Excerpt 1:

Instead of agreeing that I should be the captain of my own ship, my mother laments, “I always thought your life would turn out like one of those delightful romcoms from the nineteen nineties. You know, single girl meets the love of her life in a quirky, yet totally believable way …”

I’m not sure which movie she’s thinking of as I’ve grown up watching them all with her. On repeat.

“Which Julia Roberts character did you envision me being? If it’s Vivian Ward in Pretty Woman, I’ll have to move to LA and become a sex worker first.” My mom pushes out of my arms and stares at me in horror.

Instead of letting the subject drop, I feel a burst of indignant steam start to build. “If you want me to be like Anna Scott in Knotting Hill, I’ll also have to move to LA, but this time I’ll have to figure out how to become a movie star. Then I’ll need to find an abusive boyfriend so I can cheat on him with a bookstore owner in London.” How does she find these to be believable scenarios?

Hurt tinges her voice as she responds, “What about Jules Potter in My Best Friend’s Wedding?”

“She didn’t even wind up with the guy!” I shout.

“How about the Runaway Bride?” This woman is relentless.

“I would have to get engaged three times so I could dump three men before my true love showed up to write an article about my chaotic life,” I remind her.

My mom’s face screws up in an agonizing expression like she’s painfully wracking her brain. “Maybe not a Julia Roberts movie then. What about Sandra Bullock? Her romcoms were more girl-next-door, which is exactly what you are.”

Raising my hand into the air, I start ticking off fingers. “While You Were Sleeping would involve nearly killing someone in a train accident so I could lie to the victim’s family and fall for his brother. In Miss Congeniality, I’d have to be an FBI agent masquerading as Miss New Jersey. Hope Floats would get me that husband and child you so badly want me to have but said husband would have to dump me on national television before running off with my best friend. Do you want me to go on?” I demand.

Confusion riddles my mom’s features resulting in my feeling an unexpected wave of compassion for her. “I don’t want any of that for you. I just want you to have a beautiful and happy ending to your story.”

“My story is a long way from being over, Mom.” I’m not going to tell her that my vision of the future is nothing like what she’s hoping for. As in, I’m pretty sure I’ll never let myself be vulnerable enough to give love a second chance. I know for certain I will never have my own children. Three lost pregnancies are enough for me to take the hint.

My mother inhales deeply before telling me, “I’m not good at leaving things in the hands of fate.”

“No, you’re not. You’re the worst control freak I know, but that doesn’t mean you’ve been appointed God and get to make all the decisions for my life.”

“I don’t want to make all the decisions. I just want you to start living again!”

“I’m enough on my own, Mom. I don’t have to be a wife to have value.” I can tell I’ve hurt her feelings again, but what else can I do? It’s like we’re two different species with zero understanding of how the other works.

With hands on hips, she demands, “What’s your five-year plan?”

“To still be breathing,” I tell her honestly.

“Do you ever want to get back into publishing?”

I offer a brief shrug. “Can’t say.”

“Do you plan on working at Rosemary’s for the rest of your life?”

“Would there be anything wrong with that? Would you not be able to love me anymore if I don’t get the Hollywood ending you’ve always imagined for me?”

My mom’s face turns bright red, which is a sure indicator she’s about to lose her cool. But instead of screaming at me, she merely turns around and strides out of the dining room like she’s on her way to execute a military coup. Napoleon had nothing on this woman.

I take her reaction to my question to mean that her love is dependent on my capitulation to her vision. Well, too freaking bad, Margaret. I’m not going to try to make you happy when I don’t even know what will make me happy.

My phone pings before I can stand up and clear the remnants of my uneaten breakfast. Picking it up, I click on the message notification and read a text from Lorelai.

 

Lorelai: Noah is driving me crazy! I’ve been asking him to put my navy-blue cashmere sweater in the mail for a week, and he hasn’t done it. Would you mind going over to my parents’ house and sending it? The key is under the mat.

 

My nervous system responds by causing me to break out into a cold sweat. I do not want to see Noah Riley. To be honest, I hate that he’s moved back to Elk Lake. There is no place in my life for my childhood crush. He’s part of my past and I will not go out of my way to run into him again.

Having said that, Lorelai is my best friend, and she never asks for anything. Shoot! I’m going to have to do it. I’ll just have to make sure to go when Noah isn’t there.

 

Excerpt 2:

Noah stands up and reaches his hand out to help me up. Yet once I’m standing he doesn’t let it go. Instead, he holds on tightly and leads the way out of the restaurant. The cool autumn breeze wafts past, and I’m suddenly full of so much optimism and possibility I’m nearly blown over. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this sure about something, I almost forgot how good it feels. 

As Noah and I walk across the street to my apartment, he still doesn’t let go of my hand. Instead, he turns to me and declares, “We both have a lot ahead of us.”

“I suppose that’s true,” I agree. 

He surprises me by saying, “I like you, Allie. I like you a lot. Not only are you a nice person, but you’re generous and caring. You’re the whole package.”

I’m not sure where he’s going with this, but I’m certainly enjoying the props. Especially as they’re coming from my childhood heartthrob. “Thank you.”

“I’m probably moving back to Chicago, which makes what I’m about to say completely out of line.”

Looking for some levity in the moment, I ask, “Are you propositioning me?” 

“No,” he says. “But I would like to kiss you. I’d like that very much.”

Chills race up my spine and into my extremities. I’ve fantasized about this, and not just once or twice, either. A million times.“I’d like to kiss you, too,” I tell him in a breathy voice. 

Still keeping the distance between us, he says, “I know I shouldn’t but …”

Instead of letting him finish his sentence, I hurl myself into his arms and plant one on him like I’m performing a lifesaving resuscitation. Everything about this moment feels right. From the softness of Noah’s lips to the warmth of his arms around me. We’re a perfect fit and I never want him to let go of me. 

Our kiss goes on for what could be seconds or lifetimes. I don’t really know because all sense of time has flown and has taken any common sense I once possessed with it. 

Kissing Noah Riley is everything I ever dreamed it would be. My teenage self had no idea how great it really is. Good thing, too, because I probably would have set up camp on his doorstep had I known. 

Noah eventually breaks our contact to take a deep breath. If it was up to me, I’d die right here in his arms. “Wow,” he says. “We should have done that sooner.”

“When?” I ask. “When I was fourteen and you were seventeen?”

He shakes his head. “Probably not then. But I would have definitely gone for it the summer you and Lorelai graduated from high school.”

I love this feeling of ease between us, so I tease, “When I was eighteen and you were in your twenties?”

He looks down at me with such tenderness, I wonder how I ever survived without him.  “I might have waited until your college graduation just so it didn’t look pervy.” After a beat he asks, “Can I kiss you again?”

My chin barely lifts before we’re once again locked in each other’s arms. Even though I know nothing long term can happen between us, that doesn’t keep me from relishing every moment of whatever this is.

When our connection finally ends, I tell Noah, “That was very nice, thank you.”

He leans down and whispers in my ear, “Thank you.” His hot breath sends ripples of pure ecstasy through me. “What are we going to do about this?” he asks. 

“About what?” Playing dumb seems like the way to go.