“Yeah,” I say, grimacing. “It was…gritty.”

I decide not to tell her about the sharing-a-bed part. That feels like something I want to keep for myself.

“He is so not the kind of guy you go for. You usually go for men who look like sickly Victorian orphans.”

This is true; my MFA-candidate boyfriend had a birdlike bone structure and skin so pale it was nearly translucent. And everyone I’ve dated since college has been a smaller guy, not much taller than me, which is fine—though for the first time, I wonder why. Maybe because I hate being looked down on.

“Do you like him?” Georgia prods.

I wave my hand dismissively. “I’d had a bunch of champagne.”

Her body stiffens. “He took advantage of you?”

“Of course not. Ryan would never do something like that.”

Georgia grins, triumphant. “You defended him! You do like him.” Then she pauses. “But a week ago you loathed him?”

“We got caught up in the moment,” I say, which isn’t an answer, but if I analyze this too much, I may not like what I discover. “We kissed. It won’t happen again. Okay?”

“I mean, you’re both adults. And he’s cute, in a bumbling giant kind of way, and he likes books…”

She raises her eyebrows at me, then turns thoughtful. “But you’re right, it’s not a good idea to get involved with the competition. At the end of the summer, only one of you can win.”

A customer walks in then, saving me from the conversation. But Georgia’s comment sticks in my brain.

Before last weekend, the idea of me winning and Ryan skulking off in shame would have made me giddy with excitement. Now it leaves me unsettled.

Maybe because I know there’s a solid chance I could lose—Xander lied to both of us, so who knows who’s really ahead. Or maybe because I now understand how much Ryan loves what he does—and how protective he is of his staff and customers.

And all that nice-guy behavior? It’s not an act. He actually is a good human. It’s terrible news for me; a complete disaster. Humanizing your enemy makes it difficult to destroy him.

Plus, there’s the undeniable fact that I’m attracted to him. Intensely.

Ryan’s laugh echoes through the store, and I sneak a look between my bookcases. He’s helping a tiny, white-haired woman reach something on a top shelf marked Kissing and Kilts. The top of her head is level with his elbow, and when he hands the paperback to her, she beams up at him. Then he holds out an arm and leads her toward his register.

As they disappear from view, his laugh booms through the air again. My eyes unexpectedly fill with tears.

Again, Georgia’s comment echoes in my mind: Only one of you can win.