Page 9 of How to Write a Rom-Com

The thing that strikes me the most aboutthisman, though, is the strange look on his face. He’s looking at me… like I’m…crazy? As if I have something offensive written on my forehead? I attempt to inconspicuously run my hand through my hair to make sure it’s not too dishevelled from the car ride. His eyes are piercing, serious, and intent on me, and his gaze starts to make me squirm. I feel heat rising on my neck, and I take a step backward because—I don’t know why—it seems like the right choice. This guy is either about to tell me I have something in my teeth… or murder me.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice breaking. “You look very familiar, er, you remind me of someone.” He takes a step back as well, trying to collect himself. I let out a small exhale, accepting that I probably won’t die on this cul-de-sac. Thank goodness this beautiful man isn’t a serial killer. That would have been so disappointing.

“Sorry,” he chuckles. “Is this your first time in Hudson Hollow?”

I let out something between a laugh and a scoff. “It is, yes, I’m more of a city dweller. Small towns make me somewhat claustrophobic.”

He scrunches his face for a moment, and I realize that might have been insulting. “Erm, not that this town isn’t beautiful. It is! From what I’ve seen, anyway.” Why am I rambling?Stop talking, Bowen.I quite literally smack my hand on my forehead, wishing I could redo the last two minutes of my life.

“Well, hopefully, Hudson Hollow will change your mind about small towns.”I doubt it, I answer in my head. Good job not opening your mouth on that one, Luce. “Anyway, I’m Liam. Liam Miller. That’s me, just across the way.” He gestures to the two-story cottage that sits on the other side of the road. Unlike my accommodation, his place looks statelier, with rustic wooden siding and accents of color on the shutters and doors.

Maybe he’s a plant. Maybe Anne planted him here to give me inspiration and mess with my head. It seems extreme, but that’s what makes it even more likely. It also seems extreme to threaten to staple someone’s hands to a wall, but she threatened to do that once as well.

And no, being in labor was not an excuse.

“I’m Lucy,” I say at last, offering him my hand. Liam and Lucy. I could gag right here and now.

“Al and Mella mentioned a new renter would arrive this week. Although—” he stops himself. I raise my brows, curious about what the rest of that statement might be. “It’s just—I wasn’t expecting someone like you.”

“Someone likeme?”

“I don’t mean it like that,” he says, the words rushing out of his mouth. He raises his hands in defense. “I just mean, most of the renters around here are fifty-year-old fishing enthusiasts. They don’t look like they just stepped out of a magazine.”

I look down at myself. I’m wearing Vans sneakers, yoga pants, and an off-the-shoulder light sweatshirt. Grocery store chic, as Elle would say.

“What kind of magazines do you read?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him suspiciously.

“You just look very Manhattan, that’s all,” he says. “Not that that’s a bad thing.”

I let out an awkward laugh. “Well, you’re not wrong, I am from Manhattan. And clearly I look very out of my element here. Which I am.”

“Right,” he says, a subtle smile playing at his lips. “So, what brings you to town?”

“Oh, just a little vacation. Taking some time away from the city.” Anne’s voice echoes in my head.Stay as close to the truth as possible without revealing too much.

Anne and the team prepared me for weeks before I left. They insisted that no one in the town know why I was really here. I thought it was a bit silly, but I’m determined to be successful on this project and give Anne no reason not to promote me. I’m realizing now that I maybe should have taken more notes.

“Nice. Well, welcome. I’m just across the way if you need anything. And I work at the café in town as well.”

“The café in town?”

“Yep, we just have the one. Well, unless you count Stewart’s. But they’re mostly good for root beer and ice cream.”

“You work at the café?”

“Yes ma’am. Well, I own it.” His cheeks flush as he says this.

“Of course you do,” I grumble.

“Sorry?” He frowns.

“Let me ask you: Are you also a single dad? Did you marry your high school sweetheart but something went wrong? Does the name Anne Turner ring any bells?”

Liam looks at me like I have gone mad. He opens his lips as if he wants to speak, but quickly decides against it.

I may have misread this situation.

When several seconds of awkward silence pass, he says, “I really don’t know what to do with that.” He laughs.

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