Page 10 of Romantic

I was also Ophelia

Jack

Talk about fate, I was Hamlet

Annie

That doesn’t bode well :)

Jack

So did you ever want to be an actor?

Annie

No, I had no interest beyond high school. I wanted to be a writer

Jack

So you’re a writer?

Annie

Not really. I write but I haven’t published much except a couple poems in some online literary mags

Jack

Cool! I’d love to read anything you write

That sentence is hands down the most romantic thing a man could say to a struggling writer like me. The only thing more attractive would be a sincere, “I read your poems, and I love them all.”

Annie

Maybe someday . . .

Jack

Maybe after I take you to dinner tomorrow?

Annie

Yes to dinner. Maybe on the poetry

I text Jack from the passenger seat as my friend Julia drives me home. I’m giggling and smiling like a teenager.

“You look happy? Does your ankle feel better?” she asks from the driver seat.

“Not really. But Jack is doing a good job distracting me.”

“Who is this guy?”

“I don’t know much about him, except he once played Hamlet, and I think I’m going to marry him.”

***

I’m lounging on the couch in the living room with my sore ankle resting on a pillow. I’m wearing my cutest pajamas, and my hair is in a messy bun, which I may or may not have put up three times trying to achieve the perfect blend of unkempt but alluring. I’ve also put on the lightest, most natural makeup. My goal is to appear like I just woke up looking like this. I cover myself with my favorite mossy green velvet throw because it’s a good color on me.

Jack texted me a little after nine this morning, asking if he could stop by.