The attic room where I lived above the Frolicking Moose had a steep, sloping roof. My bed—a four-poster wrought iron beast swathed with gauzy fabric—took up most of the space. On the other side of the attic was a small bathroom with a shower, toilet, and sink so closely packed together I could barely spin around.
The most important part of all greeted me: my books.
Maverick had built in an entire wall of bookshelves. He’d even trimmed them around the windows. I’d crammed all 957 novels into every spare spot and then some. The cacophony of titles, colors, and paper gave me a physical thrill every time I saw it.
Today was no exception.
Right now, all I wanted was to dive into one of those romance-affirming books and prove JJ wrong. Romance was real. More importantly, it was a force for good in this world.
I snuggled into a pair of bright-red flannel pants, a long white snowman T-shirt that said Frosty is my jam, and a pair of monster slippers. Sunshine trickled into the room through the frozen windowpanes. A pair of soft, glowing lights wrapped around my canopy bed. The gentle smell of evergreen mingled with coffee felt like a warm embrace.
With my thoughts churning like a winter storm, I set my coffee down on a small table and reached for my laptop. It wasn’t there. That, too, had been lost in the crash. I let out a frustrated breath.
A nap would work wonders. With a shake of my head, I closed my curtains, crawled under my covers, and lay on my cool pillow. JJ lingered in the back of my mind like he’d taken up residence, even though I tried to evict him countless times. Thoughts of him intruded until I sighed in frustration.
Did he really not believe in romance?
Or know about Pinnable?
The man had been hiding for far too long. From what, though? Did it matter to me? No. Not necessarily. Except I hadn’t exactly gotten the most romantic ending to our time together. It was clear what should have happened.
The lovely, grief-stricken woman would be in dire circumstances that the love interest selflessly battled out with her, despite his own problems. After waiting out the storm and sparking undeniable chemistry with literal zips of electricity that skated through their blood, they just couldn’t bear to part, even if they didn’t understand it.
Even if it had only been five hours since they first met.
Obviously.
And that was so far from what had happened.
JJ had some serious lessons to learn about romance, and I intended to teach him. In fact, I knew exactly how to do it. JJ was a man invested in logic, facts, and science. There was no woman who straddled those lines as well as me. Computer programmer obsessed with romance?
Oh, I would so give him all the data on romance.
With that promise ringing in my head, I shoved JJ far from my mind and dropped into a welcome sleep.
My eyelids drooped from exhaustion all the next day. After my nap, I’d spent time with Shane until midnight while Bethany slept. I just couldn’t let go of his downy skin and perfect little breaths. Totally worth it.
Thick piles of snow boxed in Main Street after the massive storm. Rafi, the middle-aged man who plowed every winter, had just scraped out our parking lot. Cars drove by every now and then, tires hissing on the icy street.
The temptation to turn on Christmas music nearly overwhelmed me, but Ellie and Devin would relieve me soon. Ellie, the perpetual scrooge, would glare me to pieces, then put on something dramatic like polka just to make a point.
My third cup of coffee steamed into my face as I peered over it at my friend, Leslie. She had frizzy blonde hair with dark roots, and a pair of wide-brim glasses. With her sophisticated, long black coat, she cut an impressive figure in the quaint little shop. Four kids and a husband kept her busy. We’d first connected when Bethany and I started the Frolicking Moose Book Club years ago.
“What genre is book club this month?” she asked, nose wrinkled.
I waggled my eyebrows. “Romance.”
She fake-gagged.
“Sounds like you need to get a little pizzazz back into your marriage, Les,” I said. “You always hate romance month.”
She stared at me as if I’d grown another head. One dark brow quirked. “You’re kidding.”
“What?” I cried. “Romance spices up everything. You’ve been down in the dumps for a while.”
“I’d rather buy a new garbage disposal.”
I laughed.
“I’m serious,” she deadpanned. “My sink keeps clogging. It’s driving me crazy. Have you ever had to plunge your sink with the same plunger you use in your bathroom because it’s the middle of the night? It’s not pretty.”
“Why were you doing dishes in the middle of the night?”
“Because that’s when I have time.”
“C’mon. Romance helps you remember why you got married in the first place. No?”
“Not true.”
“Really?” I drawled. My hand fell on top of an unmarked binder. “Please, tell me more.”
Her eyes tapered at my tone. “What are you up to, Lizbeth?”
“Nothing.”
“A lie. You have a new binder, which is scary in itself. And it’s a pink binder with glitter hearts. Oh, heavens, you aren’t writing a romance novel about me, are you?”
My eyes flew open. “No, but that’s the best idea ever!” I grabbed a pen, flipped the binder open to the first page, and scribbled a note.
“Most boring romance ever.”
“You just need to spice things up.”
“What is that, Lizbeth?”
“It’s . . . a social experiment.”
“From the computer coder?”
“Don’t stereotype me.” I nudged my coffee cup so I had room to sprawl the binder out. “I love people, and I love to code.”
“Fair enough. So, spill.”
“It’s a love binder.”
She blinked at me.
I rolled my eyes. “It’s not weird, so don’t even say it. And it’s not that kind of love binder. I’m trying to define romance and love and prove they’re real through scientific data. So, I’ve written down quasi-romantic experiences,
