“Aren’t there any women currently in the running to be a real girlfriend?” I ask.

“No.”

“How is that possible?” This brunch line is not moving. The smell of bacon frying is making me even hungrier.

He just gives me his look of annoyance, which is one eyebrow cocked and a slight shake of his head. “It’s not like you date a lot. Did I miss the memo where you’re dating someone?”

“There wouldn’t be a memo.”

“Your sister would definitely issue a memo.”

I laugh. “A legal memo. To whom it may concern. But seriously, Rory, you’re not usually at a lack for dance partners.”

“I am now. Marie was always asking me, ‘So where do you see this going?’ Which really kills any … uh … magic. And Callie …” He presses his lips together.

Another couple enters the foyer behind us. Rory and I move closer together to make space for them.

The man kisses the woman on the forehead and looks deep into her eyes. What if Jamie looks like that at his new girlfriend? I feel nauseous. No, that would be good. It would be good if his new girlfriend was his soulmate—better than watching him with a parade of different women I didn’t merit joining. He wasn’t even willing to try dating me. I probably should have asked him out on a date instead—something less dramatic than saying, “I love you.” But since we’ve known each other since childhood, a “date” didn’t seem necessary. Not when I’ve been in love with him since high school. And somehow, I always thought, at some point, he’d love me back.

“Although I recognize that you don’t believe in magic,” Rory says.

“I never said that,” I say.

“You don’t have to. It’s the way you never discuss it.”

I look up at Rory. “That magical connection can be dangerous.”

“Is that bad?” He gives me a lopsided grin.

“Dangerously devastating if he doesn’t ‘feel the same way.’” Or you lose that person. “Or if it leads to too high expectations.”

“So, you’re just looking for humdrum as opposed to magical connection? That explains … Never mind.”

I don’t deign to respond.

He flips through the book and reads out a line. “No, ‘every part of her burned with fire’ for you?”

“I’m not particularly looking.” I cross my arms.

“But you’re writing a romantic comedy.”

“But it’s focused more on the comedy than the romance—more focused on the caper than the crush.” Some people are leaving. One bumps me and I put out my hand to avoid falling into Rory, grabbing his bicep. Rory holds my hand as if we’re about to do the jitterbug.

“Hence the title, Caper Crush,” he says.

“If only the title alone could sell it.” I release him.