Page 68 of The Perfect Rom-Com

Jack turns to me. “I know things are . . . tough right now. In lots of ways. We’re heading to the Keys tonight. But how about we stop in town and I take you out? Just . . . you and me. To get your mind off things.”

Is he asking me out?

Out out?

And am I okay . . . actually, quite fine . . . with him asking me out?

“Do you think . . . Claire would mind?” I venture. “Or . . . I mean . . . Chloe?”

He lets out a noiseless exhale of a laugh. Takes a little step closer. “I think we landed on Chloe.”

“Oh. Ha,” I say as bells are exploding in my head. We’ve apparently been dating figments of our imaginations. Terrific. “Right.” I snap my fingers and point at him. It’s pretty much the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. “Great. That sounds like a perfect idea then. Dinner. You and me. Not new. Although—”

His expression shifts warily at the word, and his reaction almost makes my heart burst then and there. And all of a sudden I see his confident mask slip off his face, just a little, revealing he actually does care quite a bit about my response.

He’s asking me out.

I think.

“I am two thousand words behind in my writing today. I’ll be counting on you to keep me awake and writing when we get back. Maybe prod me with a pencil every time I start to doze.”

And there the old, confident Jack is. His eyes shift up to somebody in the bookshop snapping for our attention, and he puts a hand behind my back, gliding us forward.

“Sure thing. I have just the white pens you go all weepy over for the task.”

Chapter 13

The only thing more unnerving than having first-date jitters while preparing for a first date is having first-date jitters while preparing for a secret first date with your agent and best friend in the confined space of an RV bathroom you share with him. An RV bathroom that actually manages to be smaller than that of an airplane. As in, my elbow is hovering above the toilet and one foot is in the shower as I race a brush through my hair.

“Just a moment!” I say in a cheery voice through the paper-thin bathroom door. I rapidly unwind my hair from the curling iron—and ram my elbow into a wall. Everything inside this bathroom is exponentially smaller. And fragile. Knock your knee on the toilet paper and the whole thing falls off. Tap your elbow on the wall and it sounds as though you’re trying to punch through it.

“You all right in there?” Penny says.

“Super! Thanks!”

“You sure?” Penny says in that bright, listen-you’ve-been-in-there-a-long-time-but-I’m-Southern-and-too-polite-to-be-direct way. “Anything I can . . . do?”

“Not a thing!” I reply brightly. “I’ll be right out!”

I decided the safest plan of action for tonight was to wait for Jack to be on a call (not the hard part), sneak into the bathroom (a little more challenging with Amelia’s eight-hour-long beauty “routines”), and get ready as quick as humanly possible, on the off chance I am overthinking all of this.

Which is why I don’t change my outfit from the plain blouse and simple black flats I was wearing all day. The only thing I’ve changed is from the black leggings I wore this afternoon (the same I crawled all over the floor in to sop up Amelia’s spilled water) to a plain brown corduroy knee-length skirt. A nod to the Kathleen Kelly style of nineties fashion. Simple and understated class that says, “Oh, why, I fit in here!” whether we end up at a high-end restaurant or a pizza joint. I am prepared.

I am calm.

I am collected.

I whisper under my breath through the phone cradled in my ear, “So. What do you think?”

I’ve filled Gloria in on every single possible detail over the course of the past ten minutes. Touching on every single detail quicker than Jack, even when he played auctioneer a few days ago.

And Gloria, like the truly efficient court reporter sister she is, gathered in all this information wordlessly and responded with meticulously organized, rapid-fire responses.

The breakup speech with Parker. “Oh, how could he?! You know what? I told you he didn’t deserve you!”

The grief that he was cheating on me. “I never liked him. The man always was looking for the next thing, wasn’t he? Couldn’t just be happy knowing one language. Had to learn two. Couldn’t be happy in one country. Had to fly off to live in two.”

The gaping hole in my heart from the sudden loss after such a long and complicated relationship. “Oh, hon, you are so brave though.” And subsequently, the new incident with Jack: “No, he DIDN’T?” Even the dream. “Are you serious?! Why have we wasted the last twenty minutes talking about, about—you know who—given this inspired news! Forget Parker! It’s agreed, then—Parker ceases to exist in our brains. Tell me more about Jack.”