Page 14 of How to Write a Rom-Com

“Well, the Wi-Fi might not be the strongest out there, I’ll give you that,” she says with a laugh.

“So,” I say, clearing my throat, “Here’s my plan: I’m going to get some work done in the morning, and then go and scope out the town in the afternoon. I’ve already met three locals who weresuperwelcoming,” I say, finally seeing my inbox load.

“That’s great. Listen, the new Donna Martins manuscript just came in. Edit that for me over the next week and we’ll go from there.”

“Okay, great. I’m going to send you daily reports with all my notes.”

“I can practically hear the steam coming out of your ears as your brain is working,” Anne says sarcastically.

“You know me so well.”

“And you know you don’t need to send daily reports. I trust you,” Anne says, and I just imagine the look on her face. Her glasses are at the end of her nose, her arms and legs are crossed, and she’s looking up from beneath her brows.

“And you know I would give them to you anyway,” I reply. “I also have a whole list of small-town rom-coms I’m currently making my way through.”

“Fabulous. And what have you learned?”

“Well, it’s simple, really. The small-town stories are really all about the people. So, I just have to explore enough to study them.”

When I did my deep dive into the subgenre, I realized that every book has a happy ever after or happy for now, a brooding hero, or a heroine on the run from her past, but while some of these factors might change from book to book, there is one aspect that remains the same: the town and its people are the hub that allows the spokes of the romance wheel to turn. The heroine always has a strong support system in the town and the events there drive the plot of the story. So, as much as I hate to admit it, I have to explore. And in order to get enough inspiration to outline this book, I have to become one with the locals.

“You sound like a wildlife photographer on assignment,” Anne teases.

“I don’t mean it like that,” I say, shaking away the visual that remark conjured. “Exploring means I’ll learn where all the good hangout spots are, and find out what makes this town special, what makes the people tick. It’s beautiful here. If the romance story doesn’t work out, we can just use the pictures from my phone to make a coffee table book,” I jest.

“Well, I’m not sure a coffee table book will cut it, lovely as it sounds. If we don’t give Ruby some guidelines for this new series, I’m concerned she will actually leave—God knows she’s threatened it enough over the years.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t let you down, Anne,” I say, with the same confidence of twelve-year-old Lucy writing an essay onThe Hatchet.

I hang up with Anne and try to shake the feeling that I’m doing something wrong. I feel like I can’t trust my mind when it comes to my guilt gauge.AmI doing something wrong? Or am I just doing something for myself? I’m here to conduct research. There’s no harm in that.

I try to hold on to that mindset as I begin my work for the day. Since my workspace has undergone a massive upgrade in the last week, I head outside to the picturesque porch swing. I have a few emails to send out in preparation for next month’s sales and promotions, so I go through those and finalize some reports for Anne.

With the help of text-to-speech and a pair of earbuds, I edit the first few chapters of Donna’s manuscript before my stomach starts rumbling for lunch. For a moment, I consider wandering into the kitchen and making a salad, but then my conversation with Anne about exploring convinces me otherwise. After a quick change into a flowy tie-dye sundress, I toss my hair into a bun and head into town.

I have to admit that I am somewhat embarrassed walking in to the real-life Luke’s Diner in my very own Stars Hollow, considering my last interaction with Liam was… bizarre. I’m going to need to apologize, and hopefully I can still make an ally out of my neighbor. He may be gorgeous, and he’s probably, most definitelytaken, but he could also be a good resource.

When I step inside, I’m surprised by how crowded the restaurant is. The pictures I had in my head pale by comparison. Much like the exterior of Liam’s house, this place could be in a magazine. To the left of the entrance is a long bar with metal stools and shiplap beneath the counter. The right side is lined with a long booth and snug tables with more metal seating. I take an empty seat at the bar just as Liam emerges from the kitchen juggling two plates of food. He doesn’t notice me at first, which gives me a chance to observe him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone move so intentionally. He is aware of everything around him, and moves with such grace, like he has been doing this for a thousand years.

I’m not going to lie and say I don’t admire the muscles in his forearms as he grips the heavy tray. He’s wearing a black T-shirt with the word “Liz’s” written in script across the front. I love a man in a black T-shirt. Elle and I often fight about which is superior: a hero in a Henley or one in a black T-shirt. We both stand firm on either side. What can I say? We romance readers like to pick our battles.

When he finally sees me, I catch a range of emotions cross his face. None of them scream “Happy to see me.” Could I have ruined my chance at polite acquaintanceship with him? He hesitates, like he’s not sure whether to walk toward me or run in the opposite direction. I can see the trepidation in his eyes, and I try to coax him in my direction with an awkward wave. He doesn’t wave back, but he presses his lips into a firm line, somewhat resembling a smirk.

When he finally decides to approach me, my stomach clenches, and I’m suddenly aware of my body’s reaction to him. He’s extremely attractive, that’s a no brainer, but I am surprised by justhowattractive I find him. Quickened pulse, slight light-headedness.

Snap out of it!

“Hi,” he stutters, avoiding eye contact. “Here’s a menu.” He tries to turn away quickly, but I call out “Hey!” in a completely awkward, way too loud voice that makes it seem like I’m hailing a taxi instead of trying to get his attention.

He turns around and raises a brow at me. “Sorry, I just,” I say, readjusting myself on the barstool. “I just wanted to apologize again, you know, for yesterday.”

“No need to apologize,” he says in a low voice. He avoids my gaze.

“Well, admittedly, I acted a little weird, and I’m sorry. It’s the Manhattan in me,” I offer, aiming for civility.

“It’s really fine,” he says, his back already partially turned. “Let me know what I can get you.”

I look down at the menu quickly and pick the first thing I see. “I’ll have the B.L.T.”

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