Page 19 of The Proximity Effect

When he emerged, he was carrying... a can of coffee? My eyebrows shot up. I hadn’t spotted any beverages in there. Then again, with how this day was going, finding hidden coffee was probably the least surprising twist yet.

“Can you keep a secret?” He reached for two spoons from the nearby bin of clean utensils before moving to the prep station in the middle of the kitchen.

I blinked. “I once kept quiet about my cousin’s third secret wedding for six months, so I’d say I’m pretty good at it.”

A faint smile ghosted his lips as he opened the can and revealed what he’d gotten from the freezer. He pulled out a container of premium ice cream. “I can’t keep it in the cabin. They’d find it and eat it all.”

“You’re hiding contraband ice cream in the kitchen?” A laugh bubbled out of me.

“It’s not contraband if I paid for it.” His eyes held a glimmer of amusement, and for a second, I caught a glimpse of what he was really like behind his suit; less buttoned-up and more willing to break small rules for the sake of dessert.

“Uh-huh.” I hopped up onto the metal prep station, letting my legs dangle. The cool surface seeped through my pants, a welcome relief after hours on my feet. “And does this purchase show up in the resort’s accounting records?”

He handed me a spoon. “That’s classified information.”

“Oh my God, you’re embezzling ice cream.” The mental image of Archer sneaking around with frozen dairy products like a dessert secret agent was hilarious. It was probably the most endearing thing I’d witnessed all day, which was saying something considering I’d watched him fumble through plating earlier.

“Do you want some or not?” He held the container out of reach, wielding it like a bargaining chip.

I made grabby hands at it. “Yes, please. I won’t tell anyone about your dairy-based crimes.”

He opened the container, revealing creamy vanilla bean ice cream. The sweet scent made my mouth water.

“Is this how you soften the blow of bad news? Because I have to tell you, it’s working.” I took the ice cream from him and dug my spoon in. The container had no label, and with how smoothly the ice cream glided onto my spoon, I could tell he’d gone to a specialty shop for it.

I handed the container back and put the spoon in my mouth, savoring the silky-smooth texture as it melted on my tongue. The vanilla was the real deal, with tiny black specks dotting the cream, none of that artificial extract nonsense. The kind of ice cream that belonged in a crystal dish at a fancy dinner party, not eaten straight from the container in a commercial kitchen late at night. Although, that somehow made it taste even better.

He watched me, and I wanted to squirm under his scrutiny. “I eat ice cream when I’m stressed, so it’s mostly nightly these days.” He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe he shared that. “They left the final decision up to me.”

I took another spoonful of ice cream. If he was going to tell me no, I was going to eat as much of it as possible before he squirreled it away. “So why are you sharing your secret stress stash with me?”

“Maybe I wanted to see if you could be trusted with classified information.” The way he said it was perfectly measured, and I couldn’t tell if he was being serious or joking.

I pointed my spoon at him, watching a drop of melted vanilla slide down the handle. “Are you lawyer-ing me right now? With ice cream?”

“Would I do that?” His innocent expression wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all me. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“Yes, absolutely you would. But the joke’s on you because this ice cream is too good for me to care about your ulterior motives.”

He leaned against the counter next to me, and I suddenly became very aware of how alone we were in the kitchen… and how the simple act of sharing ice cream was strangely intimate.

“If we were to offer you the position, how long could you stay?”

I swallowed another spoonful of ice cream, buying time to organize my thoughts. “Well, considering I’m currently staying with my parents, and I quit my personal chef job…” I waggled my hand in a so-so gesture. “I’m pretty flexible. Time-wise. Not physically flexible. Though I am that too.”

He didn’t even react to my word vomit. “And hours?”

“I’d prefer dinner service for now, but I’ll help create breakfast and lunch menus that are simple enough for your current staff to execute without causing an internationalculinary incident. No more ranch-covered pasta crimes against humanity.”

He went quiet, and the silence made me worry that it wasn’t what he’d wanted me to say. So, of course, in true Tessa fashion, I managed to fumble my spoon while trying to get my next bite. It clattered against the metal counter and onto the floor.

I went to slide off the counter, but Archer’s hand shot out, landing on my knee to stop me. The warmth of his palm seeped through my pants, sending little sparks of awareness up my thigh. I froze, suddenly very aware of how close he was standing.

Our eyes met, and something shifted in the air between us. Without breaking eye contact, he dipped his spoon in the ice cream and brought it to my lips.

Despite my body going haywire, I managed to open my mouth, letting him feed me. The cold sweetness hit my tongue, a stark contrast to the heat blooming under my skin where his hand was on my knee. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had fed me anything… probably not since I was three and my mom was trying to coax me into eating peas. This was definitely, absolutely, completely different from that.

I took the spoon from him, our fingers touching briefly, and scooped up some ice cream. His eyes darkened as I offered him the bite, and I watched, mesmerized, as his lips closed around the spoon.

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