“That’s my thing,” she replied. “Romance isn’t blindness, Julian. It’s hyper-awareness. I see the crack in your teacup, the way you breathe only through your left nostril when you lie, and the fact that you have a concealed tape recorder in your jacket pocket. Let me guess – you’re here to prove my love is a delusion?”
“Good,” Luna said, grabbing him by his soaked lapel and pulling him inside. “Because I’ve been dying to meet the man who’s brave enough to try.” Romantic Killer
He tried everything. The next day, he “accidentally” let her overhear a fake phone call about a “client who fell for a yoga instructor who turned out to be a cult leader.” She nodded sympathetically and offered him a slice of sourdough bread she’d baked that morning. It was, infuriatingly, the best bread he’d ever tasted. “That’s my thing,” she replied