Sheila Roberts - What She Wants

Rita pointed to the book in Juliet’s hand. “I love that one. James Noble is the perfect man.”

The perfect man, huh? A character made up by a woman? Oh, brother.

“Look! Here’s Surrender,” Rita said, pulling a paperback off a shelf. “I love this book.”

A war novel in the romance section? Jonathan edged closer and sneaked a peek. He saw no scene of carnage on the cover, no white flag being raised—only a woman in a low-cut dress and some muscle-bound guy in tights and a shirt he forgot to button doing a back bend over the kind of fancy bed no man would want to sleep in. Looking at the way the guy was holding her made Jonathan’s back hurt.

“Oh, my gosh, me, too,” agreed Juliet. “There’s a hero to die for. I love the scene where he throws himself in front of her and gets stabbed.”

“And how often does that happen in real life?” Jonathan scoffed under his breath.

The women stared at him as if he’d uttered blasphemy.

Juliet raised a delicate eyebrow. “Probably as often as a giant bubble floats to earth and gives magical powers to the first fool who touches it.”

Rita snickered and Jonathan, properly chastised and feeling like he’d stuck his face in a firepit, moved to a safer corner of the room and perused the home improvement section.

Turning his back on Juliet and her fellow romance junkies didn’t shield his ears from their conversation.

“Men,” Rita said disgustedly. “Maybe if they read a few romance novels they’d learn something.”

“Nils could stand to learn a few things,” Hildy said. “Especially in the bedroom,” she added in a conspiratorial whisper that carried across the small, now quiet—since everyone was eavesdropping—room.

Balding, scrawny Nils and Brunhilda Hildy in the bedroom together. That was T.M.I. to the max.

“Oh, they all think they’re such good lovers.” Rita rolled her eyes. Rita was divorced. Obviously, her man hadn’t measured up. “If I found a man who could make love like the heroes in those books, I’d take him to bed in a heartbeat.”

“If a man really wanted to be a good lover, he should read these books,” Hildy continued in her stage whisper.

Rita nodded. “That would guarantee he’d get lucky.”

The women finished making their selections. As they went to pay for their books, two gray-haired men and a teenage boy stampeded to the romance section.

Jonathan paid for his book and then left the room with Juliet, who was now wearing a superior smirk.

“Pathetic,” Jonathan muttered.

“You shouldn’t knock romance novels if you haven’t read them,” she said as they walked out of the library and turned toward Bavarian Brews for their ritual post-shopping coffee.

“I guess,” he said. “But they all seem so, I don’t know, unrealistic.” He held up a hand before Juliet could give him another verbal smackdown. “Yes, neither are my sci-fi/fantasy books. But I know they’re improbable. And at least sci-fi has real science at its roots.”

“And my romance novels have real life at their roots,” Juliet argued. “They’re all about men and women falling in love and working out their problems. People do that every day. And you know what I like best about them? They all have happy endings.” Juliet’s smile vanished. “Sometimes a woman needs a break from real life and a little encouragement.”

His sister was always upbeat. To see her expression suddenly cloudy was disturbing. “Everything okay with you and Neil?” He hated to ask, not because he didn’t care, but because female emotions were scary. He’d tried his best to comfort her when their dad died but had felt hopelessly inadequate.

Right now she was looking at him with teary eyes that made him uneasy. He’d rather face the dragon of Zoon than a woman’s tears.

“I’m never going to get pregnant,” she said.

“You should stop taking those pregnancy tests, Jules.” He got that she wanted a baby, but agonizing over the fact that she wasn’t pregnant probably wasn’t helping.

As if he knew what would or wouldn’t help. She should be talking to Mom, not him. How’d they gotten on this conversational track, anyway? Oh, yeah. Romance novels.

“Well, thanks. That was comforting,” she snapped.

He slung an arm around her. “Hey, sorry. But seriously, stop stressing. It’ll happen.” Dr. Jonathan Templar, fertility expert. Oh, brother.

“Maybe it won’t,” she said in a small voice.

Now he really didn’t know what to say. Don’t give up? Yeah, that’d make her feel better. You’ve got someone who loves you? True but not what she wanted to hear. The only thing she wanted to hear was, “You’re pregnant.”

He shook his head. “Life sucks sometimes.”

Amazingly, that had been the thing to say. She managed a smile and said, “Yeah, you’re right. But not all the time.” She held up her grocery bag full of paperbacks. “At least I scored big today. I’ve got a whole bag full of happiness.”

A whole bag full of happiness, huh? “I guess.”

“These books are full of love and adventure.”

“And perfect men,” Jonathan added, remembering the conversation in the library.

“A woman’s idea of perfect, anyway,” Juliet said.

They got their coffee, then sat at one of the café tables outside to enjoy the sunshine and watch their fellow Icicle Falls residents go about their business. They were almost finished when a woman with a baby in a stroller approached. Jonathan opened the door for her and returned to his seat to see his sister’s eyes looking ready to spill tears.

“Hey, it’ll be okay,” he promised, and hoped he was right. “You’re only thirty. You’ve got plenty of time to have a kid.” They’d been trying for a year or so. Did it bring the odds down the longer you tried?

She nodded, but no smile this time. “I should get going. See you at my place for dinner tomorrow?”

It was Mother’s Day. If he didn’t show up, he’d be toast. “Sure.” He made a mental note to bring some antacids.

She gave him a hug, then hurried off down the street.

Jonathan drank the last of his coffee and went to throw the cup in a nearby garbage can. He passed a table with a woman sitting alone, nursing a drink and reading a paperback. He glanced down and saw a couple on the cover, this pair dressed in contemporary Western attire. Another romance novel. The woman smiled and turned a page.

What was it about these books that had women so hooked? He reviewed the conversation he’d heard in the library. There’s a hero to die for.... James Noble is the perfect man...perfect man.

Women wrote those novels and they wrote about perfect men. So if a guy wanted to learn what a woman wanted in a man... Who was that author Juliet and Hildy had been talking about? Vanessa Valentine. Someone with a name like that had to know her stuff when it came to love.

Jonathan tossed his cup, then retraced his steps to the library, hoping the women hadn’t cleared every romance novel off the shelves.

Most of the library patrons were gone by the time he slipped back into the musty room on the lower level, either back to their homes to wash cars or mow lawns, or off to go hiking the mountain trails. A few late arrivals browsed the health and finance sections, and one woman was leafing through a cookbook.

Just his luck, the only other section that was occupied was the romance section, where two teenage girls stood, perusing the books. They were cute and skinny, probably cheerleaders. Darn. He’d hoped not to have an audience.

He hovered over by the magazines and CDs, wishing they’d leave. They didn’t. In fact, it looked like they were going to camp out over there all day, reading and filling their paper grocery bags, emptying the shelves.