Page 20 of How to Write a Rom-Com

“See you, Lucy,” he winks. He walks away before I can respond.

A wink.

A wink that felt dangerously flirtatious. Was it? And why did it make my stomach flip?

I try not to let the feeling of excitement in my belly have too much of an affect. I am here to do a job. I’m not here to fraternize with the good-looking chef from across the street. That’s what the main character in a Hallmark movie would do. I won’t be distracted from my goal. Heartwarming’s next editor cannot get distracted by small-town life. She must stay focused.

So, she will.

Chapter Seven

Operation Small Town, Day 9

“This is how we do ittttt!” I sing, moving my hips to the beat of the music.

Living alone isamazing.

Bless Anne for sending me on this trip.

I pour myself half a glass of rosé and shake my head so that my messy top knot bounces around. I have the occasional cocktail when I’m out to dinner, usually something fruity that I drink for the taste. And the maraschino cherry. Okay,mostlyfor the maraschino cherry. But since coming to Hudson Hollow and being on my own for the first time ever, I feel emboldened. I want to dance in my underwear and drink too much wine. Because I can.

“I’m kind of buzzed and it’s all because… this is how we do it!” I’m a terrible dancer. There’s a lot of arm and hip jerking, very Chandler Bing-esque. But who cares? No one is here to see it, except maybe the inhabitants of the house across the lake, because I do have all the blinds open.

Just as that thought crosses my mind, the doorbell rings.

I check the clock on the T.V. It’s after nine. I doubt a robber would ring the doorbell, but I’ve never lived in a house by myself before, so maybe it's customary for burglars to see if someone is home before breaking in.

I’m giving this way too much thought.

I put my wine glass down and do my bestRisky Businessslide to the front door. I’m wearing fuzzy socks and a long sweatshirt, so I may actually resemble Tom Cruise from an external view. I peek out the windows that line the side of the front door and see Liam standing on the porch. He has a V-neck white T-shirt and jeans on and is holding something in his hands. I gasp and his gaze moves to the window where I’m standing. Shit.

I jump back and unlock the door. Before I open it, I tighten my bun and brush my long bangs out of my eyes. I take a deep breath and open the door.

“Hey!” I say, too enthusiastically. Was that my second glass of wine or my third? Pull it together, Bowen.

“Hey,” he says with that smile I’m starting to love. “Having a party?” he asks, his eyebrows gesturing to the music blasting from the house’s stereo.

“Ha! A party of one,” I say nonchalantly. “Unless you’re a robber, then there’s definitely a mob of muscular football players in the back.”

“And what exactly am I coming to rob?” he says, starting to catch on to my currently impaired mental state.

“Well,” I sigh, pressing my hand against my face. “My mouth just says things sometimes, especially after I’ve had several-ish glasses of wine.”

“Several-ish?”

“Yup, it’s a scientific term.” He laughs. “Special delivery?” I ask, noticing the tin foil-covered plate in his hand.

He glances down at it. “Well, my dessert supplier accidentally delivered a double order. Do you like chocolate?”

“Liam Miller, you’re a dream,” I say leaning against the doorframe.

“Huh?”

“Yeah, I mean, you look like, wellyou,” I say, waving my hands up and down his body, “and you’ve brought cake. Pretty dreamy,” I say matter-of-factly. Am I flirting with Liam Miller? I think I might be.

“Er… okay, sure…” he says with a sheepish smile. Liam doesn’t seem to know how to react to me right now. The wine is lowering my guard a bit, but his seems to still be firmly in place.

“Anyway, come in—” I say, but stop when I see an uncertain look on his face. “What?” He takes a step toward me and leans his arm against the doorframe above me. My heart stops but the muscles in between my thighs kick into overdrive.

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