I realize my entire body is clenched tight in reaction to her reading, as if I were trying to stop myself from responding. I relax my limbs, take the book back, and give her an honest answer. “I really do. I’m a sap. I’ve always been a sap. I never got to grow up seeing my parents sneak kisses or grab each other’s butts or whatever it is parents who actually like each other do in movies. Sometimes I think my mom’s sad she never had that too, not even for a little bit like your parents. But it’s not something everyone who wants it gets, even if they’re awesome and put themselves out there. I figure, if I never get it in real life, at least I get it here.” I hold up the book. “The way she writes lets you put yourself in her main characters’ shoes, because they’re not these perfect women; they’re messy and not always perfect-looking and they don’t all have incredible jobs. They struggle with different shit, but find love anyway. And that’s what I want.”

I don’t look at Jasmine until the words finish rushing out of me, and the teasing smile I expect to see is gone. She’s looking at me like … I don’t know, exactly. But she’s taking me seriously and not about to make fun of me for spilling my silly, romantic guts, and I’m grateful.

Her lips do curve again, but there’s no real mocking in their tilt. “So, you put yourself in Zoe’s non-Louboutins, huh? Do we have to find you a Drew to do yardwork?”

My mind flashes to Chase, who definitely has Drew’s defined pecs but I’m pretty sure also has a gardener. I open my mouth to mention him but what comes out instead is, “We’re already shaking leaves here.” I indicate the trees holding up our hammock. “So.”

“Good point. What’s next for Zoe, then?”

And because I am half out of my mind, and her low voice reading the excerpt is ringing in my brain, and though we haven’t talked about it, I can’t get the night of the bonfire out of my head, I say, “Well, you read it.” And I drag my decently manicured green nail down to the edge of her tank top and follow it with a kiss.

I spend the longest second in the world waiting for her reaction, gripping the side of hammock in case she rolls out of it with a quickness and I go flying, but finally, she laughs and says, “I did.”

And she presses her mouth to mine, inhaling me like the spicy scent of wood smoke on a crisp autumn morning.

NOW