I always promised myself that if Miss Erma ever predicted my soul mate, I’d pursue him with a single-minded passion. I’d do anything for that kind of love. Romeo, the town where I grew up, inspires this kind of thinking. We have more happily matched couples and true love than any other town in the Western Hemisphere. Our small town has a Cupid festival, a Valentine’s Day parade, a Sweetheart’s Day baking contest, and a 30, 40, or 50 year wedding anniversary practically every week. If the cobblestone streets, the overflowing flower baskets, and the cute stone bridge over the river doesn’t convince you, then our charm will—Romeo, Official Town of Love USA, is the place where true love finds you.

Needless to say, I’ve been dreaming of this moment for practically my whole life.

“You’ve seen him?” I ask Miss Erma.

She gives me a smile that on anyone below twenty I’d call mischievous, but Miss Erma is over eighty, so I’ll call it conspiratorial. “I have,” she confirms. “I saw him this morning.”

My stomach does a flip and I clasp my hands together to keep from jumping up and down and shouting in glee. We’re in a library after all. Miss Erma is here for the class I teach, a seniors’ computer skills class. There’s no jumping around or shouting in libraries.

But still. This, this is the moment I’ve been waiting for.

Miss Erma told my friends Chloe and Veronica their soul mates in the last year, and I just knew my time would be coming soon. Well, if not knew, then hoped.

Miss Erma adjusts her silk shawl over her shoulders. It has pink cherry blossoms on ivory colored fabric. Then she leans back in her computer chair and beams at me.

“I’ve finished the internet search assignment. I looked up travel plans for New York City. Wanda and I are planning a trip,” says Erma.

What? This is the most important moment of my life and she wants to talk about the computer class assignment? I look around the library community room. It’s a big, bright room, with a long table filled with computers and comfy desk chairs. The walls are painted cream and the carpet is sage green. Everyone in the class is still at work, ignoring my conversation with Erma.

“Miss Erma, please. My soul mate. Who is he?” I ask, and then I hold my breath.

But a horrifying thought enters my mind. What if she says William?

No.

Please not William. Please not William. Please not William.

Please don’t say William Williams IV.

Please not—

“It’s that Williams boy.”

The breath I was holding shoots out in a loud exhale. I cough and hit my chest.

Wanda, Erma’s best friend, looks over from her computer. “Are you alright, dear?”

“Fine. Fine.” I wave at her.