Romance By the Book by Sarah Ready
Jessie
It’s funny,when I finally got everything I thought I ever wanted it turned out that I was wanting the wrong thing. I slide the pile of romance books and romcoms into the library book drop. They fall and hit the bottom with a dull thud. All the formulas and the meet-cutes and the ways people fall in love in fiction—none of it is real.
I spent my entire life hiding behind fantasies and books.
I shove the books into the slot and let them go—I used them for the formulas, but love doesn’t have rules. You can’t make someone love you and you can’t choose who you love.
Before she died, my mom told me that in a town like Romeo you’re guaranteed to find your true love. It’s not a matter of if, but when.
The back of my eyes sting and my throat tightens.
“What’s wrong, dear?”
I look over. It’s Wanda. She’s early for the seniors’ computer class. Gladiola and Petunia stand behind her near the circulation desk.
I press my lips together and sniff. I shove the last of the books into the drop and try to swipe at my eyes without them seeing.
Wanda sets her hand on my arm. “Dear? What is it?”
I drop my head. “I think,” I whisper, “that if my mom were alive, she’d be ashamed of me.”
I look at the carpet and my throat burns with the tears I don’t want to let out.
“Dear, no,” cries Wanda.
She glances around the library at all the patrons and then back to me. Then she takes my arm and pulls me into the community room. Gladiola and Petunia follow her in and shut the door.
“Tell me,” Wanda says in a stern grandma voice.
Petunia starts to say something but Wanda shushes her.
I close my eyes and blink back the tears. “I’ve always wanted my mom to be proud of me.” My voice shakes at my admission. “I imagine her looking down and watching over me, and everything I’ve done, I’ve always wanted her to be proud, to be glad I’m hers. Even though she’s not here with me, I’ve always believed she can see me and that she’s proud.”
I swipe at my eyes.
“She is,” Wanda says. “We all know she is. Your mom loved you, she would be so proud of who you’ve become.”
I shake my head no and look away. They don’t know how many people I’ve hurt with my stubbornness and selfishness.
“My mom used to tell me the story, of how in Romeo, you always find your true love. The day of her funeral, I thought she sent me mine and that Gavin was her message to me that she was still with me and that love still survived. And hope. And kindness. And…that even though she was gone, I could still be loved.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Wanda pulls me into her arms and sets my head to her shoulder. I breathe in the familiar scent of her lily of the valley perfume. “She loves you. She’s proud. We all are.”
“We are,” Gladiola says.
“That’s right. Everyone in Romeo is proud. And we love you too,” Petunia says.
I pull away and sniff. “My mom told me that story so I’d be open to finding love. But I did it wrong. I hurt people.”
I think of Lacey, her stricken expression. Gavin caught up in it all, and Will. I saw the moment his heart broke. The light in his eyes flickered and died. He pulled himself back into that cold, lonely, distant place where he doesn’t let anyone close.
“What happened?” Petunia asks.
So I tell them. I tell them how I’ve been chasing the wrong Romeo. How my blind belief that Gavin was the one, and my disregard for other people resulted in losing the man I loved. I tell them how Erma predicted Gavin as my soul mate but that it doesn’t matter, because I need to stop trusting stories and fantasies and predictions and start trusting myself. And my heart knows that Will has always been the one.
“Will’s been gone for two days,” I say. “And I don’t know that he’ll ever come back.”
Everyone is quiet. Then Petunia and Gladiola give each other a speaking glance.
“I told you your old lady busybody routine would catch up and bite you, Petunia,” says Gladiola.
“Bite me? You’re the one who said we needed to help things along like a fairy godmother. Fairy godmother, my tush. Look at Jessie, she’s devastated.”
“Hush,” Wanda says, and she pats my arm.
“Bah. Rotten pumpkin, fairy godmother nonsense,” mutters Gladiola.
I smile even though my heart’s not into it. Wanda, eyes bright behind her horn-rimmed glasses, notices the wobble in my smile.
“Well, dear, no matter what happens, rest assured, we are all proud of the woman you’ve become. It takes a lot of courage to admit you’ve been wrong. I’m sure your mom told you that.”
I nod. She did.
“So what will you do?” Petunia asks.
I think about what I’ve done, who I’ve been and who I strive to be. I always wanted my mom to be proud, but now I realize I want to be proud of myself too.
“I’m going to tell the people I hurt that I’m sorry. And if Will won’t come here, then I’ll go to him.”
The ladies cheer. We look up as the door to the computer room opens and Mr. Frank walks in.
“What’d I miss?” he asks.
“Class is canceled,” I say. “I’m going to go find my true love.”
“We’re landing in five minutes,”Gavin says. He looks over at me from the pilot’s seat. “Nervous?”
“No,” I say. It turns out, in addition to all his other extreme sports and stunts, Gavin also has his pilot’s license and a small plane at Romeo’s private airport. And he’d heard from Will two days ago that he was heading to NYC for a while.
“Did I mention how much more I’m going to like having you as a sister-in-law than a soul mate?” he asks. He was all too happy to fly me to the city and deliver me to his brother.
“Only about five hundred times.”
“Good. Because as soon as we land, I’m going to win back my fiancée. I was a self-sabotaging idiot.”
“Good luck,” I say, and I wholeheartedly mean it.
He grins and his eyes crinkle.
“Do you think he’ll show?” I ask.
“He’ll show,” Gavin says with utter confidence. “I know my brother, there’s no way he won’t show.”
The lights of the New York area loom closer. We stop talking as Gavin takes the plane in for landing.
The 102nd floorof the Empire State Building is cold. The air conditioning is on high and the sky is dark. The lights of the city surround me. The observatory is crowded, even though it’s nearly ten at night. A family with six kids pushes past me to see the view. A middle-aged couple at the window kisses.
I clutch the red rose I bought at the vendor on the street and search the faces of the crowd.
He’s not coming.
No matter Gavin’s confidence in him or how much I wish it were different, Will isn’t coming.
I left a message on his phone, telling him I had one last idiotic, ill-advised, romantic foolery left to win my true love. I promised him that he was going to hate it and he’d have to try to stop me—because that’s what friends did.
I told him I’d be waiting at the top of the Empire State Building, holding a red rose…and my heart. Both of them were for him.
Please come,I’d said. I’ll be there at ten o’clock. Please come.
I walk closer to the window and peer down at the street below. I half expect to see him jump out of a taxi. But I don’t.
He’s not here. He’s not coming.
“Ma’am. The elevators are leaving.” The guard motions at the elevator and I take one last look at the panoramic view of the city and the emptying observatory.
At the street level exit I throw the rose into the garbage. I think about how Will threw away The Horse and His Boy all those years ago.
But he went back for it. He went back.
I’ll wait. Maybe he’s racing toward me, scared he’ll be too late. I lean my back against the side of the building and scan the street.
An hour passes. Then another. Midnight comes and goes. I start to get nervous as the street grows more deserted. He’s not coming.
I open my purse and pull out the tattered old copy of our book. I flip through the pages. Near the end, I catch a paragraph underlined in dark ink.
My eyes fill with tears. It’s the paragraph where Cor and Aravis decide to marry, because they were so used to fighting and making up that they got married so they could do it more easily. Next to it in a boyish scrawl is the word us, and a date from nearly fifteen years ago. I flip through the pages again and find one last underline. It’s one of my favorites too. It always made me feel better whenever I read it.
It says that when your life goes wrong, it usually keeps getting worse and worse until things turn around, and when they do, it all keeps getting better and better and beautifully better.
I wipe my eyes, close the book, and put it back in my purse.
I never knew how beautifully better life could be until I opened up to Will.
I search the streets again.
He’s not coming.
I walk toward Grand Central Station. I’ll catch the late train north, toward home. My grand romantic plan failed. I smile ruefully. They always do, don’t they?
The barkof the old oak tree scratches my legs. I lean back into the trunk and lift the binoculars to my eyes. The house is still empty. Will’s not here. I got back to Romeo early this morning, in time for a quick nap, and then work.
I drop the binoculars and lean my head back against the tree. The sun is setting, and the warm air, the singing bugs, and the soft swaying of the branches lulls me.
Will didn’t come. He hasn’t answered his phone or responded to any texts. I let out a long sigh. I should’ve gone back to bed, but something in me needed to come to the old oak.
A twig snaps below me. My eyes fly open. I look down and my heart starts to gallop.
It’s Will. He looks up at me, eyes inscrutable.
“What are you doing in my tree?” he asks.
My eyebrows crease, then I lift my binoculars. “Being a peeping Tom,” I say. A sliver of hope works its way into my heart.
His lips start to curve then stop. He grabs the lowest limb and hoists himself up. He climbs up the tree and spans the fifteen feet in seconds. When he reaches me he sits down next to me on the branch.
“Hello, William.”
“Jessie.”
When he says my name it feels like he’s touched me everywhere—my whole body heats.
He looks forward toward the sunset, not at me. I turn to it too and let my speeding heart slow to a steady rhythm. The sky is dusky blue and painted with bright orange and golden clouds.
“Why were you crying?” he finally asks in a low, quiet voice.
I startle and realize there must be tear tracks on my cheeks. I look over at him. His face is covered in a few days’ worth of dark stubble, he has bags under his eyes and his clothes are dirty and wrinkled. To me, he’s the most beautiful man in the world.
“Because I lost my best friend. The person I love most in the whole world.” My voice is thick with emotion.
He nods solemnly, scoots closer and puts his arm around my shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I lost the person I love, too. I thought it was because she didn’t love me.”
“But she does.”
He nods. “She does.”
I let out a sharp exhale. “What happened? Where did you go?”
“London. I got you this.” He shifts and pulls a book from his pocket. “It’s signed. I got you first editions of the entire series, all signed.”
The sliver of hope in my heart grows and I smile at him hesitantly. Smile back, I urge him silently.
“Why?” I ask, gesturing to the book.
He raises an eyebrow. “I thought if I promised to shower you with priceless rare books you might forgive me and reconsider heaven.”
The look on his face is open and vulnerable. His arm tightens around my shoulder. He’s terrified of my answer.
“Does heaven come with you?”
He closes his eyes. “Yes. That’s the deal.”
He still thinks I’m going to reject him. “Did you get my messages about New York?”
He looks at me, eyebrows drawn. “I lost my phone in London. I flew back as soon as I could. Then I came straight here. I looked for you everywhere, I…” He stops when he sees the look on my face. “What is it?”
“I waited for you at the top of the Empire State Building.”
A stunned look crosses his face. “You did what?”
I smile. “I thought I’d recreate a final romance cliché just for you.”
“That’s a terrible idea,” he says. His lips quirk in an almost smile and his eyes turn a lighter shade of blue.
“I knew you’d see it that way.” My smile grows.
“I love you,” he says. And the way he says it is like a prayer. I clasp his hand and lean my head to his chest. I press my lips to his beating heart.
“I love you,” I whisper. Then, “You’re not letting me go?”
“Never,” he swears. “I’m sorry I left. I’m sorry I didn’t listen.”
“I don’t want Gavin.”
“I know.”
“Can I tell you a story?” I ask.
“Always.” He pulls me tighter against his side and we look toward the glowing sunset.
“Once upon a time,” I begin, “there was a little girl who wanted very badly to love and be loved. And when she met a little boy in this very tree, she thought he was the one. She idolized him and dreamed about him. But there was another boy who she didn’t idolize, who she claimed she didn’t even like. He was like a thorn in the bottom of her foot. Every time she drifted too far into the fantasy of the other boy, he’d poke her and pull her back to focus on him. Until finally, the girl realized she’d been wrong all along. That she didn’t love the boy from Erma’s vision, she loved the thorn, the man that kept waking her up from her dream—to live her real life, her best life, with him.”
Will reaches over and takes my hand. “Good story. Out of curiosity, what was Erma’s vision?”
I shrug. “The day my mom died, she saw that I met a boy. We climbed up this tree. He gave me his handkerchief and I gave him a flower. She said he was my soul mate.”
Will stiffens and slowly takes his arm from my shoulders and pulls his hand out of mine.
“It’s not real,” I say. My mouth goes dry.
Will slowly shakes his head. “Unbelievable.”
“She’s wrong. We both know, this time Miss Erma’s wrong.” He needs to believe this.
What’s the matter with him?
“Come with me,” he says, and there’s an odd note in his voice.
He drops down to the ground and I scramble after him. When I get to the grass he grabs my hand.
“What? What is it?”
He shakes his head. “Come on.” He pulls me across the field, first at a fast walk, then at a run.
“Will, what?” I gasp.
We’re heading toward the house, the tall meadow grass bends around us and white night moths fly up into the air as we pass.
“I’m not going with Gavin, I told you. I don’t want him.”
If he’s taking me to the house to find his brother, I’ll bonk him over the head with a hardback encyclopedia.
We reach the front door. I’m out of breath. Will’s breathing hard and there’s a strange light in his eyes. The same light he had when we first made love, and when he promised he’d never let me go.
He unlocks the door and pulls me up the stairs. We stop in his bedroom suite.
“You loved that little boy?” he asks, his voice rough.
I shake my head no. “I love you,” I say.
He nods and gently pushes me back to the bed. I sit down on the thick comforter.
“You loved him for years?” he asks.
“I thought I loved him. But I don’t. I love you,” I say firmly. I hold open my arms to him and invite him in.
He drops to his knees in front of me.
“And that boy is your soul mate?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No. You’re my soul mate. I love you.”
He takes my hands, turns them over, and presses a kiss to each palm.
“Let me tell you a story.”
“Alright,” I whisper.
He looks up at me, eyes warm and full of love.
“Once upon a time, there was a boy, who above all else wanted to love and to be loved.”
I swallow the lump in my throat and nod. “Good beginning.”
“It gets better,” he says. “When he was eight, the boy’s mom left and although he didn’t know it, the next year his life would change forever.”
I nod. Will’s dad would realize he was a prodigy. He’d lose his childhood. I stroke my thumb across his hand.
“But,” he says with a smile, “before that happened, he met a girl and he fell in love.”
I think of him pushing me in the mud and I smile. Not the best way to show love.
“He dreamed about that girl, lived for her smile and the moments he caught sight of her. She kept him dreaming, kept him hopeful and believing there might be good in the world. That someday, he might have a friend again. Every time the boy drifted too far into the cold and distant place where he couldn’t be reached, she’d come and smile and yank him back into the world.”
I squeeze his hands and let him know I understand. He presses another kiss to my palm.
“Then the girl said she was going to marry the boy’s brother. And since the boy had loved the girl for years and would go on loving her for the rest of his life, he decided to stop her.”
“Thank goodness,” I say.
“Thank goodness,” he agrees. “Because I knew from the minute I laid eyes on you, that you and I were meant to be.”
My heart feels so happy and so full.
“We made it,” he says. “We should be friends.”
My breath catches in my throat. “What did you say?”
He nods, and his eyes are a clear chicory blue. “We can take care of each other.”
My body tingles as I take in what he’s saying. It’s not the boy in my memory saying it, it’s Will.
“You?” I ask.
The side of his mouth lifts up in a half-smile. Then he opens the drawer of his nightstand and pulls out a leather-bound book. He opens it to the center page and holds it up to me.
It’s the chicory flower, dried and faded with time, but there it is—the flower I gave…to him. To Will.
“It was you?”
He sets the book aside and pulls me into his lap on the floor.
All those years I’d thought the boy in the tree was Gavin, and it was Will.
He sets his forehead to mine and looks into my eyes.
“You’ve loved me from the first,” I say. My voice is full of awe.
“And you’ve always loved me,” he says, a smug note in his voice. His lower lip curls into a smile and I think about kissing him.
“But your dad called for Gavin and you ran…I thought…I…” All these years.
It was Gavin who pushed me in the mud. It was Will who was in the tree.
Will quirks an eyebrow. “Whenever my dad called one of us, he expected both of us to come. I never said my name was Gavin.”
My cheeks heat. All these years. A thought strikes me.
“Erma was right! You’re my soul mate.”
Will shakes his head. “We were right. We knew it twenty years ago. We just had to figure some things out between then and now.”
I smile and rub my hand down his cheek. “Like what?”
“Like what books we love.”
I curl into his warm chest. “Mhm.”
“And we had to learn how to dance together.”
“That’s important,” I agree. “What else?”
“Whether we like spaghetti, and kissing in the rain.”
“We do,” I say.
He smiles and takes my lips in a kiss. Then, “And how we like our chocolate.”
“Spicy. And blindfolded.”
He grins. “And if we like sports or just climbing trees.”
“Just trees.”
“And where we want to live,” he adds.
“Here,” I say, and he nods.
“And how many kids we want,” he continues. He pulls me closer and trails a line of kisses down my cheek.
“A dozen,” I tease.
His eyes light up and I wrap my legs around him.
“And then we have to practice making them. It takes a lot of practice,” he says.
He spreads his hands over my lower back and I rock into him.
“Years’ worth of practice,” I say.
He takes my mouth and sets a kiss full of love against my lips.
“Every day,” he agrees.
I send my hands over him and realize how blessed, how wonderfully blessed I am. To love and to be loved.
“I love you,” Will whispers fiercely against my mouth.
He rolls back to the floor and pulls me on top of him. I nestle into him and feel his warmth and the beating of his heart.
“I need you to know something,” I say. I press my fingers to his cheeks and look into his eyes.
“What is it?”
“I love you. I loved you before I knew you were my soul mate and I loved you when I thought you weren’t. And I’m going to keep on loving you, come what may.”
He smiles and pulls me close. His lips rub against mine. “Promise?”
I start to laugh. I feel so light. So happy. So loved. “Promise.”
He takes my mouth and kisses me with all his love. The love from yesterday, from today, and for tomorrow. For always and forever.
THE END
