“Because it’s about the journey, not the destination,” Ryan says. “You’re willing to follow these characters to the darkest depths because you know everything will be all right in the end.”

“But that’s not how the world works.” I’m aware of how cliché I sound: the cynic who doesn’t believe in love. “Why don’t people write about messy, complicated love affairs that end in tragedy or devastation?”

He narrows his eyes, but there’s laughter hiding there, too. “You’re kidding, right? There are plenty of books like that—Anna Karenina? The Song of Achilles? Call Me by Your Name? I could go on…”

“Okay, okay.”

“By definition, a romance novel is about lovers falling in love. Kind of like how mystery novels are about solving a mystery. Fantasy novels take place in a fantastical world; historical fiction is set in the past; literary fiction features purple prose and depressing endings—”

“Come on,” I say, rolling my eyes as an unexpected grin pulls at my lips. “If you think that’s true, you haven’t read much literary fiction.”

“And you haven’t read much romance.”

He knocks his shoulder into mine—well, his upper arm into my shoulder—and the contact sends a zap of electricity through me.

I really need to get out of here.

His phone vibrates on the counter between us, and I take that as my cue to go.

“One second,” he says as he picks it up. “Don’t leave yet, okay? I—I need to talk to you about something.”

I nod, confused, and wait, looking at the Blind Date with a Book display while trying not to eavesdrop. But Ryan’s voice is loud, and it’s hard not to overhear.

“Yes, of course,” he’s saying. “Before the cake cutting. I promise.”

A wedding? He doesn’t sound thrilled.

The person on the phone says something—a woman’s voice, though I can’t make out the words—and he sighs. “The answer is still no. and I’m fine—I got a room at the Star Inn.”

Another pause, and when he speaks again, his voice is softer, the voice I imagine he reserves for people he knows well. People he loves. “Of course I’m excited. Uh-huh. See you soon. Love you, too.”

He ends the call, and I turn away to hide my burning cheeks. Maybe his girlfriend? I bet she’s easygoing and sweet. She probably adores Hallmark movies and gets her nails done every week so she’s prepared for when Ryan proposes?

“Sorry about that,” he says to me. “My parents are having a party for their fiftieth anniversary this weekend—my mom is firming up the details.”

“That was your…mom?”

So maybe he’s single. Not that I care.

He nods. “She thought that maybe if she asked for the fifteenth time, the answer would change and I’d be bringing a date.”