Page 22 of How to Write a Rom-Com

“Jill. I’m not surprised you’ve met,” he chuckles. “She can’t resist accosting any new person she meets. But she means well. Most of the time.”

“And your nephew, Robbie. We bonded in the produce aisle.” Liam lets out an understanding laugh.

“He has personal boundary issues sometimes,” Liam explains fondly.

“Seems kind of common around here,” I say, immediately regretting it. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way, I swear,” I rush to explain. “It’s just very different from what I’m used to. Maybe I’ve been living in the city too long, but if someone snuck up on me in Whole Foods, I’d probably deck them.”

“Deck them, eh?” He smirks. “The city sounds like a very violent place.”

“It can be a fearful place sometimes, I guess,” I say, putting my fork down. “But the people do have good hearts. You’ve heard the adage, I’m sure, us New Yorkers stick together, and all that.”

He studies me for a moment, perhaps thinking the same thing I am. We are so different, despite living mere hours apart. Liam sees this town as a family, he literally puts food on their tables. And then there’s me. The city girl who, according to him, only looks out for herself.

“Anyway, Robbie is sweet, despite his intense staring,” he says, breaking the silence. I smile weakly at his comment. “He’s got a twin sister too, Mia. I might dote on her a bit too much.” I melt just a little over this. I’m about to reply when a dog barks outside.

“That’s Blue. He probably saw me come over here and wants his dinner,” Liam says, standing up. “He gets cranky when I go places without him.”

“Even at the restaurant?”

Liam looks around as if someone could hear our conversation. “Well, don’t tell anyone, but most days, he’s hanging around my office.”

“It’s a small town, I’m sure everyone knows your secret,” I say.

“At least no one’s turned me into the Health Department yet.”

“Well, he sounds hangry. You should probably get over there,” I say. “Thanks so much for the cake.”

Liam makes his way toward the door. “My pleasure. Thanks for the wine.” He stops and flashes me a grin. “And enjoy your party.”

As soon as the door shuts behind him, I consider what the hero of Ruby’s new series would look like. Something like tonight’s events would be a great way to get the two main characters to bond. I grab my notebook and start jotting down notes about a potential love interest. How might the hero and heroine meet? What would his job be? Would he be blonde, like Liam? Muscular or lean? Maybe the hero could be the town librarian because Lord knows Hudson Hollow’s library is beautiful enough for the whole book to be set there.

I spend the next hour hashing out some plot points and writing a very sloppy outline. When I’m exhausted and almost out of ink, I’m proud of everything I’ve come up with, and I know Anne will be pleased too. For all the work I’ve done, the secret writer in me can’t help but wish I could write this book myself.

Chapter Eight

Operation Small Town, Day 15

I don’t venture into town for a few days after that.

It’s not often that I put myself in the position to feel embarrassed—I try very hard to keep myself poised at all times. Which is why I don’t drink much. Call me a control freak. And now I know that two (fine,several) glasses of wine mixed with a hunky dose of Liam Miller definitely makes me feel out of control.

Hence why I’m avoiding him. Super mature, I know, but I don’t need the distraction.

I spend a few days holed up in the house, alternating between working at the dining room table, managing Anne’s panic about Ruby, and attending virtual meetings.

I’m having more fun than I expected putting this idea together for Ruby. With extra time on my hands away from the office, my creativity has been flowing, and sketching ideas for this book has given me a much-needed confidence boost. Being dyslexic has often made me self-conscious, especially in a career centered on reading and writing. Yet, just as I once used speech-to-text in school to craft stories that earned my teacher’s praise, I’ve been able to push my storytelling skills further on this project.

A dyslexic with a knack for writing, I remember a teacher saying once. I smile at the memory. Who would have thought?

In the city, I’m at the office until at least 7 pm every night, so by the time I get home and eat dinner, it’s all I can take to not fall asleep on the couch before I can make it to the bed. Here, I get to enjoy lounging. I’ve already made it through three of the small-town books Elle sent me. I’m officially a small-town aficionado.

Just finishedLove It or Like Itby Bailey Bishop and I have officially hit my small-town groove. Two weeks in mountain paradise and I have to admit I have love on the brain (and not just because it’s my job). Lately, I’ve been in a love/hate relationship with love. Anyone who has been on a dating app recently can probably relate. I love romance novels because I love the portrayal of love, but I’m having the hardest time believing in the real thing. Do you know a couple whose story could be the inspiration for a romance novel? Tell me about it in the comments!

Posts like this always get the most comments on my page. People tend to relate to my cynicism, even though they are romance readers like me. It can sometimes feel reassuring, but I also have a hard time believing that other people are really going through what I am going through.

This is how it happens for me: I start talking to a guy, usually on an app because no one meets in person anymore, and I get my hopes up. I start picturing how our romance novel-life would unfold. I’m convinced that most people do the same thing, even if they don’t work in romance. Given that my day job involves happily-ever-afters, it’s not such a stretch that I can’t help but picture my own.

Usually, my hopes are squashed by the guy not answering my messages, bailing on plans to meet up, or never texting again after we have. It’s demoralizing. I really try to give men the benefit of the doubt, but I don’t understand why they make it so hard. We’re all looking for the same thing, right? Someone to spend time with? Have fun, make a connection, and fill up some of that loneliness that we all feel? If that’s true, then why am I still stuck in this cycle? Have the books I adore set an unrealistic expectation for me?

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