Page 71 of How to Write a Rom-Com

“I don’t really see where it’s going at this point,” she finishes with an awkward look on her face.

“Do you mean it’s not predictable?” I ask, trying to clarify her words.

“Well, we don’t want it to be predictable, do we?” I shake my head. “What I’m saying is that you’ve built this world and these characters and I feel like the writing is fading off toward the end. Like you’re not sure where you want to go.”

“Well, it’s a romance so there are only a few options,” I joke.

“Do you know what happens next? I don’t exactly recall from your outlines,” she says, flipping through her notes as if the answer will somehow be in there.

“The ending has always been a bit fuzzy for me,” I admit, looking down at my hands. Why wasn’t I more prepared for this question? Why didn’t I have an outline for the end prepared?

“Why do you think that is?” Anne asks, sitting back and tilting her head.

I let out a loud breath and do what has come to be a natural behavior in the recent weeks, I think of Liam.

While I may have changed a bit of the story to distance it from Liam and I, the truth is, every word that my main character says about her hero are my words. They’re my feelings. My feelings about Liam. And the reason I can’t pinpoint an ending for their story is because I didn’t get one for mine.

“Here’s the thing,” I start, sitting forward and making eye contact with Anne. “You know how I told you about that guy I met? How I thought we had something?”

“Of course,” Anne says, nodding quickly.

“Well, it was a bit more serious than I told you. At least, I thought it was. But when he found out that I was there to collect information for the imprint, he felt like he couldn’t trust me anymore. Which is very understandable,” I say, swallowing the sob in my throat and looking down to hide my glassy eyes.

“Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry,” she says, placing a hand over mine.

“I think—I think the reason I’m struggling with the ending of this book is because it’s based so much on my story and my story didn’t have an ending. Not a good one anyway.” I let out a long breath when I finish talking, all the emotions from that day with Liam flooding my mind and making my body quake with sadness. I sniffle softly and pull myself together. I won’t be the girl who cries in front of her boss. I won’t.

“Lucy, are you alright?” Anne asks, leaning toward me.

Am I? I really don’t think so.

What would make me okay? Isn’t that what Elle is always asking me? What do I want? I thought I wanted this promotion, Anne telling me I could acquire books, that I could finally move forward at the company. Then I thought it was Anne telling me that she would read the book. And she’s done that. And yet, something is still missing.

The end of my story. The place where I feel at home. The clear path I’ve been looking for my entire life.

That’s what’s missing.

And the thing is, I found it. Somewhere I never thought possible.

What do I want? What would make me be okay?

Liam.

Sitting on his deck, Blue curled around my feet, Liam coming up behind me to wrap a blanket around me while we drink coffee on a misty morning. Helping him load the twins onto the boat for a day on the lake, Blue begrudgingly standing on the boat in his life jacket. Hiking up to The Point for a dinnertime picnic after a long day of writing.

All this time, I thought dreams like that were just that… dreams. I thought ideas like that belonged in books, and only in books.

I want a life like one in a romance novel. I want a man in a dark Henley leaning up against my doorway with his forearms flexed. I want passion and excitement. I want devotion and heart-aching love.

Maybe when I first started in this business, maybe even just a few months ago, I saw romance as a dream. I’ve loved romance novels since I was in high school. They were my escape from the mediocre life I found myself trapped in.

Maybe romance used to be an escape for me. But after years of believing true love was nothing but a fantasy, I’m starting to think… no, I know, it’s what I deserve.

“I’m really not,” I finally stutter, breaking out of my catatonic state, and blinking my way back to clarity. “Anne, I don’t think I can do this.”

How has it taken me this long to realize so much about myself? I’m always thinking about what everyone else around me is thinking. I picture how situations will work out for everyone else, besides myself. I thought I wanted to be in publishing, but maybe that was just some way to appease my parents’ dream for me to live a corporate life. I thought I wanted to live in the city because that’s where publishing was. I thought living in the city would be like my favorite episodes ofFriends, when really, it’s nothing like that at all. I was justifying my choices by having to explain them to people, and I could never answer the question:What do I want?

And now the answer has never been clearer.

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