I fill my glass and signal Juliet for another bottle.

“Putting the past behind us, let’s presume Miss Erma is right, because she’s always right, and let’s presume my twenty years of feelings for Gavin are also right, and let’s form a plan.”

“What kind of plan?” Chloe asks.

I point to the stack of books. “I have a week to get Gavin to notice me and fall in love with me. I’m going to use the guru tips of romantic literature and cinema to make it happen.”

“You’ve lost your mind,” Veronica says.

“No, it’s a good idea,” I argue. “For example, what does every romance have that jumpstarts the chemistry?”

“A sexy male lead?” asks Veronica.

“A meet-cute,” Chloe says.

“Right! A clumsy heroine who literally falls into the hero’s arms. I’m going to orchestrate a meet-cute.”

“Oh no. This won’t end well,” Veronica says.

But Chloe and Ferran are into it. A full bottle of wine later, we’ve scoured plots, meet-cutes, romantic scenes, declarations of love, and all the ways book and movie characters fall in love and we have our list.

“Okay, here it is,” I say.

I hold up my phone and glance at my notes screen.

“Everything I need to do for Gavin to realize I’m his one true love and then live happily ever after is right here. First step, the meet-cute.”

“It’s never going to work,” Veronica says.

“Of course it will. It’s meant to be. Nothing and no one can stop true love.”

3

Will

“I’m calling off the wedding,” Gavin says.

It takes a second for his words to sink in. When they do, a slight pinch of panic begins. I take a deep breath and look up from my desk at my twin brother.

He leans against the doorframe of my office. It’s on the fourth floor and takes up the entire converted attic space in the old Romeo house. The walls are light blue, the floors wide oak plank, and the windows look over the grassy field, the old oak tree, and the country road that leads to town. I have a large desk, a desk chair, and a couch that I sleep on when I’m deep in work and want a few minutes’ rest in the middle the night before starting up again. The rest of the space is empty. I had all the boxes and old furniture cleared out and donated when I converted the space to an office.

“You’re calling off your wedding?” I ask in a calm voice, which is hard because I’d like to knock Gavin’s head against the wall.

Gavin sighs, pushes off the doorframe and walks into the room.

“Yes,” he says. He paces back and forth and clenches and unclenches his hands.

I stand up and walk out from behind the desk.

“No,” I say.