Page 15 of Once Smitten, Twice Shy

I can’t tell her that. It’s too damn humiliating.

“Because…” A sigh leaves me. I shrug. “Hell, I don’t know. It just seems romance isn’t for me.”

Juliet bites her lip against a smile that still wins out.

“What?” I ask her. “What’re you smiling about?”

Her smile widens. “You’re giving me major duke-in-a-historical-romance-who-thinks-he-needs-a-marriage-of-convenience-to-carry-on-the-family-line vibes right now.”

“I…remind you of a duke?”

She waves her hand. “Forget it. I’m being silly.”

“No.” I take a step closer to her. “I’m not saying it’s silly. I just…don’t understand.”

Juliet seems to hesitate, then says, “It’s just that in those romance novels, the character who’s driven by what theysayis duty to the people counting on them, rather than the pursuit of love,well, their acting on that sense of ‘duty’islove. What we’re meant to see when they act out of a sense of duty is that they have the capacity for love, even though they don’t see it in themselves. That’s where romantic love comes in, like a mirror, showing them what they really can have, if they’re brave enough to go after it. And yes, romance novels are fictions, happy, hopeful stories. But I think they often capture very realistic human fears and hopes, and how the former often stop us from going after the latter, how love can make us feel safe and brave enough to change that.”

I stand there, absorbing what she’s said, sifting through it. I’ll admit I’ve never read a romance novel. My mom loves them, historical romances in particular. Every surface of the family home has a precarious stack of well-loved mass-market paperbacks. But I’ve never thought about what those books might inspire, what Juliet’s laid at my feet, maybe without even realizing it: a flicker of hope.

“So…” I clear my throat, folding my arms across my chest. “You’re saying, if I’m like…one of your dukes, who…well, things work out for him. Maybe, if I got a bit better at this flirting and romancing, maybe…they’d work out for me, too.”

Slowly, she reaches for my wrist and clasps it. Her touch is warm and firm and so impossibly soft. “I absolutely think that things could work out spectacularly for you, Will, yes.”

Searching her eyes, I ask, “Why…” I clear my throat, which has suddenly gotten thick. “Why do you believe in me?”

A smile breaks across her face. “Because I believe we all deserve the kind of happily ever after that we want. If we’re brave enough to put our true selves out there, we can find someone who wants us for all of that, who wants that same kind of happily ever after, too.”

My heart feels like it’s made of sunlight, like it’s spilling, hot and hopeful, through every corner of me. “That’s a hell of an optimistic outlook.”

Juliet’s smile tightens. “I’m trying.”

“Trying?”

She draws her hand away, crossing her arms against her chest, and glances up at the clouds, frowning thoughtfully. “I’ve always been an optimist. I don’t think I ever stopped being an optimist for others. But I sort of stopped being optimistic for myself.”

“Why’s that?”

She peers down and meets my eyes, a shrug lifting her shoulders. “Last year, I stayed on that optimism train a little too long, ignored the red flags all around me, and didn’t get off before I’d landed in Toxic Relationshipville. Since then, I guess I’ve been doubting myself. That’s why I’ve been on romance hiatus. Iwantto believe that one day I can love someone again and this time, it’ll be a real, healthy happily ever after…” She squints a little, her nose wrinkling. “I’ve been waiting to feel confident about that again, before I put myself out there romantically, but I’m starting to think I’ll never feel as confident as I used to. I think I’m just going to have to try again, and hope the confidence follows.”

“Do youwantto try again?” I ask, searching her eyes.

She tips her head to one side, then the other. “Yes. And no. Being romantic, I think maybe it’s like riding a bike. You can stay away from the thing for years and then yes, you can allegedly get right back on and start riding again. But even with muscle memory pulling its weight, you’re real wobbly at first; you might fall and get a few scrapes. When I think about how great it would feel to fly down the road again, yes, I want to. But when I think about all those wobbles, those bumps and bruises I might get along the way, I don’t want to at all.

“I guess, when I think about getting back on the bike, I want somewhere gentle to start, so when I take those tumbles, it won’t hurttoobad. That’s the hard part—figuring out what that gentle place looks like. I’m not sure it even exists.”

“Maybe…” My voice catches as nerves tighten my throat.“Maybe it doesn’t exist. Maybe instead of looking for a soft place to fall, you just need some…training wheels.”

It made sense in my head, but I feel like a schmuck the moment I’ve said it.

Except a smile brightens Juliet’s face, and all my self-consciousness evaporates. “My training wheels,” she says. “I love that. Though who would want to do that for me?”

I stare at her, my heart pounding.I would.

I’ll never get to have her, not fully—she’s off-limits, out of reach. But I’d take this. I’d take every crumb she’d give me.

Her gaze snaps up to mine. “What did you just say?”

I blink at her. I couldn’t have said that out loud.Oh God. Did I say that out loud?

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