Page 94 of The Perfect Rom-Com

They’d taste like cake going down.

The kind of cake people in these townhomes buy, the ones with fondant icing in intricate shapes of bouquets of roses.

“Bryony?” Gloria is looking at me with a dubious expression, half-wondering from the looks of it if she’s broken me. I suppose that’s fair.

After all, I’m smiling slightly.

Smiling as I picture (yes, perhaps a little bizarrely) the thrill on Gran’s face if—when—this glorious news comes to fruition.

Because I have a date with Florence Peters.

Now all I have to do is convince her that this book is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

And above all, keep Jack out of it.

Chapter 19

Bryony,

Terrific! As it stands, I have this afternoon wide open.

I grin as I type a quick reply.

The email conversation moves at a text-like speed as we go back and forth, each sentence relaying new information regarding her hopes and thoughts about the potential of this meeting. And with each new tidbit of information, my grin widens as I translate.

I have this afternoon wide open.

Translation: Either I am at all times swamped under a pile of emails and papers and can use this as an excuse to get out of anything I want to, or I am “free as a bee,” which means absolutely nothing will stand in my way to stop this meeting. Meeting with you has become top priority because I see something of potential value in you.

I’m free until 5.

Translation: I’m not even going to bookend my afternoon with pretend obligations that could become useful as an excuse for skipping out early. I believe you to be so normal and such a person of interest to me that I have no fears that you will suddenly terrify me with a secondary personality or prove to write one-dimensional plotlines with puppetlike characters.

3pm at The Terrace work for you? My son has violin practice at 5 I’ll need to scoot out for.

Translation: I’m sharing randomly-thrown-in personal details with you in hopes of proving to you I am a normal person and we are close. Look how close we are now. We’re connecting! We’re practically friends! And friends absolutely want to work together. I’m so much more wonderful than any other editor out there with zero personality and zero connection.

Can’t wait, Bryony.

Translation: You are not just a random person to me. You are Bryony. We are first-name-basis people. And we are close.

See you soon!!—Flor

I gulp at the last line.

“She used a double exclamation point. A double exclamation point, Gloria. Do you know what this means?” I’m shaking her elbow excitedly as she looks at the phone in bewilderment.

“Um . . .”

“She’s completely thrown down all barriers,” I say. “I mean, the vulnerability. She’s just laid it bare. Right there. She’s practically begging to sign me.”

“And you get all that . . . ,” Gloria says dubiously, “from . . . two exclamation points—”

“And then she says Flor!” I cry, jabbing my phone with my finger. “Flor! We’re already on nickname basis! She’s dropped her official titles entirely! We’re practically best friends!”

“Ooookay.” Gloria takes the phone from my hands. “Terrific work, Bryony. You’ve got that meeting all set up. Time to put the phone away before you do anything drastic. Like, I don’t know, invite her on a friendship cruise for two.”

She’s right. I know she’s right, which is why I tuck the phone back into my pocket and nod fervently as we walk across the street. Gloria has agreed to walk with me all the way to the restaurant, partly because she is afraid I’m “emotionally unstable” after everything that’s happened and partly out of morbid this-is-why-I’m-a-court-reporter-I-want-to-hear-everything curiosity.