus the picture-perfect romance.

No more prancing around in impractical outfits like some lost city girl who thought mountain life was an Instagram aesthetic. In my defense, it had been seventy degrees in San Diego when I began my journey.

My stomach growled, and I had never been so excited for breakfast. The website had raved about their award-winninglocally sourced ingredients, and I couldn’t wait for my taste buds to be pampered.

As I headed downstairs, I considered stopping at the front desk first, but getting some coffee and food was at the top of my list. Complaining about the room and lack of shuttle could wait until I was in a more agreeable mood.

The dining room was... quaint? This wasn’t what was shown in the pictures… I mean, itwas. It was the same space with large windows overlooking the landscape, but the tables were bare except for paper placemats and basic silverware wrapped in napkins. No tablecloths, no fresh flowers, not even a sad little candle.

“Just one?” the hostess asked, already grabbing a menu.

I nodded, trying not to look disappointed. The menu was a single sheet of printer paper with what looked like Comic Sans font. My inner food snob died a little.

“Your server will be right with you.” She left me to contemplate my severely limited breakfast options. Where were the eggs Benedict? The French toast?

When my food arrived, I stared at it in disbelief. The eggs had that tell-tale grainy texture that screamed, “I came from a box!” The bacon was uniformly straight and the kind that comes pre-cooked and only requires reheating in the microwave. The hash browns were those frozen patties fast-food restaurants served, and the toast... oh, the toast. It looked like it had gotten into a fight with the toaster and lost.

“Is everything okay?” The server had returned after ten minutes of me picking at my food.

“Fine,” I lied, because it wasn’t his fault the kitchen apparently thought they were feeding a prison camp instead of resort guests.

I pulled out my phone, connected to the resort’s WiFi, and pulled up their website. My jaw dropped. The entire restaurantsection was “Under Construction” with a note about “exciting changes coming soon.”

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