Page 49 of The One Where They Fall in Love

“No, we cannot discuss this later. You can’t honestly expect me to believe that you don’t have feelings for this man. And him for you.”

“Trust me, if I can believe it, you can too,” I mutter, crossing my legs in an attempt to make the velvet pedestal I’m sitting on more comfortable. Lucy is not one for big and flashy, so she chose to buy her dress from a mom-and-pop shop on the Upper East Side. I honestly don’t know how she found it, but it’s adorable. It’s two floors of racks on racks of dresses, piled on top of each other so tightly that I could get lost in between them, and no one would find me for weeks. May is almost upon us, as the warm weather suggests, and it isstuffyin here. As in, hair-sticking-to-the back-of-my-neck stuffy. I’ve already tried on my dress and gotten the all clear, so I shoved myself back into my jeans to sit here and wait for Lucy. I wonder if I can DoorDash some Mister Softie up here.

“Do I sense some bitterness in your tone?” Lucy’s voice sings from behind the curtain.

“I don’t know if I’d call it bitter. It’s just—I don’t know. I thought maybe things had changed for him.”

“In regards to?” she calls from behind the curtain.

“The possibility of a relationship, I guess,” I reply with a huff.

“And you definitely don’t see a friends-with-benefits thing happening?” Lucy asks, again too loudly for our current setting.

I shake my head, even though she can’t see. “No. That’s just not what I want. I feel like with Oliver—” My voice trails off. “It would have to be all or nothing.” My mind wanders, imagining the possibility. What wouldalllook likewith Oliver? I think about the small things he’s been doing for me since my apartment flooded, and even before then. Pulling me out of harm’s way when we’re walking down the street, opening doors for me, folding the blanket on the couch, rushing downstairs after hearing me scream… If he let himself, Oliver would probably be a romance-book-level boyfriend. Sure, he can be stubborn at times, if our first meetings were any indication, but he’s protective, and smart, and loving. Or he could be.

“Some might say you’re never happy.”

“Ugh, I hate that about myself right now,” I groan, rubbing my temples. I hate how whiney I am. I can’t expect Oliver to read my mind. I’m more rational than that.

But romance books aren’t. And romance books are my daily life. I believe that every story needs an HEA, otherwise it’s not worth my time. But what if, with Oliver, getting to know him,exploring, actuallyisworth my time? I haven’t had a partner in so long, I forget what it feels like. What if Oliver could be that someone for me, even if it’s not forever? I feel such a strong connection to him, and given what almost happened in the kitchen last week, he must be attracted to me. All this time, I thought he was pushing me towards Henry because he wasn’t interested, but now I know there’s something between us. That night in his apartment proves it. I just don’t know if either of us will ever compromise on what we want.

I hear Lucy scoff. “You’ve seen him almost every day for the past three months. You’ve been sleeping on his couch for two weeks.” When I don’t respond, she continues, “I remember having a discussion a lot like this last year, and our roles were reversed.”

“My situation is very different,” I say, remembering how I encouraged Lucy to be honest about her feelings for Liam. “And I want things that you didn’t.”

I want a connection. I want epic love that consumes me. I want a person, an everything, a universe.

And a part of me wants it to be with Oliver.

I just don’t know whether he can give it to me.

“There’s one thing that’s the same.” I can practically hear Lucy waving her hands around as she speaks. “You need to decide what you want. You need to stop believing that happy endings or romance are never going to happen for you. You need to get yourself out of a book and into real life.”

I rest my head on the heels of my palms. “I don’t remember my speech being so harsh.”

“Love is harsh sometimes, babe,” Lucy’s voice says, closer this time.

“I’m not in love—” I look up, stopping mid-sentence as Lucy emerges from the fitting room, seamstress in tow, beaming. Long strands of hair that didn’t make it into the bun cascade down her neck, falling on a high white neckline made of intricate lace. The rest of her bodice is solid, fitted to her curves, and falling away from her into a short train, lined with lace. She looks beautiful.

“Wow,” I whisper, standing to meet her. “This dress is so…you.” And it is—simple, elegant, and stunning. Lucy looks up at me and smiles. Other women might cry right now, but we giggle softly at each other, relishing the ridiculousness of this moment. All the nights we spent on our couch, talking about becoming hermits in a tiny house and owning seven dogs, or becoming rich on a Shark Tank idea and buying a mansion on the beach. Never did wethink they would lead to this. The moment when one of us gets our happily ever after.

70 percent happy, 30 percent jealous, I swear.

*

“Where do you want this, Elle?” Liam asks, holding my green armchair like it’s a paperweight. Mikey finally let me back in the apartment today, and I conveniently have two non-volunteer movers to help me get the place in order. Liam and Lucy are staying at a hotel for their one-night visit. I’m sure Lucy would like to stay longer, but she said she’s not sure which Liam is more anxious about—leaving his restaurant to his sous chef or his dog with his friend Brett. And they’ll be back next week for her book launch party, so Liam had to choose his time away from the restaurant carefully.

“Um, Liam,” I say, my tone obvious. My eyes point to theone and onlyspot in front of the TV. “There’s kind of only one place it can go.”

“Just trying to help,geez,” Liam mumbles, placing the chair in front of the TV.

“Are you planning on feeding us dinner for all this unpaid labor?” Lucy calls from the bathroom, where she is sweeping the tile floor. The bathroom made out the best in the Great Flood of Apartment 1A. The wood floors, which probably haven’t been replaced since the Gilded Age, were not so lucky. Mikey had to patch a few spots by the far wall, and sand them to match the rest. It’s a bit mismatched, but I’m not mad about it. It gives the place character.

“You literally carried one box,” I deadpan, eyeing Lucy from my spot atop my bed. I’m hanging up the photosthat I had to take down so Mikey could spackle and paint around the window—the window that is literally the size of a shoebox—that caused all this chaos.

“It was a heavy box,” Lucy groans as she stows the Swiffer against the wall and plops onto my bed. “I got the one with all the yoga books in it. The ancient knowledge and wisdom really weighed it down.”

I chuckle. “What do you want to eat?”