In this rom-com about rom-coms, in the spirit of Kasie West and Jenn Bennett, a hopeless romantic teen attempts to secure a happily-ever-after moment with her forever crush, but finds herself reluctantly drawn to the boy next door.Perpetual daydreamer Liz Buxbaum gave her heart to Michael a long time ago.
PROLOGUE
“I’m just a girl, standing in front of a
boy, asking him to love her.”
—Notting Hill
My mother taught me the golden rule of dating before I even hit the second
grade.
At the ripe age of seven, I’d snuck into her room after having a nightmare. (A
house-size cricket might not sound scary, but when it speaks in a robot voice and
knows your middle name, it is terrifying.) Bridget Jones’s Diary was playing on
the boxy television on top of the dresser, and I’d watched a good portion of the
movie before she even noticed me at the foot of her bed. At that point, it was too
late to rescue me from the so-not-rst-grade-friendly content, so she snuggled up
beside me, and we watched the happy ending together.
But my rst-grade brain just couldn’t compute. Why would Bridget give up
the cuter one—the charming one—for the person who was the equivalent of
one ginormous yawn? How did that even make sense?
Yep—I’d missed the movie’s point completely and had fallen madly in love
with the playboy. And to this day, I can still hear my mom’s voice and smell the
vanilla of her perfume as she played with my hair and set me straight.
“Charm and intrigue can only get you so far, Libby Loo. Those things always
disappear, which is why you never, ever choose the bad boy.”
After that, we shared hundreds of similar moments, exploring life together
through romantic movies. It was our thing. We’d snack-up, kick back on the
pillows, and binge-watch from her collection of kiss-infused happy endings like
other people binge-watched trashy reality TV.
Which, in hindsight, is probably why I’ve been waiting for the perfect
romance since I was old enough to spell the word “love.”
And when she died, my mother bequeathed to me her unwavering belief in
happily ever after. My inheritance was the knowledge that love is always in the
air, always a possibility, and always worth it.
Mr. Right—the nice-guy, dependable version—could be waiting around the
very next corner.
Which was why I was always at the ready.
It was only a matter of time before it nally happened for me.
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