Page 58 of How to Write a Rom-Com

I shoot Josie a sharp look. “I’m not sure I’ll ever forget about it, Josie, seeing as I live there. But now that you’re coming home, we’re one step closer to having our garden together.”

“Yourgarden?” my mother questions.

“Josie keeps trying to sell me on small town life. I told her I would only give in if she agreed to live with me,” I explain. My mother’s face is dubious. “It was hypothetical, Mom, relax.” She shakes her head.

“Anyway, what are you two up to today?” she asks.

“Just relaxing, really. Elle has to be back on the train in the morning.”

“Ah, well, enjoy yourself, and keep up the good work.”

When I put the phone down, I can’t help but feel a small bit of pride over the work I’ve done here. Maybe what I’ve accomplishedcouldhave some place in my new reality? The only question that remains is whether that new reality includes Liam, too.

*

Elle and I spend the afternoon exploring Catskill, losing ourselves in the town’s only indie bookstore. With our reader hats firmly in place, we gush over the romance section. We hunt down Heartwarming titles, and—like true insiders—subtly rearrange a few to claim prime spots at the front. It’s a quiet tradition among publishing folks. We all do it.

When we get back to the house and change, we find a few floats in the garage and bring them down to the lake. We spend the next few hours floating around the lake, our toes being bitten by little fish as we attempt to not float too far away from the dock.

I find serenity in the silence of the lake water and let my eyelids flutter closed. I try picturing what my life with Liam would look like. I imagine living in his house, with an office that overlooks the lake. There’s an antique wood desk that Elle would probably spot at a flea market, and I’d write for hours while admiring my favorite view. Maybe I could be a freelance editor for Heartwarming if my books do well. I mentally shake my head at myself. It’s one thing to dream about things like this, but it’s another for them to come true.

I just don’t have that kind of track record with the universe.

“Have you decided what you are going to do?” Elle asks, her voice soft and thoughtful.

“I don’t know,” I say, opening my eyes and turning to face her. “I really don’t know how, or where, to even start.” I’ve played the scenario out in my head. Maybe I will stop by Liam’s house when he gets home from the restaurant later today and tell him I have to talk to him. Maybe he won’t hear me out, or maybe he’ll be more understanding than I deserve. It’s all maybe, and I don’t like to deal with unpredictability.

“Start with the truth, that’s all you can do. Everything else will fall into place from there,” Elle says, infusing as much confidence in her voice as possible. She gives me a sheepish—although I think it’s meant to be encouraging—smile. “Remember, Lucy, we don’t get to choose love. We don’t get a say in the when, or the where, or even who. We don’t get to decide. Love finds us. And the only decision we get to make is what we do with it when it does.”

Chapter Nineteen

“Love is showing up. That’s all it is. Take out the grand notions of happily ever after and flowers and candy and knights in shining armor and just accept that being there for someone is all it takes. Get out of your own way and just show up. Because otherwise, what are we all doing here?”

This author guts me with this line every time I read it. Because if that’s all love is, then why is it so complicated? When all people really have to do is tell each other how they feel? Why is that so difficult for some of us?

(not a rhetorical question… asking for a friend)

Operation Small Town, Day 28

I post a photo of one of my favorite Heartwarming novels from the Catskill bookshop. It’s an enemies-to-lovers story with a clever twist onPride and Prejudice,where the hero and heroine are both too stubborn to admit their true feelings.

When I get back from dropping Elle off at the train station, I decide to take some time to process. Or more honestly, I straight-up procrastinate. When I get back to the house, I delve right into work, adding to the outlines in my notebook and drafting an email to Anne with an overly-labeled plot diagram of the book.

I’m writing a character profile on the local bookstore owner based on the one we met yesterday, when my phone vibrates on the counter next to me.

Liam: Hey, random question. Are you at your house right now?

Lucy: Yeah, why?

Liam: I left Blue at home thinking it would be a slow day, but it still hasn’t died down. I’m sorry to ask this, but would you be able to take him out for a quick walk?

Lucy: Of course, don’t apologize. I might just keep him for the whole afternoon.

Liam: Thank you so much. I’ll try to get away as soon as I can.

I’m glad for the distraction, especially one as cute and furry as Blue. I slip on a pair of sneakers, head across the street, and find Liam’s key underneath a flowerpot in his front landscaping. Terrible security system. Good thing he has a scary-looking dog.

Blue mauls me before I’m fully in the door. He jumps up, putting his paws on my shoulders, his head level with mine, and licks my face.

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