Practice Makes Perfect (When in Rome, #2)

by Sarah Adams

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.

If you look up the word comfy in the dictionary you will find a picture of me.

It’s wild to me the intrusive questions people will ask about a celebrity because they think their life is open for public consumption.

“You’re acting…like a…stingy…butt munch!”

I’m a self-aware gal, and I know my flaws. Falling quickly for hunky mysterious men who look like pirates and don’t do relationships is definitely one of them.

I don’t want to see any part of Annie change. Not a single thing. I’ve never met anyone like her before—and it would be a damn shame for her to morph into some popular social construct of what a woman should be like on dates. I hate it. If some jackass doesn’t take the time to peel back her layers of nervousness to find out who she really is, he doesn’t deserve to have her when she’s at her most comfortable.

Ughhhh, Will 😍

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.

“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.”

“You’re safe with me.”

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.

“There’s nothing wrong with you.” I push back the hair that’s falling around her face and do what I’ve been dying to do for days—sink my fingers into the mass of blonde hair behind her head. I bend down and whisper against the corner of her mouth, “Nothing.”

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

But a side effect of being the one who listens and comforts is that people rarely offer to listen or comfort me. I’ve been living this way for so long now that I’m not sure I’d be any good at expressing myself even if I were asked to.

Will: If you are a dude, are you at least sexy? Annie: How do you feel about loafers with little tassels on the front? Will: *Bites fist*

Annie: You’d do that for me? Will: I’m quickly learning I’d do anything for you.

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

“Please. Just let me be here. I don’t know why, but I can’t be anywhere else. I tried but my feet keep bringing me back here to your door.” He pauses, looks to the soup and then to me. “This…isn’t something I would normally do, but I just need to take care of you. Please let me.”

I cast a quick glance up and the only available seats are right next to Tweedle Nosy and Tweedle Mustache.

“Hi, I’m Brandon. And I guess you’ve already met Annie?” I watch the moment Amelia slips back into character. It’s painful. She smiles so big her mustache unpeels in the right corner. “Hi there! M’name’s Joe! And this here is my brother, Sam.”

Jesus Christ 😂😂😂😂

“If you want marriage and a family and all of that—fine, great. But don’t try to delude yourself into thinking that you are still happy to settle for an unadventurous vanilla relationship. You’ve been living in this town doing family events your whole life, Annie. You don’t need a husband for that. What you haven’t done yet is see the world. Experience new things. Live by your own desires. And if you settle for someone who’s going to keep you from doing that, I’m going to be very upset.”

“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.