Plowing ahead without a response, Leeann says, “I’ve been reviewing your binder, and I know alotof your books deal with a variety of different enemy types… What kind are you looking for in your own enemies-to-lovers romance?”
“Kind?” August asks.
“Are we talkingpins her to castle walls with a swordortries to shut down the beloved Christmas tree farm?”
August snorts. “Are you posting an ad on Craigslist?”
Leeann’s tone hardens, severe. “August Renee, I am not joking with you. Answer the question: what do you want out of your enemies-to-lovers romance? What elements are you most invested in?”
“Manipulation.”
I, blessedly, manage not to choke on my bear-ger.
“Pardon?” Leeann states.
“I need someone insane enough to cross blades and wit with. Find me someone who’s made of fantasy in real life. Someone a touch evil and a dash wicked. I’m twenty-six, Granee. At this point, I don’t think I’m going tohavea romance unless a prince coaxes me into it through nefarious means.” A moment of stillness passes over her as she takes apart another olive penguin. “Super simple, right? If you can mail order him to arrive next week, I’d be grateful! We’ll wed in August, so I’ll remember the month of our anniversary. It’s a perfect plan! Anyway, I’m eating dinner right now, soo…”
“Aug—”
She hangs up on her grandmother.
My heartdrops. If I did that to Grandma Beth, I’d be disowned.
Peaceful, August takes in my abject horror. “Oh, sorry. Context. My grandmother is trying to find me a husband.”
“A husband,” I echo.
“Mhm. There’s a chance I told her that if she could find the right guy before the end of summer, I’d let her arrange marry me to him.” She removes her bear-ger’s peppercorn eyes, lifts the sandwich, and takes a bite. “In reality, I got tired of her trying to set me up with anyone around my age who came through town, so my best friend and I put together a binder outlining my ‘perfect male lead’.” Her gaze skims my blond wig, and a feather-light giggle escapes her. “The aged must have hobbies, you know? I just wish my dear sweet Granee would change hers fromplaying matchmaker for her grandchildreninto…whatever normal old people do. Graveyard plot shopping, probably.”
Heart sinking, I ask, “So you’re not actually interested in getting married before the end of summer?”
“Now, I wouldn’t saythat.” August muses. “If she finds my perfect guy, why would I argue with it? I’m not one to shoot down an opportunity or stubbornly reject something wonderful, but let’s just say I don’t have high hopes thatmy perfect guyexists in non-fiction.”
Mellowed, I murmur, “Because of the awkwardly thin line between toxic and the sort of man you just described?”
“Because people happily in love are boring.”
That gives me pause. “What do you mean?”
“Happiness is boring.” She looks at me, as though it should be painfully clear what she’s saying. “You read a romance for the tension. Once everyone’s all in love, it’s mind numbing. They’re just…niceto each other at that point. And if they’reniceto each other too early? All you get is anxiety as you wait for the author to tear things apart at the end and throw them back together again.”
“The third-act break,” I offer.
“Ah.” Her brows rise above the rims of her glasses. “So you read romance?”
“A bit, here and there,” I say.
She chews and swallows another bite of her sandwich. “So you understand. I’d prefer toxicity to boredom. Matrimony sounds an awful lot like a mundane slice-of-life as one comes to the harrowing revelation that people are flawed and frustrating in close combat. Toxicity might not be blatant torture all the time, but boredom definitely would be. There’s nothing exciting about happiness, and there’s nothing fun about co-habitation. Life’s menial irritations like shaving cream on mirrors and cold feet against calves just don’t do it for me. You said the line between what I want and toxic is thin; I don’t think there’s a line at all. I’d take toxic. I’d welcome toxic. At least then, the dissonance would have a bit of depth and the tension would never fizzle.” Her shoulder lifts as she sets the whole matter aside. “Shame, I have half a brain and know that not everything capable of making it buzz is good for me. So. Yeah.” She smiles—so prettily. “If she finds me a villain she approves of, I’ll gladly get married in the flames, but you will have to excuse me for not suspending my disbelief just yet.”
Picking apart a penguin, I study her, glad I thought to have Leeann ask.
Because what this woman wants in an enemies to loversisn’tstability at all.
It’s anarchy.
And, unfortunately, I’m not sure whether or notanarchyis something someone dull like me can achieve.
Chapter 7
