Page 71 of A Bookish Story

I know he means the brother in a coma because at this point in the movie, he’s the only one Lucy thinks she loves.

“I guess it’s his good looks that attract her, and a certain je ne sais quoi. A quality about him, the suit, the confidence. She doesn’t love him, though, because she doesn’t even know him.”

“She thinks she does. You have to get to know a person to fall in love with them. While she’s waiting for him to wake up, she falls for the brother.”

“Because c’mon, he’s adorable. The whole skating scene?”

“It’s called slipping over frozen cement, not skating,” he deadpans. “Winters in Chicago.”

“Very sexy, falling into each other’s arms, holding each other up.” I’m probably smiling dreamily as I take another bite of pizza and wash it down with water.

“I think she loved the first brother because it was all smoke and mirrors. A fantasy. In the end, she loved an illusion and those slip through your fingers. It’s not real. Anyway, women like Lucy don’t usually fall for men like Jack,” he says.

“What are you talking about? You mean the hunky woodsy guy wearing flannel and boots? He’s practically a Hallmark movie hero.”

“Yeah, as opposed to the rich businessman in a suit.”

“Not everyone goes for those types, Ryan.” I stretch my arms. “I would love to see you write a take on this movie but set during World War II. Where she’s a nurse and falls for an injured soldier in a coma but when his brother shows up to visit him, they spend so much time together, she falls for him instead.”

“That would work, but the brother who visits has to be a spy who needs vital information from the one in a coma.”

This makes me laugh because Ryan sounds so serious. Before long, he’s laughing too. I’m glad he doesn’t take himself seriously all the time.

“And of course a lot of bombs dropping and explosions,” I chuckle.

“Naturally.”

The movie over, I want to go to sleep with this buzzy happy feeling of warmth and coziness floating through my body. Had this been a book first, I wish I’d written it. It’s like a hug. And we all need more hugs. From both books and people.

I’m left with the knowledge true love will prevail, even with a few hiccups along the way like comatose brothers and large interfering families who mean well. Love wins even when you don’t realize your dream has been right in front of you the entire time. It’s comforting to know there’s still a hint of the romantic in me. I suppose given everything that’s happened, no one will be able to beat it out of me no matter how hard they might try.

I catch Ryan looking at me before he quickly glances away.

“Hope I didn’t interrupt any plans you had tonight. I don’t imagine there are many thirty-somethings like us who prefer pizza and a classic romcom movie at home.”

“No plans and if I did I’d have canceled them.”

He must be a homebody like me and this knowledge settles over me like a soft and worn blanket.

We clean up the pizza, throwing away paper plates and napkins. I fold up the throw blanket that covered me throughout most of the movie, thinking about Lucy from Chicago. Thinking about finding love where you don’t expect it, by a hospital bed or a subway turnstile. When I return to the kitchen, Ryan is hunched over the sink, arms braced, and I can see the muscles bunching along his forearms. His body is one tight coil. I can almost feel the tension, thick and unyielding between us, and I press my face to his back.

“Thank you,” I say. “Tonight was exactly what I needed. A friend to listen and hang out with me when I start to spin.”

He hangs his head and a sigh of what must be relief comes out of him, but he doesn’t turn around.

“Good,” he says. “Glad you feel better.”

I should move away now but he just smells so amazing and it’s been a long while since I held on to a man like this. His arms feel strong and he’s so utterly male. It’s one of those moments in life when you know you should stop but your body isn’t listening. The physical part of you is disconnected from your mind and heart.

When he turns to face me the look in his eyes could best be described as tortured. His blue irises are darker than normal, and they’re pinched at the sides. He’s Heathcliff on the moor. He’s Mr. Darcy. He’s every tragic hero rolled into one.

He throws his head back with a groan. “Luci, please. I’m not a damned saint.”

And even though I wasn’t prepared for this reaction from him, I’m ready.

“Maybe I don’t want you to be.”

We’re so close I can see a speck of green in the blues of his right eye. My arms lowered when he turned, and he brings my hand up to his lips. I don’t know what I’m doing here. Clearly, not thinking. I would love him to join me in this. He cups the side of my jaw and lowers his head only to stop midway, like he’s changed his mind. I can’t let that happen. This is what I want and in that flash of a moment, I close the distance. Standing on tiptoes I press my lips to his. I’ve never been this bold in my life, and the kiss has my entire body thrumming and pulsing. It’s quickly reminding me of the fire he built with one match. We are the right kindling and I’m about to burst into flames.