Misbooked for Love

Chapter 8

8

TOM

I’ve been staring at the coffee pot for what feels like an eternity, trying to shake off the tension from last night. There’s a heaviness in my chest that wasn’t there before, a lingering charge that refuses to let me go.

Clara hasn’t come out of her room yet, and I’m half relieved, half disappointed. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to her after the way we left things. That moment sitting on the bench watching whatever that parade was, the way her body felt pressed against mine—it’s been on a loop in my head since I got back. The softness of her skin, the hitch in her breath when I caught her before she fell. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it, and it’s messing with my head.

The villa feels too quiet, the kind of quiet that only highlights how alone I’ve been, how much I’ve been missing. It’s a stark contrast to the noise of my usual life—press conferences, crowds, the constant hum of expectation. But here, it’s just me and my thoughts, and lately, those thoughts have been wrapped around the gorgeous blonde more than I care to admit.

I hear her door open, the soft click of it pulling me out of my head. Clara steps down the stairs and into the kitchen, her hair slightly tousled, wearing an oversized sweater that looks like it’s swallowing her whole. She pauses when she sees me and clears her throat. “Hi,” she says, her voice tentative, as if she’s testing the waters.

“Hi,” I reply, trying to keep my tone light and casual, like nothing’s changed. But it has. I can feel it in the way she’s avoiding my gaze, her focus on the coffee pot instead of me.

We stand there in silence, tension hanging heavy in the air between us. I should say something, make a joke, anything to break this awkwardness, but my mouth feels like it’s filled with lead. She makes herself a cup of coffee, her movements slow, deliberate, and for a moment, it’s like we’re strangers all over again.

“I’m going to?—”

“About last night?—”

We both speak up at the same time, but I shut my mouth immediately, because it was clearly the last thing Clara wanted to hear. She recoils, walking backwards with her mug clutched against her chest. “I’m taking a ski lesson today. Gotta run.”

I watch her retreat, her footsteps quick and purposeful as she moves towards the stairs, but there’s a slight tremble in her hand that gives her away. Clara is not as put together as she’s pretending to be, and that flicker of vulnerability—the one she’s trying so hard to hide—only makes my chest tighten more.

“Clara, wait—” I start, but she’s already in her room, the sound of the door closing echoing through the villa. The silence that follows is deafening, the kind that digs in deep and won’t let go. I’m left standing there, my coffee untouched, staring at the space where she’d been just moments before, her scent still lingering in the air—something floral and soft, like jasmine.

I take a long breath, running a hand through my hair, trying to pull myself together. This was supposed to be simple. Just a few days away from work, a chance to clear my head, spend quality time with my daughter and figure out what the hell I’m doing with my life. But now, it feels like everything’s been flipped on its head, and it’s all because of her. Clara, with her bright eyes and easy laugh, her habit of walking into a room and lighting it up without even trying.

I head to the living room, slumping onto the couch, the weight of it all pressing down on me. It’s ridiculous how quickly this got complicated, how fast she’s gotten under my skin. I can’t remember the last time I felt this way—like I was right on the edge of something I couldn't quite control, something that could either be the best or the worst thing to happen to me.

After what feels like hours, I grab my jacket and head outside. I need the cold air, the sting of winter biting at my skin, something to jolt me out of this mess in my head. All my attention should be on my daughter or my career path, but I can’t even manage a simple call with her without turning my head and looking for Clara everywhere.

The snow crunches under my boots as I make my way down the trail towards the lobby. The sky is gray and heavy, the kind that promises more snow, and for once, the idea of getting lost in it doesn’t seem so bad.

I stand out on the back patio for a bit, scrolling through my work emails and endless messages, catching up on the few photos Erin sent me of their staycation in the snow. It seems ironic, that all I wanted was to take some time with my daughter and bring her to the snow and, unintentionally, my ex-wife got to do that.

And that pisses me off even more, because it was supposed to be my plan. It was my idea.

I push off the railing and start walking toward the bunny slope, where a group of adults are going up the magic carpet, the slow, outdoor conveyor that takes them up the hill, and then down the beginner run trying to grasp the basics of skiing. And it’s unmistakable—Clara’s hair flapping in the wind behind her, an exhilarated yell as she makes her way down the tiny hill.

“You’re doing great,” I call out, my voice light, trying to keep it casual. She glances over, surprised to see me standing there, but she doesn’t say anything. Her skis keep sliding in my direction and panic covers her face.

“Tom,” she starts, but she’s cut off as her ski slips out from under her, sending her stumbling forward. I reach out instinctively, catching her around the waist before she can hit the ground. It’s a familiar feeling now, the way her body fits against mine, the warmth of her even through the layers of winter gear.

We’re close again, too close, and it’s like everything else falls away—the resort, the snow, the lingering voices of the other skiers. It’s just her, pressed up against me, her breath hitching as she steadies herself.

“You okay?” I ask, my voice rougher than I intend.

She nods, but she doesn’t pull away immediately, her hands lingering on my arms as if she’s not ready to let go. “Yeah. I’m just… Sorry.”

Our eyes meet, and there’s that spark again, that magnetic pull that’s been there since the first time we met, simmering under the surface. I don’t know what to say, don’t know how to navigate this without making things worse, but the silence between us is charged, crackling with everything we’re not saying.

“Clara,” I start, my grip on her waist tightening just slightly, but she slides back, putting space between us. Her movements are awkward and almost like a baby giraffe with her skis on, and it takes her a while to finally turn away from me.

“I should—” she stammers, glancing back between her instructor and me. The group is all looking in our direction, waiting for her to join them. “I should get back.”

I step back, my hands dropping to my sides as she straightens, brushing something invisible from her jacket. She doesn’t look at me right away, instead focusing on adjusting her skis and avoiding the gaze of the instructor waiting a few yards away.

“Thanks for catching me,” she mutters, her voice barely audible over the low hum of skiers slowly gliding by. There’s a group of tiny children giggling close by, and their laughter and shrieks of amusement pierce the air.

“Anytime,” I reply, shrugging like it’s no big deal. But it feels bigger than I want it to. The accidental touches, the way her eyes linger just a little too long, the strange pull that’s been building between us—it’s all starting to crack through the walls I’ve put up. Since my marriage was over, and my focus was on my career and providing for my daughter.

Clara finally meets my gaze, her eyes sharp but softened by something I can’t identify. “Don’t get used to it,” she says, the corners of her mouth turning up ever so slightly. “I’m not planning on falling again.”

“Sure you aren’t,” I reply, smirking. “But just in case, I’ll be around.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s a glint in them, a flicker of something playful, and for a moment, it feels like we’re teetering on the edge of something new. The instructor calls her over, breaking the moment, and she takes a small, shaky breath before nodding to him.

“See you later,” she says, her voice steady again, as if regaining her footing. She pushes off, turning her focus back to the hill, leaving me standing there with a strange sense of satisfaction—and the realization that maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t mind if she needed another hand to hold.