Page 7 of The Proximity Effect

“Four point four?” I whispered in horror, nearly choking on my water. How do you drop half a point in three months?

I scrolled to the most recent reviews, and oh boy, was this better than my current romance novel:

“Two stars - Honeymoon Suite, more like Honey-DOOM Suite. Tacky décor that looks nothing like the photos. It was like I was sleeping inside a Valentine’s Day card from a serial killer. If I wanted to celebrate my marriage in a heart-shaped pink bed, I would have called up my niece and borrowed her room.”

(At least I wasn’t alone in my assessment of the room.)

“Three stars - Used to be amazing, but the recent visit was disappointing. Food was barely edible and tasted microwaved. I know food is all-inclusive, but damn. What happened to the chef?”

(Where was Gordon Ramsay when you needed him?)

“One star - We booked a couple’s massage. One masseuse showed up thirty minutes late, and the other one never came. Reception said they’re ‘restructuring their spa services.’ Save your money.”

(Mental note: cancel my couple’s spa appointment.)

“Four stars – A beautiful location, but services are hit or miss. Half the hot tubs were out of service. Shuttle service randomly canceled. Staff seems confused about who’s in charge.”

(Hit or miss was generous.)

“Two stars - Warning: DO NOT book the Honeymoon Suite unless you want to feel like you’re trapped inside the 80s. Also, jets in the tub didn’t work, and they charge fifteen dollars for a handful of nuts!”

(Hey, I think I found my soulmate.)

I sat back, processing this information while absently twirling a strand of my hair. The resort was hemorrhaging stars faster than a Hollywood celebrity after a scandal. And wasn’t that perfect? It was par for the course that I’d end up at a resort that was falling apart, much like my own life.

Maybe we were kindred spirits, Sterling Pines and I—both of us trying to maintain a glossy exterior while everything crumbled behind the scenes. At least the resort had the excuse of apparent mismanagement. My excuse was spectacularly bad choices and an ex who’d mastered the art of crushing dreams while calling it being practical.

Either way, my two-week stay was starting to look less like a sad honeymoon replacement and more like a front-row seat to what Frank had accurately described as a three-legged horse attempting to win the Kentucky Derby.

And honestly? I was kind of here for it.

I stared at the boots in front of me like they were alien artifacts. “Are they supposed to feel like medieval torture devices?”

Booking snowboarding lessons had been a mistake. This was supposed to be a couple’s activity where Declan and I could enjoy a day on the slopes together. Instead, here I was doing something I never thought I’d do.

“They’re meant to be tight,” Liam, my reluctant-looking instructor, replied with all the enthusiasm of someone explaining tax law. He was devastatingly handsome in that “I could probably survive in the wilderness with just a pocketknife” kind of way, but his expression suggested he’d rather be wrestling bears than teaching me how to snowboard.

“Tight like ‘snug but comfortable’ or tight like ‘goodbye forever, circulation in my toes’?” I wiggled my feet, wondering if I’d ever feel them again. “Because right now I’m leaning toward the latter.”

He sighed, checking his watch for what had to be the fifth time in ten minutes. “They’re fine. Now, about your partner?—”

“Just me!” I chirped, perhaps a bit too brightly. “The other half of this couple’s package is... unavailable. Permanently. Well, not dead-permanently, just not-with-me-permanently.” I was babbling. Why was I babbling? “He’s probably already found a new perfect fiancée who wants two point five children and likes to attend to his every desire.”

Liam’s eyebrows shot up, and for a moment, something that might have been sympathy flickered across his face. Or gas. Hard to tell with the stoic mountain man vibe he had going on.

“Right.” He grabbed a board that looked way too small. “This is your practice board. It’s shorter than standard because you’re a beginner and—what are you doing?”

I had attempted to stand up while wearing the boots and nearly face-planted into a rack of helmets. “I’m testing my new center of gravity. Spoiler alert: I don’t have one anymore.”

Once I managed some semblance of balance, we made our way outside to a bunny hill’s smaller, less ambitious cousin. A few other beginners were scattered around, all managing to look more coordinated than I felt.

“Okay, first we’re going to practice strapping in.” Liam dropped the board onto the snow. “Left foot goes?—”

“Wait!” I interrupted, suddenly remembering a crucial detail. “I’m not sure which foot should go forward. I’m right-handed, if that helps?”

“It doesn’t.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’ll figure out if you’re regular or goofy?—”

“I’m definitely goofy,” I muttered, thinking about my display at the front desk earlier… and last night.

---