Misbooked for Love

Chapter 19

19

CLARA

The flight back home feels surreal. Not in the way that travel can sometimes feel like a blur, but in the way that nothing feels right. Like I’m living someone else’s life, one that no longer fits.

“Girl,” Sofía whispers in my ear. She’s crouched down in the aisle with her apron still on, the lights just barely out after the dinner service on this interminable redeye back to Buenos Aires. “What the hell happened to you? You look like shit.”

I met her during my first year as a flight attendant, having crossed paths with her during training, and later we had a few flights together very early on in our career. We became fast friends, bonding over funny passenger stories and failed relationship woes .

“Nothing,” I say, tucking the airplane-issued blanket tight around my shoulders. It’s freezing in the plane, always is, and somehow, I misplaced my hot water bottle at the hotel in Canada. Seems like a stupid metaphor for my life, if you ask me. “I’m cold.”

“ Aha, okay ,” she says, rolling her eyes so far back into her head that I’m afraid she’s going to faint. “ Ni vos te lo crees. What happened? ”

“I’ll tell you when we’re home,” I whisper now, trying to keep my mind off of Tom for the time being. It was a very dramatic day—from the moment he stepped away, the only thing on my mind was him. “When’s your next flight?”

“Not for five days,” she says. “Do you want to come over for dinner tomorrow? I should be rested after a nap.”

“Okay,” I say, with no intention of following through, but knowing quite well that she will barge into my parents’ house if I don’t text her back.

When I finally arrive home after what felt like the longest flight, I drop my suitcase in the entryway and glance around the house. It’s big but cozy, and usually makes me feel safe, but this morning it feels empty. With a sigh, I kick off my shoes, make myself a cup of coffee, and settle on the couch, clutching the mug Tom bought me from that little market like my life depends on it. I rub my thumb over its ceramic handle, and suddenly, memories flood back—the warmth of his hand, his laugh echoing across the room, the way he looked at me like I was all he wanted in the world.

For a moment, I consider calling him, just to hear his voice, to bridge the distance between us. But what would I say? I miss you? I think I might have fallen in love with you over these past few days? I’m not ready to admit that out loud yet—not to him, and maybe not even to myself.

For the rest of the day, I replay every stolen glance, every laugh, and every quiet moment, and it drives me insane. He’s like a shadow, following me around as I try to get back to my routine, reminding me of what I let slip away. And, if I’m being honest, what I wasn’t brave enough to fight for.

Instead, I call Sofía. If anyone can talk some sense into me, it’s her.

“Hey,” she answers, her voice a little groggy with sleep. It’s early evening now, but you can’t tell, the last of the long summer days still clinging. “Are you here?”

“No, just wanted to check if you were up.”

“I’m up,” she replies immediately. “Come over. The house’s a mess and I haven’t unpacked, but I have drinks, and we can order food, or go to the little restaurant you like around the corner.”

An hour later, I’m sitting across from Sofía in her living room, a glass of white wine in hand and a look of concern mixed with excitement on her face. “What the fuck happened in Canada?” she asks, lifting her knees to her chest and wrapping one arm around them. The other remains in the air, the glass of wine sloshing around with her enthusiasm.

I laugh, but it’s forced. “I met someone.”

“Yeah, no shit.” She laughs.

“Actually, more than met—let’s just say it’s…complicated.”

Sofía raises an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“His name is Tom, and he’s…” I take a deep breath. “Everything I didn’t expect to find on this trip. We’re so different, but somehow, it worked? But he’s got a whole life somewhere else, a daughter, and I have mine here. How could we possibly make this work?”

Sofía takes a sip of her wine, nodding thoughtfully. Her dark blonde hair moves with her and she narrows her green eyes at me. “So, you’re telling me you’re just going to give up because it’s complicated?”

“The whole thing with Santiag?—”

“No. I’m sorry, but no.” She drops her legs to the floor and sets her wine on the coffee table in front of her. For a brief second, I think she’s going to stand up and start pacing the length of the room, but instead, she turns to face me. “Fuck Santiago, and I mean it with all the love in the world. He was great, but he was an asshole and he didn’t handle things correctly. And listen, he was right about following his gut, so maybe you need to follow yours a little, too.”

I sigh, tracing the rim of my glass. “It’s not that simple,” I retort. “He has a family to think about, a business… Like, I can’t ask him to uproot everything to move here to just be with me. That’s silly.”

“You’re assuming he’d have to,” Sofía says, shrugging. “Have you considered that he might be feeling the exact same way as you? Look, Clara, I know you like stability and routine, especially after the few years you’ve had, but maybe it’s time to shake things up a bit. Take a risk. What’s the worst that could happen?”

I stare at her, the idea of it settling uncomfortably in my mind. Maybe she’s right. Maybe it’s worth the risk. But that doesn’t change the fact that there are things here I need to do before I can think about building something new with Tom.

“Let me see him,” she says as she extends her hand my way.

“No,” I say firmly, but smile in her direction. “You’re going to stalk him and then you’re going to start liking his old photos like a weirdo, and I don’t want to be associated with your lunatic behavior.”

Sofía cackles but sits next to me on the couch as I navigate to the app where I have his profile already pulled up. It’s mostly pictures of him when he was still playing polo, a few brand deals, and a very old picture of his small family from years ago when he was still married and Ellie was still a baby.

“Girl,” Sofía says with a gasp and settles deeper into the couch. “What the fuck. ”

“I know,” I say with a groan.

“No, but seriously,” she adds as she scrolls through the thousands of pictures on his feed.

“ Ya se, Sofi, ” I repeat.

“ Boluda, what are you waiting for? Just call him.”

”Yeah? And then what? I have nothing to say to him.”

“Bullshit. Stop sabotaging yourself.”

Sofía’s words echo in my mind long after I leave her place and head back home. The house is dark and quiet as I enter, and I slip off my shoes, head to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water, staring blankly out the window at the empty street. The truth is, I’ve spent so much of my life staying in one place, building routines, keeping everything neat and tidy. But it’s always felt incomplete, especially in the past few years. Now, for the first time, I have a reason to want more. I just don’t know if I’m ready to dive into the unknown.

I check my phone, half hoping there’s a message from Tom, something simple and unassuming like I miss you. But the screen is empty, and a hollow ache settles in my chest. Maybe he’s already decided it was just a vacation fling, a holiday romance that shouldn’t carry any more weight than that. After all, he has his own life on the other end of the world.

Sofía’s voice nags at me as I stand barefoot in the middle of my parents’ kitchen, the dim light of the fridge casting an eerie glow on an already cold space. Stop sabotaging yourself.

She said it so confidently, like it is the most obvious thing in the world. But Sofía doesn’t really know what it feels like to be, finally, so tethered to the life I’ve built over the past three years, with my dutifully constructed walls that guard me oh, so well. And what, does she intend for me to blow past them just because it felt good to be with this man for a few days?

I scroll back to Tom’s profile, staring at a photo of him standing in front of a horse, hearts in his eyes for that magnificent beast. My heart aches, a pang so deep it takes my breath away. His face is familiar now in a way that feels dangerous, like I’ve memorized it without even trying. I can hear his laughter in my head, feel the way his hands always found their way to mine, even when we weren’t saying anything.

The sound of my phone buzzing on the countertop startles me, and I grab it instinctively, my heart racing. But it’s not him, obviously. It’s Sofía, sending me a series of texts that make me groan.

Sofía

Did you message him yet?

Because if not, I will.

I mean it. Stop being a chicken shit .

I type out a quick reply.

Me

Leave me alone.

Her response is almost immediate.

Sofía

Never. Now call him, or I swear I’ll do it myself. And you know I will because I’m a special kind of crazy.