Page 51 of Book Boyfriends
“It means that sometimes we’re just a supporting character in someone’s journey, and not their counterpart to go on that journey with them. Until I read your book, all I knew was my heart and only parts of Selena that she shared with me. After reading Selena’s point of view, I got to truly know her heart. As much as I know she loves me and Sugarville, I don’t think she’d have quit her job and moved back. It felt more like what was expected versus what was right for her.”
“But she loves you.” My brows rise.
“Her keeping her career and staying in the city doesn’t change that.”
“Do you think I should have had you move to the city? But the bakery? Your family?” My eyes widen. “Do you think you two should stay broken up?”
Romance novels have rules. The couple can break up a million times and experience all sorts of relationship dysfunction throughout the narrative, but by the time the reader reachesThe End,they need to be together. It’s a hard rule; no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Guilt churns at the idea that I somehow wrote a story where the ending isn’t happy.
“Sorry…” He frowns. “I may be overstepping. You’re the author. It’s your story.”
My gaze melds with his. “It’s not. Not anymore… Or maybe it never was. It’s your life. Selena and your lives. Just as it’s the others’ lives. I guess you’re given a chance most people aren’t. You know what’s going to happen, and if you’re not happy with that, how would you want to change it?”
“IfI could get back, you mean?”
“Yeah,” I breathe, hoping that I can find a way.
He sets the last biscuit on the baking sheet. “I’d still go to her, but sooner. Before she quits her job, so we could figure out a path forward, one where she doesn’t give up everything that she’s worked for.”
I cringe. “I really did lose my feminist card with that book.”
He chuckles. “It was a tough choice. I’d never want Selena to give up her passion, and she’d never let me desert my responsibilities in Sugarville. That’s why we had our third-act breakup. She believed it was what was best for me and her, even if it wasn’t what was best forus. A solution without each giving up what’s important to us must exist. If I had the chance to do it again, I’d like to find that solution with her. For us to discover a way together.”
“And if not?”
A pensive expression shimmers in his features. “Then it was a beautiful love story about two people who were a portion of each other’s story. Not all couples are meant to be forever… Doesn’t mean it’s not romantic or unhappy. Some relationships are just meant to playapart.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“I accept that may be the outcome, but I still hope for an ending with me a part of Selena’s story and her in mine. If we’re not, I’m still grateful for the time we had and wouldn’t change it.” He hands me the cookie sheet and then gestures for me to take it to the oven.
“You’re way more Zen than me.” Shaking my head, I move to the oven while he begins to cut out biscuits from my dough.
“It’s to be expected after what happened with Will.”
“Yeah.” The word comes out strangled.
No doubt my bigmouth younger brother has filled in the blanks with his CliffsNotes version of my last relationship. While I bristle at the idea that Will’s fingerprints are all over my dismal romantic life since our breakup, I know it’s true. Despite my brothers’ insinuation, I still put myself out there, though. Bad date after worst date, I still try, because I believe in and hope for love.
I want love like in my books. Although I wonder how great the love in my books is, if the male main character questions whether he and the female lead are meant to be together. Maybe my heart is too broken to even write love, let alone find it.
“Will and I are in a different situation than you and Selena. You two only have geography and fears about making mistakes to get over. Will loved someone else.” I point to him, trying to keep the hurt out of my voice. I’m not entirely sure if the twinge is about Will or my possibly failed book happy ending.
“To quote Lord James, ‘He’s a fool.’ You’re utterly loveable, Georgia. If I wasn’t?—”
“In love with someone else.” My tease is laced with remorse. “Story of my life.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” A ragged sigh heaves out of me. “For everything, but above all for?—”
“Me not beinghim.”
“Whomeverhimis,” I whisper, not saying the quiet part out loud. That ember of fear I try to snuff out: thathemay not exist.
“For what it’s worth, I wish I were him for you.”
“Me too,” I murmur.
