“I’m pretty sure you’re heading for the law section.”

“I am.”

“No, you’re not. You have to pick fiction.”

“Why?”

“You need to change it up a bit. It’s the rule.”

“You bear a real resemblance to your stepfather at the moment, Laurie.”

“Don’t be rude. You don’t read fiction, and you should.”

“It’s obvious you’ve never read some of my clients’ statements.”

His laugh is loud enough to make several people look over at us. He pulls my arm, guides me over to the fiction shelves, and gestures to them. “Ten fiction books need to be picked before we can leave.”

I head over to the thriller section. “Why the emphasis on fiction, anyway?” I ask, taking a book down to examine it. “I thought any reading was good for you.”

“It is, but I’ve decided that you need shaking up a bit.”

“Oh joy.”

“You seem to live without rules, but it’s all a sham,” he says consideringly as he leans against the shelf next to me.

I feel suddenly uneasy. “What do you mean?”

“You might ignore all of society’s expectations and go your own way, but you still have your own rules, and you don’t step outside them.” He eyes me. “Rules like no getting involved, never eating in the same place too often, and no overnight visitors. You’re fifty percent Danish and a hundred percent anti-relationships. You should wear a label.”

“And I suppose you’re looking for the one,” I say scornfully.

“I wouldn’t look for the one if he was the last oil paint supplier in the world. I have zero intentions of ever having a relationship.”

I gaze at him, the book in my hand forgotten. “That’s not the way you appear.”

He raises his eyebrows. “How do I appear?”

I shrug, feeling awkward. “You just seem like you would be good at a relationship.” I recover my composure and continue to peruse the bookshelf. “You’re certainly filled with the conviction that you know everything. I see that characteristic a lot in other people’s relationships.” I glance at him. “Why don’t you want one?”

He stares into space, his eyes looking very green in the shop’s varied light. “It’s always interfered with my career in the past, and now it’s too late.”

I jerk. “What? Why is it too late?” I’m far too loud, and someone shushes me even as he jumps in surprise.

“What?” Laurie asks.

“You said it was too late for a relationship.”

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t. You have to stop making things up, Walter Mitty.”