Page 17 of Guys Can't Write Romance
“She’s not gonna put a ‘Chad’s cup’ in there, is she?”
“I think you guys will kill each other before then, but you never know. Ready for the next exhibit?”
“How bad is it?”
“I’ll let you be the judge.”
Chad followed Chloe around the corner into the living room and immediately felt his fingers begin to twitch. At first glance, it looked like an Ikea showroom display of pastel-colored furniture neatly arranged. On second glance, it looked like a museum exhibit or science project.
“Wow,” Chad murmured, taking it all in as he wandered past a sleek sofa covered in throw pillows, each having a matching twin. Framed paintings hung neatly on the far wall, perfectly aligned, with not a single edge out of place. Beneath each painting, a carefully aligned label noted the painting and artist.
“Unreal,” Chad murmured.
His eyes then landed on a row of bookshelves. Each shelf was impossibly neat, with the books’ spines perfectly aligned, and organized not by author or genre, but by color. Labels, stuck to the shelves, noted which book color went where.
“Where’s the part of the exhibit where people actually live?” Chad said, continuing to take in the room.
Chloe chuckled, casually sitting on the sofa’s arm and opening a bag of potato chips. “You’re looking at it.”
“How does she write here? It’s like the furniture’s screaming, ‘Sorry, Mom, we’ll behave.’”
“You should’ve seen it before I moved in,” Chloe said, popping a chip into her mouth. “All it was missing was a wall map showing the furniture’s exact locations.”
Chad shook his head as he strolled along the coffee table, inspecting the neatly fanned stack of magazines, with the label ‘magazines’ stuck to the table below them. Next to them was a small vase of flowers, which, of course, had a ‘flowers’ label below them. “This is next level. Have you thought about staging an intervention?”
Chloe chuckled. This guy clearly got it. “Be my guest. It’s your life. Ready for the next exhibit?”
“There’s more?”
“Yup. I’m surprised you didn’t notice it yet. Turn around.”
Chad did, and was met by a wall of bright kaleidoscopic Post-It notes, covering it from floor to ceiling in precise columns and grids.
“You wanted the full neurotic tour. There you have it,” Chloe quipped, popping a chip in her mouth.
Chad’s eyes widened as he walked over to it. Each note had meticulous handwriting for scene outlines, conflict arcs, characters, chapter goals, snips of dialog, and random plot notes. Labels stuck to the wall above each column described what notes belonged in that column. He let out a low whistle as he reached for a Post-It marked ‘Meet Cute.’
“All of this stuff is her book?” Chad said.
“Yup. I call it the wall of over-planning doom. It’s why I break out in hives every time she starts a new book.”
“I scribble my notes on the back of napkins,” Chad said.
“I figured it would be that or bar coasters.”
“I use those too.”
Chloe grinned, having already decided Chad was her favorite new toy to torment. She motioned toward a chair. “Maybe you should sit. I’m sensing imminent cardiac arrest vibes.”
Chad looked at the chair. “There’s no label saying ‘sit here’.”
“It came off a while back,” Chloe said. “I might have helped it a bit.”
Chad plopped down.
“So, what’d you think of the tour?” Chloe said. “And feel free to leave a review on Yelp.”
“You should warn kids that this is where God sends really bad people.”
