Page 16 of Not Exactly a Small-Town Romance

When I arrive at Kelsey’s apartment, pizza box in hand, she has laid a dozen outfits all over her living room.

There are sundresses, denim shorts, tank tops, and flowy skirts. Nothing she would wear to work or a party. Half of these things I’ve never seen.

“You go shopping?”

She shakes her head. “Alabama stuff. It feels right for a love story, right? No reds, no blacks, nothing flashy. I want to be the girl next door, not the siren.”

I like her in siren mode, but I see her point.

“You’re going all in.”

“No reason not to.” She picks up a flowery peach dress with a square neckline. “Is this too much for a barn dance?”

I choke on a laugh. “Barn dance?”

“I’m going across Wyoming, Nebraska, and Kansas in the summer. There better be a barn dance somewhere.”

“That’s pretty north for an endgame in Alabama.”

“It’s not the destination; it’s the journey.” She leans across her ottoman to grab the remote. “I’ve been looking at all the sweet made-for-TV romances, and they’re literally all Midwest. Cornfields. Hayrides. Barn dances.”

“I see.”

She powers on the television. Her watch list is filled with romantic films.

I set the pizza box on her coffee table. “Is this what we’re doing tonight?”

“Yes. I want to list every meet-cute.”

“How are movie meet-cutes going to help?”

“That woman who fell in the pool at the party Saturday night—she did it on purpose. She was trying to get that guy to rescue her. It gave me an idea. I’ll create a list of viable meet-cutes, then make them happen. You know, trip and fall in the guy’s arms. Spill a drink on someone’s shirt. We need to watch more and get ideas.”

It’s probably better if I don’t say anything about this wild idea. I head to her kitchen. “I’ll grab plates. You cue the first movie.”

When I return, she’s cleared her sofa of clothes.

I open the pizza box and stack three narrow slices on Kelsey’s plate. She likes to eat them in a pile. I have to get our orders cut into twice the usual slices.

“So first up isA Meadow Wedding?” I ask.

“Isn’t it already dreamy? I can picture the final scene, the breeze blowing the bride’s dress, ribbons flying.” She sits back with her plate.

And we watch, mostly beginnings and ends. Kelsey has no patience for the sagging middles. She makes a list in a spiral notebook. “Okay, we have eight meet-cutes.”

“What’s the top one?”

“Trip and fall.”

“Classic. Next?”

“Get rescued or saved.”

I nod. “Like Pool Girl. And?”

She taps her pencil against her cheek. “Be a runaway.”

“Which you are.”

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