Page 62 of How to Write a Rom-Com

Liam pauses for a moment, and I can see the thoughts working behind his eyes. “To write a series about Hudson Hollow? To…studyus?” I can tell that he’s trying to stay calm but there’s anger rising in his voice.

“No, no, that makes it sound so clinical!” I reply, internally panicking. “She sent me here to see what living in a small town would be like, to get ideas, to inspire a new series. My notes were never supposed to—”

Liam turns and grips the counter with his hands. His head hangs between his shoulders. He flings the notebook across the table at me with a loudthud.

“Tragic hero. Abandonment issues.Damaged.” He practically spits the last word. “Is this your opinion of me?”

“Of course not!” I squeal, jumping up and meeting him in the kitchen in three big strides. “These are tropes. It’s just a formula. The characters need backstories, things to overcome before they can fall in love with each other.” I pause for a moment, wondering how my rambling must sound to him. I meet his gaze to see if I’m getting through to him at all. All I see is anguish. Betrayal.

“Please just let me explain everything,” I plead, urging him to sit down. Liam looks at me in a way I haven’t seen since I first arrived in Hudson Hollow. He looks at me with unease, like he’s not sure if he can trust me. And I don’t blame him. I’ve been dishonest with him from the start.

He takes a deep breath and sits down, and for the moment I breathe a tiny sigh of relief.

“You were right about my job, about me not being completely happy,” I start. “Everyone thinks living in the city is glamorous, and maybe it is for some people, but—” I hate that I sound like I’m complaining. This isn’t coming out right.

Why did this speech sound better in my head?

“Sometimes my life has felt like one disappointment after another. Not just with work, but with dating, too. And even though I work on romance for a living, I’ve basically stopped believing in it,” I admit, my gaze falling to the floor. Sure, I’ve told Elle how hard things have been in New York, and I’ve thought about how frustrated I am with my life there, but saying it like that, out loud, is surprisingly invigorating. It feels like an affirmation.

“The truth is, since I’ve been here, and since I’ve been spending time with you, I’ve felt so happy,” I say, my breath becoming more relaxed as I speak, as if I could feel the joy in my voice. “Before, when Anne gave me this opportunity, I couldn’t pass it up because it would lead to a promotion. And I’d been waiting for such a long time to feel recognized at work, to feelseen.”

Liam leans forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. He doesn’t look at me.

“So, you weren’t here on vacation? You were here to get yourself a promotion?” he asks, folding his hands under his chin and looking up at me.

God, why does he have to look so handsome when he does that? Why does the pain in his eyes make me want to kiss them, and feel his arms embrace me? How I wish I could reach out and stroke the stubble on his hard jawline, and iron out the tension that fills his face.

“I came here because of the promotion, yes, but when I got here, it became less about trying to prove myself to my boss and more about finding out who I really am.” I physically cringe at that statement. “I hate how cheesy that sounds, but it’s true. I have a lot I’ve been needing to process, and I haven’t been entirely honest with myself about what will make me happy.” I take a deep breath. “But being here… I think I’ve figured it out.”

Liam doesn’t speak, he’s just looking at me, his face guarded, unreadable. It’s only then that I realize I’m crying.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” I say. “I’m so sorry that I lied to you.” I shrug helplessly. “Yell at me, scream at me, I deserve it. But you have to know that I’ve been in knots about how to tell you forweeks. I wanted you to know the truth, because how I feel about you—” I say, my voice trailing off when I see his eyes redden. “Everything between us was real.”

Liam rubs both of his hands over his face and stands up abruptly. “I need some air. I can’t do this right now,” he says, running his hand through his hair and taking a deep breath.

“Oh, I—um, okay. Do you want to talk later?” I say, pathetically.

“Lucy, I’m not even sure how to look at you right now,” he replies harshly. I inhale a sharp gasp at the tenor of his voice. Yelling and screaming would be easier than this.

“Please tell me what I can do to make this better. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it,” I say, my voice weak.

“Well,” he says, his eyes sharp as flint, “maybe you should plug it into your formula.” His voice drops to a mutter as he turns and heads for the door.

“Blue, come,” he commands, clipped and cold. The dog rises from the floor, casting me a brief, searching look before obediently following him out.

It’s impossible to put this feeling into words—the sensation of my heart sinking like a stone, heavy and leaden, dragging me down as I collapse into the kitchen chair.

I grab my notebook off the table and hurl it across the room. As is severing that connection, that lifeless bundle of paper, could somehow erase what I’ve done. But it doesn’t. I can’t undo this. I can’t rewrite it.

I came here chasing love, just not for myself. From the start, it was a business deal, a transaction, a means to an end. I always knew this trip had an expiration date, and I accepted it.

So why does it feel like I’ve become the villain in my own love story?

*

Al and Mella walk in to find me in the midst of a frantic cleaning spree. It hasn’t been more than a half hour since Liam left, but already I’ve packed my clothes, stripped the sheets, and emptied the fridge. Soon, there will be little trace of my presence.

“Lucy, is it alright if we come in, sweetie?” Mella calls from the front door, just as I round the corner out of the master bedroom with my last suitcase.

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