Books Like Romantic Comedy 소설 & 이야기

“You almost took me out there.” She blinked, then let out a faint breath, crouching as well to gather the rest. “Sorry. I didn’t see you.” “That much is obvious,” I said, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. I picked up another book, my eyes catching on the pastel-colored cover. I turned it so I could read the title. “‘Kisses in the Rain,’” I read aloud, raising a brow. “So, you have a killer taste. Romcoms, huh?”

“You always read something serious.” “Fine,” I admitted. “Romance.” He raised an eyebrow. “Figures.” “Oh please,” I said. “You love romance.” “I love watching you react to it,” he replied. I kicked his foot lightly under the table. “Behave.” He leaned in. “No promises.” After coffee, we wandered through the bookstore. He picked up random titles, reading the back dramatically. “‘A tragic tale of lost love,’” he read aloud. “Absolutely not.” “Why?”

When they returned, their cheeks flushed from climbing and giggling, Kimberly helped settle the boys at the table with crayons and paper before joining me by the counter. “They’re wonderful,” she said softly, accepting the glass I offered. Our fingers brushed. Her skin was warm. “Loki has so much energy, and Lucas is such a thoughtful little guy. You’ve done an amazing job with them.” “Thanks. It’s been… hard. But they’re my world.” I leaned against the counter, studying her. Up close, she was even prettier than I remembered from the run. She had soft curves, expressive eyes, and that effortless cheer that seemed to light up the whole room. “Tell me more about you. Yesterday was quick. What

I leaned in a fraction of an inch, a teasing glint in my eyes, "I prefer classic literature. Russian realism, psychological thrillers. Dostoyevsky, Fitzgerald, Hemingway. I like substance." "Substance?!" Ruby mocked, completely offended. "Are you implying my romance novels don't have substance? Excuse you, but enemies-to-lovers tropes require intense psychological maneuvering! The angst! The tension! It's art, Alexander. Your little Russian thrillers have nothing on a slow-burn romance."

For just a second, I caught a glimpse of pain flickering across his face before it vanished behind his usual icy facade. "The wedding's next month," he said. "Nora needs a bridesmaid." Nora Hunter. The girl who had shown up out of the blue three months ago, 20 and all sunshine with her blonde hair and blue eyes, clueless about the shadows in the world. Francis had welcomed her into the mansion, showered her with jewels, and paraded her around at every high-society event. Francis kept whispering sweet nothings to me, even as he was gearing up to marry someone else.

Books stacked on the counter, a plant Sophie had given her that was surviving against all odds, her mother's old ceramic fruit bowl sitting empty because she kept forgetting to buy fruit. He looked around her apartment with quiet attention. "What?" she asked. "It looks like you." "Is that good or bad?" "It's exactly right." He picked up his fork. "You have three books on that counter with the spines cracked the same way." "I reread things." "Which ones?" She hesitated. "Don't laugh." "I won't laugh." "Two romance novels and a book on event management theory." He looked at her steadily. No laugh. "Which romance novels?"

"This isn’t a romance novel, Nanny. This is my life, and I’m just trying to do my job without embarrassing myself." Nanny laughs, clearly enjoying this way too much. "Oh, Isa. You’re making it sound like it’s the worst thing in the world. Just imagine it—a forbidden workplace romance, secret glances, and the tension! Oh, how thrilling! The babysitter and the boss. You’ve already got the perfect setup." I glare at her. "Nanny, stop. He’s my boss, and he has a child. A cute child, by the way, who is clearly going through something. I’m not about to entertain any fantasies about him."

It was a study room. “I’m really sorry. I will just go.” I walked in the direction I came in. I couldn’t comprehend why I keep messing up everything. First it was climbing into his bed when he wasn’t there, then the embarrassing Leo story that my bestfriends took the honor of narrating. “Stay.” He muttered. I stopped in my tracks and looked puzzlingly at him. I avoided eye contact and settled my gaze to the books on the shelf. They were classics from Jane Eyre down to the Lord of the Flies. At the bottom of the shelf stood a huge collection of contemporary romance novels, the largest list I had ever seen someone possess.

I feel my whole body relax like it only does when she's close. "You don't need to be embarrassed about reading dirty books. I've been doing it for years." she says and my head pops up and I stare at her to determine how serious she is. But I don't sense even hint of joking. How interesting. "Really? What kind of books do you like?" I ask and watch with fascination as an adorable blush creeps up her face. "Um... mostly small town romance. Single dad, friends to lovers, next door neighbors, things like that." she says a little shyly making me chuckle.

''I'm pretty sure there's a lot of things you don't know about me too,'' I mutter, picking up one book from the shelve. Elia breathes out, ''Of course. I don't know you but I'm guessing you don't even like political issues.'' Then, I roll my eyes—putting the book back down. I look at him, seeing that he has a playful smile on his face; showing how he's just fooling around. ''You caught me,'' I walk towards the Romance section; looking at the books that isn't too cliché or too cheesy. As he stops beside me, he picks up a book that I didn't seem to realise earlier, Fifty Shades of Grey which makes my eyes widen before laughing, ''You have a bad taste in books,'' I say, looking at a book called