Page 3 of The Proximity Effect

Archer’s expression remained professionally neutral. “The restaurant is excellent, though if you’re interested in hunting your own dinner, I’m sure we could arrange something.”

Was he... teasing me?

“No, no.” I waved my hand. “I’m good with regular dinner. Prepared by professionals. In a kitchen. Far away from any weapons or wildlife.”

A young woman behind the front desk caught my attention, trying very hard to hide her smile as she watched our exchange. Great. I’d been here less than five minutes and was already the resort’s latest source of entertainment.

Archer guided me to the counter with his hand hovering over the small of my back. He wasn’t touching me, but he might as well have been; I could practically feel his energy coming off that hand.

“Welcome to Sterling Pines Resort. What name is your reservation under?” The woman started typing on her computer, her manicured nails clicking against the keys with practiced efficiency.

I swallowed hard. “Um... It will be under Pierce, but I’m Tessa... Callahan. Ms. Callahan.” I forced a smile that probably looked more like a grimace. “There is no more Pierce.” The words came out sounding pathetically similar to how I’d practiced them in my bathroom mirror for the past few weeks, like a sad little mantra of independence.

Archer’s eyebrow ticked up slightly at that, but he mercifully said nothing as he handed my bags over to a waiting bellhop. I couldn’t decide if his silence was worse than whatever commentary he might have offered. At least the bellhop had thedecency to look completely uninterested in my romantic status, focusing instead on arranging my luggage on his cart like a competitive Tetris player.

“Ah, and I see you’ve booked the… deluxe honeymoon suite.” She gave me a tight smile. “Would you like to change rooms?”

“Absolutely not. It is one of your best, and I totally deserve it after the hell… sorry. There I go again.” I put my hand against my forehead, hoping I’d have a fever to explain the word vomit I was spewing. “The deluxe honeymoon suite is perfect.”

If it was perfect for a married couple, it would be doubly perfect for a single woman.

Chapter 2

Mount Never-Should-Have-Come-Here

Tessa

The bellhop swung open the door to my suite, and I immediately understood why the front desk clerk had offered to change my room. This wasn’t merely a honeymoon suite; this was like Cupid had projectile-vomited all over a luxury apartment.

“Your bags, Ms. Callahan.” He set them by a heart-shaped monstrosity masquerading as a bed. The website had shown a normal, king-sized, bed. This... this looked like something out of a 1970s romance movie, complete with pink satin bedding that probably made swishy sounds when you moved.

I tipped him generously because anyone who had to deliver luggage to this love shrine deserved hazard pay and waited until the door clicked shut before letting out a long sigh.

At least there weren’t any mirrors on the ceiling. I looked up to make sure.

The add-ons I’d ordered almost a year ago were dutifully arranged on a small table: a bottle of champagne in a bucketof mostly melted ice, chocolate-covered strawberries on a heart-shaped plate, and rose petals scattered everywhere. The cleaning staff was going to hate me.

Ignoring all of it, I made my way to the floor-to-ceiling windows that dominated the far wall. A glass door led to a private balcony, and beyond that... my breath caught.

The view was spectacular. Snow fell softly against the backdrop of mountains, their peaks disappearing into low-hanging clouds. The lake below reflected the last rays of sunlight, creating an otherworldly glow that made my chest tight. It was the kind of view that reminded you how small you were in the grand scheme of things.

I pressed my hand against the cold glass. Declan wouldn’t have appreciated this anyway. He would have been too busy checking his phone, making sure the carefully planned schedule wasn’t disrupted by something as inconvenient as natural beauty.

“We don’t share the same vision for the future, Tessa.”His words echoed in my head, delivered with a patience he used with difficult clients.“You’re talking about opening a restaurant. That’s not the life we planned.”

No, it wasn’t the lifehehad planned. Somewhere between being his personal chef and planning dinner parties for his clients, I’d lost sight of my own dreams. Or I’d gotten really good at ignoring them.

My stomach growled loudly, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten since the sad airport sandwich six hours ago. The champagne caught my eye, and well, why not?

I poured myself a glass, grimacing at the tepid temperature. “Here’s to sharing no one’s vision but my own,” I toasted to the mountains, taking a sip of the underwhelming alcohol.

Grabbing a chocolate-covered strawberry, I bit into it and immediately regretted my decision. The chocolate had thatdistinct burnt taste that came from being heated for too long, and the strawberry itself was somehow both mushy and hard.

I spluttered, looking for somewhere to spit it out that wasn’t the pristine carpet. I ended up racing to the bathroom, which had rose petals in the jacuzzi tub and was surrounded by electric candles.

“Seriously?” I asked my reflection in the mirror after disposing of the offensive strawberry. “Who enjoys this?”

My reflection had no answer, but my stomach growled again, more insistently this time. Right. Real food. That was what I needed. Not burnt chocolate, not room-temperature champagne, and definitely not a pity party in a room that looked like Valentine’s Day threw up in it.

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