Page 68 of The Proximity Effect

“No schedules, no documents, no custody arrangements.” I returned my attention to the stove and put the last of the pancakes on a serving plate. “Now let’s sit down and eat before the food gets cold.”

We crowded around the small kitchen table, our knees bumping underneath. It should have been awkward, but it felt like we’d been doing this for a long time.

I had no idea how this would work long-term or if it even could. There were a million potential complications and probably twice as many ways it could all go wrong. But sitting there, wearing Archer’s shirt, eating breakfast with three men who looked at me like I was something precious, I couldn’t bring myself to care about any of that.

After breakfast, we all bundled up to face the winter wonderland outside. And by “bundled up,” I meant that I put on approximately seventeen layers while the guys threw on their jackets like the cold-immune mountain men they had apparently become.

Evan surveyed the pristine snowscape with a confidence that made ridiculous things sound totally reasonable. “It’s only three and a half feet of snow. We just need to build a ramp to get the snowmobiles up onto it.” He said this like he was suggesting we grab coffee, not construct an actual vehicle launch pad out of frozen water.

I stared at the wall of white before us, unimpressed. My nose was already going numb despite being buried in a scarf. “Only three and a half feet? That’s taller than some children!”

Liam leaned against the cabin’s covered porch, his ankle propped up as if to remind us all of his so-called injury. “Don’t worry. I’d help, but you know...” He gestured vaguely toward his foot, which had somehow healed enough for other activities over the past three days.

A snowball cut through the air with deadly accuracy, hitting Liam square in the chest with a satisfying thump. His mouth dropped open in betrayal as bits of snow crumbled down his coat.

Archer barely concealed his smirk, and I caught the mischievous glint in his eyes that made him not even look like himself. “Funny how that ankle didn’t seem to bother you last night when you were?—”

“Okay!” My cheeks burned despite the cold, and I threw my hands up like an overzealous crossing guard before Archer could finish that thought. “Let’s focus on the task at hand. How exactly does one build a snow ramp?” I genuinely wanted to know but also needed to change the subject before my face caught fire and melted all three feet of snow around us.

Evan was already shoveling. “First, we need to clear a path from under the awning. So, grab a shovel, Tessa.” He paused mid-motion, glancing at Liam. “Unless someone’s ankle is feeling better enough to help?”

Liam sighed dramatically before grabbing a shovel. “Fine. But if I re-injure myself, I’m holding you all personally responsible.” He moved with suspiciously perfect mobility, joining the effort.

We worked together—though “together” might be a stretch, considering how much snow ended up flying at each other rather than onto the growing ramp. I was trying to pack down a section when a well-aimed snowball from Archer smacked me in the back of the head.

“Oh, it’s on.” I abandoned my ramp-packing duties with zero regret, scooping up what I deemed the perfect handful of snow while slipping into MLB pitcher mode. But my supposedly perfect aim betrayed me, and the snowball curved, missing Archer completely and smacking Evan right in the ear. So much for my brief career as a snow sniper.

“Friendly fire!” Evan yelped, his mock outrage accompanied by the most devious grin I’d seen since my cousin crashed my tenth birthday party with a super soaker. Before I could apologize or defend myself, he’d somehow gotten behind me and shoved a handful of snow down the back of my jacket. The ice-cold shock sent me into an impromptu dance routine that would’ve gone viral on TikTok.

I shrieked, doing my best impression of a coffee-fueled jumping bean as I twisted and shook to dislodge the rapidly melting snow. “That’s cheating!” The freezing trickle down my spine made me regret at least three of my seventeen layers, which were now doing an excellent job of trapping the melting snow against my skin.

Liam grinned, already gathering more snow. “All’s fair in love and snowball fights.” Without hesitation, he pelted both Evan and Archer with rapid-fire snow projectiles.

Forty-five minutes and one full-scale snow war later, we finally had something resembling a ramp.

Archer brushed snow off his gloves with a thoroughness that was so unnecessary it made me wonder if he was stalling. “Tessa can ride with me.” He fished his keys from his pocket.

Evan’s face contorted into an expression of pure theatrical offense, as if Archer had suggested we swap the snow for pink glitter—although he’d probably really like that. “I don’t think so.”

I fought the urge to point out that I was standing right there, perfectly capable of making my own decisions about whose waist I’d be clinging to for the whole two minutes it would take to get to the resort.

“You rode with her last night.” Liam crossed his arms over his chest, his puffy winter coat making the gesture look more marshmallow than menacing. The way they were discussing my seating arrangements reminded me of my sister and me arguing over who got the front seat on the way to school.

Archer looked supremely unimpressed. “I believe I have seniority here.” The slight quirk at the corner of his mouth suggested he knew exactly how ridiculous this conversation was becoming.

“We could race for it.” Liam’s eyes suddenly lit up in a way that usually preceded someone saying, “Hold my beer.”

“Absolutely not.” Archer and I spoke in perfect sync, our shared horror creating an impromptu duet. The last thing we needed was a competitive snow sprint ending with someone wrapped around a tree.

Evan tapped his chin thoughtfully, his gloved finger leaving little dots of snow on his face. “Rock, paper, scissors?”

I watched in disbelief as three grown men engaged in an intense round of rock, paper, scissors. Evan emerged victorious, paper covering both Archer’s and Liam’s rocks.

Liam frowned at his hand like it had betrayed him. “That’s statistically improbable to win the first two out of three.”

“Don’t be a sore loser. It’s improbable but not impossible.” Evan, looking far too pleased with himself, handed me a helmet. “Your chariot awaits, my lady.”

Securing the helmet, I climbed onto the back of Evan’s snowmobile, wrapping my arms around his waist. “Try not to crash.”

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