Chapter 6
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I am, yet again, finding myself crushed beneath the weight of my own stark insufficiency.
Alister
I could live here forever. August’s house is warm and bright and cozy.
Yellow accents everything. Sunflowers and lemons pull deep dark wood shades together with the cream and comfort of her padded furniture.
Books and shelves in immaculately organized condition tuck themselves into every nook and cranny and crevice.
Her home, in a few words, is a fairytale come alive or a summer oasis given form.
And now that she’s welcomed me into it, I am one step closer to becoming a part of it forever.
Yet I am also still so, so far away.
Wincing, I review my spreadsheet on my laptop while I’m securely seated in the corner of August’s couch against the wall.
It’s the first time I’ve been on my laptop today, yet instead of bothering to check on my work things, I am scouring my notes on how to craft August’s perfect romance.
What I have before me is a culmination of what her binder requested paired with the common themes and male lead habits I’ve been researching since my order of her books started to arrive.
Presently—under the unscathed bed frame in Wynnter’s guestroom—stacks upon stacks of August Winslow’s work reside. I’ve finished two stories thus far, and they have been…enlightening.
In many wonderfully delightful ways.
Lifting my gaze off the screen, I locate August—a vision of warm summer beauty swaying about her kitchen as she fixes dinner.
My heart reacts at the sight, and I lose myself for spare moments.
She’s so…pretty. I can hardly believe I’m here, within reach of her. After years of friendship and a month of excruciating pining, there she is.
My August.
And here I am.
Staring like some kind of strange creep.
Dropping my attention back to the spreadsheet, I click on a box in the trope list to mark it as done.
Forced proximity, check.
Next up where it concerns foundational story elements…enemies to lovers.
I have absolutely no clue how I’m going to become the enemy of someone who has just opened up her home to me.
It seems if I manage that feat, I’ll wind up losing the check on forced proximity.
How in the world do authors manage combining these two particular tropes all the time? They seem in direct opposition.
My brow furrows, and I open a different tab on my spreadsheet so I might thumb through the blurbs of August’s books and the notes I’ve taken on what I’ve gleaned from them thus far.
She has her range of enemies, both contemporary and fantasy.
In fantasy stories, the enemies are knives and blood, forced together through arranged marriages or natural disasters.
In the contemporary, the distaste is milder, yet ever present, and the proximity is less…
shoved into the same room by forced wedding vows and more…
next door neighbors or coworkers by unfortunate chance.
Enemies are people on opposing sides of an issue.
There’s active hostility.
Active…hostility.
I sigh.
How can I, in good conscience, be actively hostile when I’m alone with a small woman in her very own house? I am already pushing the bounds of my moral constraints as it is.
This…this is insane, isn’t it?
All of this is insane.
This entire plan, the whole plot.
Why couldn’t she have wanted strangers to lovers, or even friends? Outing myself as Ali Montgomery could have created the perfect foundation for our already long-standing friendship to shift and deepen.
But. No.
She wants the trope that comes with knife wounds and sword fights.
Even rivals would be easier than this.
Maybe I can glean the elements of an enemies romance and emulate them without the hatred or disdain? Maybe I don’t need to become enemies so much as I need to condense the enemies to lovers down into whatever makes it so addicting?
What is the part in an enemies-to-lovers romance that results in “swoon”?
The desperation? The obsession? The self-loathing?
Wanting something you can’t, or shouldn’t, have?
Loving something more than you also hate it?
Is it the threats? Is it the hints of violence beneath the attraction?
An enemies-to-lovers romance is…limitless. The lengths a villain will go are limitless. When those lengths turn into something done on the behalf of the female lead, it’s powerful. There’s an edge to it. Furthermore, seeing someone overcome their aptitude for loathing in spite of it creates allure.
Hatred, after all, is a passion that many practice more often than love.
It’s hard to get past.
When someone does, the result at the other end is stable. The characters have already overcome the worst opinions they’ll ever have about each other, so surely their happy ending will persist through anything.
How strange.
Is the enemies-to-lovers allure rooted in a desire for stability? A longing that someone’s love might be greater than every reason we believe ourselves to be unlovable…?
Breath leaves me as my muscles relax.
That’s beautiful.
But, probably, I should stop analyzing this and message Leeann so she can outright ask August what she likes about enemies to lovers. Ultimately, I could spend hours deducing what I think and still not come to the same conclusion she might.
Securing my phone, I shoot off the text to Leeann, then indulge in a glimpse of August.
Who is approaching.
With two plates of food.
My heart jumps, and I click out of my spreadsheet a moment before an adorable display appears in front of my face.
Eyes widening, I stare at…dinner. “What,” I blink, “is this?”
“It’s a Bear-ger General.” Grin stretching her freckles, August glitters.
“And his penguin army.” Forlorn humor washes across August’s expression.
“They go to war. Against your teeth. I pity their families.” She turns, angling her body toward the kitchen, where a tray of more olive-and-cheese penguins are literally set up on the counter, mourning.
If I squint, I can see that some have collapsed while others comfort little penguin olive-and-cheese children.
Despondent, August wistfully declares, “Things do not look optimistic. They’ve already been told that no one who has ever set out against this foe has lived to tell the tale.
” Lovelier than anything I’ve ever seen, she beams down at me.
“Careful, I assembled everything with toothpicks. Having you bite into one and need to go to the hospital is their sole hope for survival, but—alas—there was a spy on the inside capable of delivering this information before the wicked plot came to fruition. Disassemble everyone before you murder them completely.”
I am…in love.
I am in love.
I would like to marry this woman. Right now. Yesterday. In a week. In a month. Whenever she’ll let me.
Reverent, I accept my plate and behold the artistry. She’s used cheese slices, peppercorns, and thin strips of seaweed to make a wee face on top of the burger bun, where she’s fashioned a cut hot dog into ears. “This is incredible,” I say.
Settling in beside me on the couch, August pops a bear ear in her mouth. “Arigatougozaimasu. I’m actually a serial killer, and you’re next.”
“After a meal like this, I think I could die happy.”
She giggles. “Your bar for joy is low.” She eats the other ear on her bear burger. “I appreciate that character trait in people.”
My heart flutters, but before I can respond, her phone rings.
Tugging it free from her dress pocket, she says, “Oh, it’s my grandmother. Do you mind?”
“No, not at all.”
I am not, however, expecting her to answer the call right here, throw it on speaker phone, and down a disassembled penguin as she says, “Hi, Granee.”
“August. Quick question.”
My heart lodges itself in my throat as I suspect exactly what this quick question might be.
Plowing ahead without a response, Leeann says, “I’ve been reviewing your binder, and I know a lot of your books deal with a variety of different enemy types… What kind are you looking for in your own enemies-to-lovers romance?”
“Kind?” August asks.
“Are we talking pins her to castle walls with a sword or tries to shut down the beloved Christmas tree farm?”
August snorts. “Are you posting an ad on Craigslist?”
Leeann’s tone hardens, severe. “August Renee, I am not joking with you. Answer the question: what do you want out of your enemies-to-lovers romance? What elements are you most invested in?”
“Manipulation.”
I, blessedly, manage not to choke on my bear-ger.
“Pardon?” Leeann states.
“I need someone insane enough to cross blades and wit with. Find me someone who’s made of fantasy in real life.
Someone a touch evil and a dash wicked. I’m twenty-six, Granee.
At this point, I don’t think I’m going to have a romance unless a prince coaxes me into it through nefarious means.
” A moment of stillness passes over her as she takes apart another olive penguin.
“Super simple, right? If you can mail order him to arrive next week, I’d be grateful!
We’ll wed in August, so I’ll remember the month of our anniversary.
It’s a perfect plan! Anyway, I’m eating dinner right now, soo… ”
“Aug—”
She hangs up on her grandmother.
My heart drops. If I did that to Grandma Beth, I’d be disowned.
Peaceful, August takes in my abject horror. “Oh, sorry. Context. My grandmother is trying to find me a husband.”
“A husband,” I echo.
“Mhm. There’s a chance I told her that if she could find the right guy before the end of summer, I’d let her arrange marry me to him.
” She removes her bear-ger’s peppercorn eyes, lifts the sandwich, and takes a bite.
“In reality, I got tired of her trying to set me up with anyone around my age who came through town, so my best friend and I put together a binder outlining my ‘perfect male lead’.” Her gaze skims my blond wig, and a feather-light giggle escapes her.
“The aged must have hobbies, you know? I just wish my dear sweet Granee would change hers from playing matchmaker for her grandchildren into…whatever normal old people do. Graveyard plot shopping, probably.”
Heart sinking, I ask, “So you’re not actually interested in getting married before the end of summer?”
“Now, I wouldn’t say that.” August muses. “If she finds my perfect guy, why would I argue with it? I’m not one to shoot down an opportunity or stubbornly reject something wonderful, but let’s just say I don’t have high hopes that my perfect guy exists in non-fiction.”
Mellowed, I murmur, “Because of the awkwardly thin line between toxic and the sort of man you just described?”
“Because people happily in love are boring.”
That gives me pause. “What do you mean?”
“Happiness is boring.” She looks at me, as though it should be painfully clear what she’s saying.
“You read a romance for the tension. Once everyone’s all in love, it’s mind numbing.
They’re just…nice to each other at that point.
And if they’re nice to each other too early?
All you get is anxiety as you wait for the author to tear things apart at the end and throw them back together again. ”
“The third-act break,” I offer.
“Ah.” Her brows rise above the rims of her glasses. “So you read romance?”
“A bit, here and there,” I say.
She chews and swallows another bite of her sandwich.
“So you understand. I’d prefer toxicity to boredom.
Matrimony sounds an awful lot like a mundane slice-of-life as one comes to the harrowing revelation that people are flawed and frustrating in close combat.
Toxicity might not be blatant torture all the time, but boredom definitely would be.
There’s nothing exciting about happiness, and there’s nothing fun about co-habitation.
Life’s menial irritations like shaving cream on mirrors and cold feet against calves just don’t do it for me.
You said the line between what I want and toxic is thin; I don’t think there’s a line at all.
I’d take toxic. I’d welcome toxic. At least then, the dissonance would have a bit of depth and the tension would never fizzle.
” Her shoulder lifts as she sets the whole matter aside.
“Shame, I have half a brain and know that not everything capable of making it buzz is good for me. So. Yeah.” She smiles—so prettily.
“If she finds me a villain she approves of, I’ll gladly get married in the flames, but you will have to excuse me for not suspending my disbelief just yet. ”
Picking apart a penguin, I study her, glad I thought to have Leeann ask.
Because what this woman wants in an enemies to lovers isn’t stability at all.
It’s anarchy.
And, unfortunately, I’m not sure whether or not anarchy is something someone dull like me can achieve.