Practice Makes Perfect (When in Rome, #2)

by Sarah Adams

This one is for the softies. The tenderhearted sweeties. The introverts who are afraid to shine.

I am convinced dating was created by an evil villain to torture humanity. Dramatic? Not in the least. For introverts like me with social anxiety, the process of dating is equivalent to waxing your bikini line. Menstrual cramps on day two of your cycle. An emergency dental procedure you weren’t expecting—and guess what: they’re fresh out of novocaine.

I am the quiet one in my family. The one with her nose always in a book because she prefers worlds where she doesn’t have to interact with other humans. It’s so much easier to read about relationships than to foster them. Less dangerous too. I can’t offend anyone written into a book. I can’t say the wrong thing. And book characters don’t make judgments about me.

“I think maybe you’re too nice?” He says it like a question. “My sisters would agree with you, but one peek inside my head during traffic…” I whistle lightly and let the implied villainy dangle.

“A book,” he repeats incredulously. “Uh-huh.” “A book is going to be fun?” I chuckle as we continue to walk. “Are you one of those nonreaders? The movie is never better, I assure you.”

Will opens my truck door and I feel momentarily upset—only because this five minutes with him has already been better than any date I’ve ever been on, and yet I’ll never get to have it again.

During my stint working in Rome, Kentucky, it was always difficult to not pay attention to the youngest Walker sister. The sweet one, everyone says. The quiet one. The cute one. I’ve heard folks in that town refer to Annie as every possible synonym of those words—but never once did they give her the adjective that always sprung into my head when I saw her: gorgeous

It’s the kind of love that just works and makes everyone around them envious. It’s what I want. The superglue-sticky, not-going-anywhere, till-death-do-us-part relationship. Someone to step up beside me and lend me his hand where we’ll walk happily together through life.

James clears his throat. “Why do I feel like I just missed out on an important opportunity?” Because you did. Now, get lost, she’s mine.

No one else in the world would ever suspect my favorite scene was the steamiest one in the book, but Will does because for some reason, he doesn’t see me quite like everyone else does.

I turn to the window just in time to see Will laughing and walking away from the market—so proud of himself and his prank. I think Harriet’s right. Will Griffin is absolutely not the kind of man I need. Too bad he’s very quickly becoming the man I want.

Not going to church?! Gasp! I asked her about it once and she just told me, “If I wanted to see a bunch of people wearing fancy clothes and acting fake, I’d go to a steeplechase.”

Will’s eyes narrow on my face, jaws clenching as he debates something. And then Will raises his hand level between us. That’s when I see it. His hand, that beautiful, strong, inked hand, is trembling. Will Griffin is shaking from touching me.

“If I waited until I felt confident to live my life and do the things I want to do, I’d never live.”

“It seems to me, Annie, that you are just waiting for someone to give you permission to be yourself out loud.”

“Tell you what, Annie. We’ll get you your committed relationship and your white picket fence, and if for some reason it doesn’t feel right and you want that adventure after all—” He looks at me. “Call me and I’ll come hold your hand on the flight.”

“You’re aware it’s only eight in the morning, right? That means it’s too early for your shit talking. Now I’m going to go finish my coffee while watching The Price Is Right, so get out of here.”

“A bite for a secret. Let’s hear it, Wolf Boy.”

The more I get to know Will, the more I realize his charming playfulness is not always real. Sometimes I think it’s a mask. It’s a smile drawn on a sticky note and pasted on his face. If I were to pull it off, I would find a frown beneath.

I gently angle her face up to look at me. “Do you believe me?” She nods silently. And then her eyes drop to my lips. “But you were wrong about something.” “What’s that?” “It wouldn’t be a mistake to kiss me.”

“Out of curiosity,” I ask later as she’s locking up and I’m walking her to her truck. “What is your favorite flower?” She drops her gaze to her white Converses and smiles. “Magnolias.”

How is it possible to crave change and relish familiarity at the same time?

And that’s when I realize that never again will I be able to settle with simply nice and soft and stable. I mean, yes, I want those things still. But I also want this. Dangerous, untethered, and demanding. How did I ever think I didn’t need this?

But the thing about quiet people is, we’re only quiet because our brains are so busy overthinking everything.

And something happens to me that I’ve never experienced before. The world around me falls away, and for once, I’m not worried what anyone is thinking of me.

Because the truth is, I love physical touch. Crave it more than I want to admit. But my shyness and social anxiety often keep me from reaching out for it first. I wait for other people to initiate, and sometimes that leaves me waiting forever.

I take in her long blonde hair, her soft blue eyes, and the curve of her mouth, and I throw all of my plans out the window and consider doing the one thing that scares the hell out of me: staying. Forget the open road of freedom. I think I have everything I could ever need in my arms.

I stand and walk over to her before stepping right into her arms and letting her fold me in the most comforting hug of my life. Mabel doesn’t say anything, she just squeezes me tight. I squeeze her back and bury my head in her neck, feeling a lot like the little boy who used to climb that magnolia tree just wishing for a hug like this.

“That’s grief, Annie. And it’s okay. Grief—that mean son of a bitch—doesn’t have a timeline or rules. It hits when it wants. Even with me—sometimes I feel all healed up, and then randomly I’ll catch a scent that smells like my husband’s cologne, and I’ll lose it in an aisle at the market. It doesn’t make sense, grief.

“Exactly, honey. They love you so much. Honesty is a gift, Annie. And if you really love them, too, you’ll be honest with them about who you are. And as for William…” Hearing his name mentioned suddenly in this conversation has me nearly jumping in my seat. “Don’t give up on him.” “But Mabel…” “Don’t ‘but Mabel’ me…if you love that boy, don’t give up on him, Annie. He needs someone to fight for him, like you’ve needed someone to fight for you. And I’m not saying it’s going to look conventional, or anything like you’ve always pictured, or even anything like what your parents had…” She smiles and it’s a smile full of memories. “But maybe it’ll be something even better.”

don’t know, that just broke my heart, Annie. Because you used to be so content to fade into the background. To offer to hold the camera to take everyone else’s photo. And I wanted to give you something that would show you how beautiful you are. How vibrant. I want you to see how I see you every day. Everyone deserves to have good photos of themselves—you more than anyone.”