Romance By the Book by Sarah Ready

Jessie

Winningthis bet is going to be like taking candy from a baby. As soon as you start chatting with anyone in Romeo about love, they’ll have a story to share about their brother or cousin or best friend who was matched by Miss Erma. It’ll take a couple hours max to win this bet and get Will to leave me be. I frown and sneak a quick glance at him. To be honest, him letting me be isn’t all that appealing.

He’s in jeans and a Henley that stretches over his shoulders. He looks comfortable and hmm…happy? There’s a shadow of dark stubble on his face and his hair is messy from what looks like a long night of combing his fingers through it while thinking. We’re walking side-by-side down Main Street, and there’s a looseness to his gait and a small smile on his lips. His smile is barely noticeable. Maybe it would be missed by anyone who doesn’t know how to read his face and his subtle show of emotions.

“You like it here, don’t you? You like Romeo,” I ask, surprise in my voice.

"Why do you say that?” His stiff response doesn’t fool me.

“I can’t believe I never noticed before.”

He gives me a sharp look. “Noticed what?”

“Gavin told me you own a penthouse in New York City, a place in London, an apartment in Tokyo, a villa in France, a beachfront home in the Caribbean, and—”

“Gavin was feeling talkative.”

“He said, with all those houses, you choose to spend your weekends and free time in”—I hold my fingers to make air quotes—“‘this boring, musty, empty old heap in the middle of nowhere.’ The question is, why?”

I stop walking. Will slows and turns to face me.

“Why?” he asks, and I’m distracted by the blue of his eyes. They look like the chicory flowers that grow wild in the meadow. I smile. They’re my favorite flower.

“It’s because you like Romeo. Maybe even love it.”

“Is that so?” He raises an eyebrow, and I hold back a smile.

I nod. “Sure. On the outside you’re a businessman, one hundred percent, and people may think you have no time for things like love or a walk on a sunny afternoon.” I gesture at Main Street, the sunshine, the flowers, the bright shops and the green park. “But we both know the people who think that way would be wrong.”

“We do?” he emphasizes the word “we.”

I nod and step closer to him, the hem of my dress brushing against his pant legs.

“Because, at heart, you’re a romantic and a good man, and you come to Romeo because it’s like you.” The realization settles on me with surprising clarity. Who would’ve ever thought that I’d see these things in Will. “You’re caring, hard-working, loyal, hope-filled. You come here more than anywhere else in the world because it feels like home. Your home.”

Will gives me a look that’s both skeptical and wary. “Are you trying to convince me that I already believe in Romeo’s mythological soul mates?”

I tilt my head and look into his eyes, the skepticism wars against the wariness and wins.

“No,” I say. “Maybe yes. No.”

I look up at his full lower lip and try to block out the images of kissing him.

He draws in a sharp breath. I realize his pupils are dilating and starting to swallow the blue of his irises. I can see the memory of yesterday there. Will on top of me, in the grass.

“You forget,” says Will in a low voice, “I’ve been coming here for twenty years but I don’t talk to people. I don’t know anyone. I don’t go out and make friends or go to the town events. Your theory is flawed.”

I shake my head. "You’re a private person and an introvert. You don’t have to go out to like someplace.”

He raises his eyebrows and then lowers them. I can see his mind working.

“Gavin is extrovert. If a mosquito would have a conversation with him he’d chat back.” I think about how much Gavin has talked the last two times we’ve been together. He’s told me all about himself, and there’s a few things that are very clear. One, he’s a nice man. Two, we have absolutely nothing in common. And three, there’s no spark. None.

“You’re no extrovert. You’re ‘still waters run deep’. It’s not that you don’t like people, it just takes you a while to warm up.”

Will gives me a smile. “So, you don’t still think I have a calculator for a heart?”

Mortification washes over me. I was such a judgmental jerk. “No. I’m sorry.”

“Looks like you have me all figured out.” His lips quirk into a smile and I realize he’s laughing at me.

“Fine. Maybe not. But I do think you’ll admit by the end of the day that I’m right.”

“Not a chance,” he says.

I step back and shake out my skirt. I’m trying, unsuccessfully, to shake off the magnetic attraction I feel for Will.

“Come on then. First stop.” I cross the street to Miss Lydia’s Dance Studio.

If anyone can convinceWill that soul mates are real, it’s Miss Lydia. She’s seventy years old, as fit and spunky as a twenty-five-year-old, and she’s taught half the wedded couples in town their wedding dance.

“Jessie, congratulations!” she cries when Will and I step into the studio. “I heard Erma saw your soul mate.”

She steps away from the ballet barre and rushes toward us. She’s in a leotard and tights. Her mom and tots ballet class is in thirty minutes. Lydia stops in front of us and looks Will up and down.

“Hmm. You’ll do. You’re a lucky man, Jessie takes care of all the strays, castaways, and lonely folk. Her library programs help so many. If you hurt her, we'll form a mob and tear you to pieces.” Lydia ends in a serious tone at odds with the sweet smile on her face.

I choke on a cough. She thinks Will is my soul mate and she’s threatening him.

“No, he’s—”

“I won’t hurt her,” Will says a solemn voice.

I look over at him. He holds up his hand like he’s on the witness stand.

"I solemnly swear,” he says.

Lydia stares at him a moment and then starts to cackle. “I like this one. He’s got chutzpah, Jessie. I always thought you’d do well with chutzpah. No namby-pamby for you.”

“But—” I start, but Will moves over and steps on my toe. I squeak. “Hey!”

“What’s that?” Lydia asks.

“I was going to say, he’s not—”

“A good dancer. Or informed on soul mates. Jessie said you know all about Romeo’s soul mates.”

Lydia smiles and waves her hands in front of her in some sort of elegant dance gesture. “I do. I can tell you all about it while I assess your dancing.”

“Perfect,” Will says.

I frown at him. “Why are you letting her believe you’re my soul mate?” I whisper.

He leans close and whispers back, “Why are you believing I’m not?”

My mind goes blank. I stop and stare at him. Lydia claps her hands and I come back to the moment.

“Come to the dance floor,” she says.

Will strides out. I follow him, but I’m hesitant and skittish. I’m not certain what he’s going to say or do next.

His soul mate?

No.

Except… No.

I haven’t loved him my whole life. In fact, I’ve only started to like him in the past few days. Erma specifically said my soul mate was the Williams boy I’d loved since I was a kid. That I knew who he was.

“Erma’s never wrong, right, Lydia?” I ask.

“That’s right.” She skillfully pushes Will and me together and places our hands in the proper positions.

Will’s right hand feels warm and heavy on my left shoulder blade. He spreads his hand across my bare back and a liquid warmth flows over me. My whole body, all my senses and awareness are focused on the spot where his fingers press against my skin. He takes his left hand and clasps my right. His grip is gentle, with a quiet strength. He runs his thumb over the back of my hand, so featherlight that I’d miss it if I weren’t so aware of him.

The stroke of his fingers on my hand vibrates over me all the way down to my core. I clench my legs together and try to stay in the here and now. We’re in Lydia’s studio to talk about soul mates.

Soul mates.

I put my other hand on Will’s right shoulder. My mouth goes dry and I hold back an involuntary sound of pleasure. The right side of his lips turns up in a half-smile. He knows.

I try to get a grip. But my body keeps reminding me that the last time I gripped Will’s shoulders, he had me against a wall, or on the ground. With his mouth on me. I let out a sharp pant.

“Perfect,” Lydia says. “I can always tell whether a couple will make it. Erma has her soul mate predictions, but I have dance.”

Will looks into my eyes. “Really?”

“Try this,” Lydia says. “We’ll do some basic waltz steps.” She demonstrates, and Will leads me in a languid movement.

Lydia continues. “Dancing with your partner is the best way to learn their secrets. You can learn in ten minutes flat what they’ll be like in marriage and whether or not you fit.”

I want to say something, but my tongue is sticking to the roof of my mouth and Will’s hand has short-circuited the wires between my tongue and my brain.

“That’s interesting,” Will says. I can’t tell if he’s talking to Lydia or commenting on the way I’m melting into him.

As Will flows into another waltz move, Lydia goes on. “More than interesting. Listen close. Sure, you can tell if a man will be good in bed by how he dances, the way he leads you, if he responds to you, your chemistry.”

Will spins me in a turn and pulls me back to him. My breath catches at the look in his eyes. I’ll always want you, he said. A week ago, heck, three days ago, I would’ve thought he was lying or had an agenda. But now…I’m not so sure. I think I could believe him. Which scares me.

“But there’s more,” Lydia says. “Dance, like marriage, is a partnership. Cooperation is key. If either dance partner showboats, or doesn’t respect the other, or refuses to compromise, or dislikes looking foolish, or doesn’t acknowledge the other’s feelings or respond to them, or isn’t respectful or honest with the other in how they want to “dance”—all those problems will come out in marriage. People could save themselves heartache and breakups by signing up for a dance lesson and seeing how they mesh on the dance floor. In ten minutes I can tell you what fifty years of marriage will look like.”

Will squeezes my hand and my heart lurches. But when I look at him, his face is inscrutable. Maybe I imagined it.

“So, how are we doing?” Will asks.

Lydia circles around us. I can’t bring myself to say anything, to tell Lydia that Will isn’t my soul mate.

I’ll always want you.

I look back at us in the studio mirror along the back wall. Will holds me tenderly, closely. He holds me as if he…cherishes me. His stance is open, vulnerable, like he trusts me. I grip his shoulders and look up at him. His lips twitch and there’s a hint of humor in his eyes.

“You’ll do,” says Lydia. “Your personalities go well together. There’s attraction. Sexual compatibility.”

I cough and Will pats my back. The corners of his eyes crinkle and I get the feeling he’s laughing again without actually laughing. How did I miss this before?

“The only trouble I foresee from your dancing is openness. Your stance is slightly guarded. You’ll have to open up fully, be honest, trust. La,” she trills, “you’ll get there. Miss Erma is never wrong.” She waves her hands and gestures at us.

I still stand in Will’s arms even though we’ve stopped dancing. I clear my throat and slowly step back. Will’s hand falls from my back and he slowly lets my hand go. My whole body vibrates with prickly warmth and it’s begging me to step back in Will’s arms and start dancing again.

I watch as Will swallows. His Adam’s apple visibly bobs. He glances at me, then away. There’s a heavy tension between us and it looks as if he’s visibly stopping himself from taking me in his arms.

I pull in a steadying breath. “What about soul mates?” I ask, remembering our reason for coming. “Will doesn’t know about soul mates.”

Lydia smiles and her wrinkles soften. “Erma predicted my marriage with Anthony. More than forty years now. She saw it while he was still fighting in Vietnam. He came back, missing both legs, touchy as a bear roused early from hibernation. For five years we fought Erma’s prediction. He wouldn’t dance with me.”

Will nods. “That’s hard.”

“It was. But finally, we both got our heads and hearts straight. He danced with me, and that was it. Six kids, seven grandkids, and more than forty years later, I’m more in love than ever. I’m thankful Erma saw my soul mate in Anthony. He’s the only dance partner I can imagine spending my life with.”

“So you believe in the soul mate predictions?” Will asks.

Lydia waves her arms. “Me and the two hundred and seven couples I taught wedding dances to. You’ll be number two hundred and eight.” She winks at us.

Oh no.

“Lydia, thank you, but you misunderstood—”

“Tut, tut. I won’t hear it. You two are naturals. Lessons from me or I’ll be terribly offended.”

“No, I mean were not—”

The door swings open and half a dozen two and three-year-olds run into the studio, squealing and stomping, their moms trailing behind. Our time is up. Lydia waves goodbye as the toddlers surround her.

“So, are you convinced yet?” I ask Will when we’re on the sidewalk. “About Erma’s predictions,” I clarify.

He leans his head back and lets the sun bathe his face with light. When he looks back at me, his gaze is thoughtful.

“If I say yes, you’ll hold me to our bet? I have to stay out of your love life?”

My stomach turns over, like it’s falling out of the old oak tree.

“Yes,” I say, and my stomach feels like it hits the ground.

Will shrugs. “Then no. I’m not convinced.”

His words from the studio hang between us.

Why do you believe I’m not your soul mate?