Inadvertently, my mind travels back to the romance novel Ryan stole from me the first day we met. “You didn’t name him after The Devilish Duke, did you?”

Ryan places his bag down beside the couch and glances around the room before turning back to face me.

“Not really. Fond as that memory is, my sister was with me when I adopted this guy and she helped me name him. She goes to Duke University.”

“Oh, cool.” For the record, I’m super-psyched I made it blatantly clear that I remember the title of the book that started our relationship. I would hate for Ryan to think that I moved on or anything.

Anxious to change the subject, I walk deeper into the room and ask, “How long was the drive up from North Carolina?”

“It was a little over nine hours.”

“That’s rough. I can barely make it to Long Island without feeling sick.”

“Well, if you still drive like you did in college, I’m not surprised. I think at top speed you only ever went thirty miles an hour.”

“I’m a defensive driver.”

“You’re an old-lady hunchback driver.”

“Let’s not throw stones, okay? You’re the grown man who drives everywhere because you’re afraid to get on an airplane.”

“You and I both know I experienced a trauma,” Ryan says solemnly.

“You had some turbulence on a flight to Denver as a child. I’m not sure that can be considered a trauma.”

“When you’re seven years old, dramatic turbulence feels like you’re plummeting directly into the pits of hell. I would have thought you’d be a little more sensitive.”

“I am sensitive, but it’s kind of extreme that one bad flight made you anti-plane for the rest of your life.”

“I’m a man of the open road, Sullivan. I’m set in my ways and I’m not changing for anything.”

“Whatever you say,” I mutter.

Ryan strolls over to the living room bookcase, where he begins perusing the titles. Thank goodness I moved the worst of the novels into my room. I currently have every mild to moderate book that I own on display in the bookcase he’s now inspecting.

“How do you choose which books to read?” he asks.

Still looking at his back, I interlock my fingers in front of me. “I don’t know. I see what catches my eye at a bookstore or I’ll buy something that’s getting posted about a lot.”

“That’s a wide net. Is there anything special you look for in books besides the consistent sweet, sweet lovin’?”

“You actually want to talk about books right now? Do you have four or five hours to spare?”

He glances over at me with a chuckle. “I think I can handle it.”