Page 137 of Can't Help Falling

Owen

I fell asleep last night trying not to think about Emmy’s date.

I’m not one to play things out in my head, nor am I one to worry about what might be instead of what actually is.

But I wonder if he tried to kiss her.

I wonder if she would even let him.

I realized I was clenching my fists, so I tossed off the covers and dropped down to do a series of push-ups, thinking maybe it would help with the nervous energy.

It didn’t.

Thinking about Emmy on a date shouldn’t bother me this much.

I came home last night convinced I took too long to make up my mind and missed my chance. I even shot off an email to The Hopeful Romantic in my frustration, not that she cares to know I’m sticking with a practical approach when it comes to relationships.

It’s weirdly therapeutic.

Now, in the middle of the night and wide awake, I tap the spacebar to wake up the computer.

She wrote back.

Practical,

I’m sorry it didn’t work out like you thought—and I know you’re looking at this as the final straw, that you’re going to stick with practical from now on.

You’re thinking that romance just isn’t your thing.

It doesn’t seem like you gave it a real chance, though, does it? Are you a one-and-done, 50% kind of guy? Or are you a fighter?

Instead of throwing in the towel, I think it’s time to double down.

Actions speak way louder than words. ;)

—Hopeful

A fighter. Ha. Maybe she does know me.

And double down? On what, the romance?

What does that even mean?

Like a loser, I’d actually gone back and written out the different romantic things she mentioned on her podcast, but I’m at a complete loss as to what to do next. It’s not like I can wait for it to rain, lure her outside, and kiss her in the street.

Strangely, I don’t hate that idea.

I should just walk away. Leave her alone. Date someone else to get her out of my head.

There’s just one problem: I don’t think I can.

I arrive at the Farmer’s Market on Saturday morning tired and conflicted. I’m here because I told my mom I’d pick up a couple loaves of sourdough bread for her, and also because I know Emmy will be here.

I reach into my pocket and feel the folded-up romance list in there.

I want to do the right thing, and I know I should try something, but what that is or how to go about it? No clue.

I feel utterly out of my league in the romance department.

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