Page 67 of How to Write a Rom-Com

“I’m sorry?” I say. Anne reaches a hand over and gently places it on my arm.

“Why don’t we talk through some of your concerns?” Anne says, the consummate professional.

“It’s the whole thing, really,” Ruby whines. “It just doesn’t feel like me.”

Maybe because you didn’t come up with the ideas.

“I don’t understand. You writeeverything. How could this not feelyou?” Anne asks.

“I know, I know. I guess cowboys always felt the most authentic to me. Even with the suspense, I could model that after my favorite crime shows, but I just don’t see the appeal of a city versus small town conflict.”

“I understand that this would be new territory,” Anne starts.

“Maybe you might feel differently if you traveled to a small town like I did,” I offer, trying to salvage things. “I’m sure that could be arranged the next time you are in New York for promo.” I look at Anne for validation.

“Sure, we could do that,” she says with a nod.

“The town is myleastfavorite part.”

Woah, bitch. Take that back.

“The people are bland, too cookie-cutter. There’s nothing that makes them or the setting unique,” Ruby drones.

“I don’t think that’s fair—” I say, but Anne squeezes my arm again.

“Ruby—” Anne starts, but Ruby cuts her off.

“I’ll think about it, Anne. But I’m pretty sure this is a no.” I let out a quiet gasp. “I’m disappointed of course, but maybe it is time to move on.”

“Ruby—”

“We’ll speak soon,” Ruby interjects.

The dial tone echoes in the room.

“Well,” Anne says, still staring at the speaker in the middle of the table. “Fuck.”

Did that really just happen? Did I really go through all of that turmoil and stress for nothing? How—how could Ruby react like that? How could she say that my characters are cookie-cutter? They are based on some of the most amazing and caring people I’ve ever met in my life. How could I have failed this spectacularly?

“Anne, I’m so sorry,” I say, my voice cracking.

“Please, Lucy, don’t be silly. That woman has been giving me a hard time for years. She’ll moan about this for a while, and then one day she’ll come to me saying she has a new great idea, and this will all be water under the bridge. I just thought maybe we’d do it the easy way this time around,” Anne explains, shaking her head.

Anne pats me on the shoulder as she stands. “This is not a reflection of all the great work you did, though. Please know that,” she says. But how can I not take it as one? “We’ll figure something out. Maybe another author can use your ideas.” Anne squeezes my shoulder and slips out of the room.

I crumple in my seat, bringing my hand to my head, and let out a loud exhale.

I failed. I hurt Liam, I hurt Jill, I hurt everyone… for nothing.

I got what I wanted—what IthoughtI wanted. I’m an assistant editor. But this win, if that’s what it can be called, feels hollow now. Because what I want now is so different from what I wanted six weeks ago. I want so badly for this story to have a life, for all the little pieces of my soul that went into this outline to thrive on a shelf somewhere.

I can feel Anne’s gaze from the other side of the glass, and I retreat into an invisible shell around my body. I want to go home and curl up in my bed and pour over my notes, because that’s the only way I will feel close to Liam. That’s what I want most of all. I want to be sitting on his deck, his fingers entwined with mine, smelling smoke from his firepit and listening to the giggles of Robbie and Mia on the grass below us. I want to be back in Hudson Hollow.

Today was supposed to be one of the best days of my life—I finally have the promotion I’ve waited years for. But now it’s lost its meaning. Now, all I can think about is Liam, and Hudson Hollow, the past six weeks of my life that brough so much joy and self-discovery. Maybe the only way I can do that is to write this book myself.

If Ruby doesn’t want this story, fine. Because I do.

Chapter Twenty-Two

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