Page 3 of Not My Love Story

“There are only so many ways you can write city girl meets boy from the other side of the tracks before it loses all meaning.”

Hayley barked out a short laugh. “Oh, and I suppose those long, moody films about the destruction of hope in a cold world are all completely distinguishable from each other.”

“At least they don’t sugarcoat reality.”

“No, they just make me want to cry in the shower.”

Great. Now all he could think about was her, clothes and all, wet and dripping.

He cleared his throat. Thatwasn’thelping. “But they make you feel something.”

Hayley tapped her pen, frowning. “You might have buried your heart in concrete at the bottom of a very deep ocean, but romance makes the rest of humanity feel things, too.”

Oh, he knew all about the lies romance told — the fantasy of a partner who was perfect, illusions of relationships that never faced hardship or needed work. In romance movies, the hard part was saying I love you, not what happened after the credits rolled.

That was where the real stories began.

“Please. They’re all the same. Paint-by-numbers plots with catchy posters. They’re nothing but money catchers with no substance.” Probably a low blow, but in for a penny and all that. “Is she a young girl trying to make it in the big city? She’ll be on the poster in a red outfit. Generic rom-com featuring Hollywood’s buff flavor of the month? The couple standing back to back on a white background.”

“Oh, hell,” she said, searching in the pockets of her suede jacket, piling the retrieved items onto the table in front of her. A room key, a hair elastic, and a collection of empty sugar packets. Her refined posture already showed cracks.He was getting to her.“Are you going to be like this the entire week?”

“And another thing,” he continued.

“Oh good. I was hoping you weren’t finished,” she drawled.

“Half the time, the couple falls in love way too fast. Instant love. Mix a handful of outdated jokes about gender with whatever top 40 songs will quickly date your movie and bam! Holiday hit.”

“Be more of a stereotype, I beg of you,” Hayley muttered, staring into the distance.

“You can’t honestly make me believe two people are made for each other in a week.”

Hayley moved, covering the distance between them in short, unhurried steps. She placed her hands on either side of him and leaned in. God, he’d barely need to move to kiss her. Jasmine and sugar swarmed him, the heat of her body a beacon. His nerve endings lit with the memory of the last time they were this close. And closer.

“Oh, I can and I will.”

For a long breath, he said nothing, too caught up inher. He couldn’t believe he’d agreed to this.

“I have one rule,” he said.

She waited. Had her lashes always been so long?

“You even breathe the wordsLove Actually, and I’m out of here.”

Her laugh was summer rain, welcome and soothing, and far too pure for his iced-over heart.

“Deal.”

* * *

Their differences were even more obvious when they unpacked, as though Harrison needed a reminder that he wasn’t from her world and never would be.

He reached for his backpack and pulled out his Post-its and array of pens, arranging them neatly on the table and leaving his laptop in his bag. Harrison approached outlining hands-on, needing to see the shape of the narrative take place before him. He could never see the beginning until he’d imagined the end. Mapping out how to get between those points was the fun part.

And this way, he could color coordinate.

From her case, Hayley retrieved a notebook, a single blue pen, more empty sugar packets (which she frowned prettily at), and her laptop, which she placed beside her.

When she was done, he sighed. “Let’s get this over with.”

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