Mike loved the book, from the cheesy drawing of an opened head with gears pouring out of it on the cover, to the lingering library smell. It even had a paper sleeve on its jacket, the kind they used to put the due date card in before electronic check-outs took over.

Daya frowned at his treasure. "It has a Vancouver library stamp on it. Michael Giacomo Wilson, did you steal this book?"

"Rescued," he explained, drawing his finger down the length of the book's spine, as if it were a kitten. "It was heading for an incinerator, poor thing, but I paid the ransom and kept it."

She picked the book up with a smile that made him happy he had said his piece. He'd much rather watch the corners of her lips curl up, and delicate fingers leaf the pages than talk.

A woman leafing through a book—he could watch it for minutes on end. Hours even... particularly this woman leafing his book. With her holding it, he would have loved to pet his treasure even more: the spine, the slim fingers, the tiny wrists. Disengage that hand from the cover, upturn the wrist, kiss it...

She closed the book to read its title. "Hmm... Winners Don't Have Bad Days." Then she flipped through the pages again, sending his heart soaring... okay, maybe not soaring. Maybe his heart was making circles with the gulls over the storm pond beyond the window. And, yes, they were the inner city trash-gulls, not the free-roaming sea-gulls, but the scene before him was more uplifting than anything that had happened to him in a while.

He had missed her since forever, his heart lied, since before they had met... Two months ago, his brain reminded his heart, not even two months ago.

"It sounds like a rough hewn and patronizing take on mindfulness," she said, startling him from the debate between his senses and his sensitivities. The dark-brown eyes squinted at the flyleaf. "Given the vintage, it's unsurprising..."

When she rolled them at him, he noticed that the whites of her eyes had an indigo tint at the edges. Or maybe it was a shade from her curly eyelashes. "Look here. Forget what the society has taught you. Love is not an untamed horse, eager to throw off her rider. Don't you just love the imagery?"

"What?" Good thing he had a broken foot encased in concrete—fine, fine, stuck in a plastic cast. Otherwise he'd have jumped up and grabbed the book from her. "I stayed to the parts about living in the present and finding fulfillment in your work by searching for ways to enjoy even the most mundane occupation."

She started laughing, a throaty sound full of gurgles and gigantic bright flowers like hibiscus Carol babied in the sunniest corner of the library. It produced one red flower every few months, but Daya's laughter was much rarer.

"Mike, I am sure you got something out of it at some point, but... I've done a bit of psychology for my degree, to help people with mental blocks. This is trashy as far as the self-help books go. I'm not even sure why they tacked on the self-hypnosis exercises, to make it even sillier or something."

With a thrilling sensation of digging a bottomless pit for himself, he took the book from her, placed his finger where hers had been, bookmarking the page she was quoting.

She'd challenged him, and she was laughing.

Hmm... The text wasn't promising, but darn it, he had to keep the ball rolling, had to keep the spark in her eyes, even if she laughed at his expense. Also, she's wrong.

"Falling in love is an empowering event in an adult's life. You meet someone great, love them, your whole life goes right," he started tentatively, watching her reactions. "If it stays out of your reach for too long, the heart loses its elasticity, and it gets harder and harder to fall in love."

Her back, already straight, straightened even more. The chin flicked towards him, eyes opening wider. She did not think her words over. "If you meet someone great, you will fall for them with no book to tell you what to do."

"It happens sometimes, I won't argue it. But imagine the cases when instead of falling for the right person, an undisciplined mind flutters: oh, is this a flaw? What about that other girl I spotted in the hall? True love is nonsense... Thus, doubts erode an otherwise perfect thing. Or it takes so long to see how perfect, how fortuitous the conflagration of the circumstances is, that the opportunity to love is lost."

That earned him a shrug. "So what? You move on and try again."

A shrug!

He wanted to ask if it had happened to her, but that was off-bounds. "What if instead you could laser-focus only on the good, and develop the deep, meaningful attachment far sooner and without all the perturbations?"

Daya scoffed. "Wonderful. This book should go on the gift registry for every marriage of convenience."

He pulled his sweater's collar away from his itching neck. The heater must be acting up today, he should check it. "It was not about forcing the unwanted down one's throat, only overcoming self-sabotage."

Her teeth flashed when she smiled, more even and white than Carol's fake pearls, offsetting the skin that absorbed a million hours of sunshine. "Give it up already, Mike."

Even when her smile was skeptical, seeing it made him forget that he bought it by making a fool of himself. Daya made him eager to be a fool... no, not eager. Less scared of it. "Hypothetically, if I wanted to lose weight..." he caught himself at the last moment, "...that is, if I wanted to lose more weight, I could set myself a secondary goal to fall in love with someone who is a model of physical perfection. Someone like you. Love would inspire me, carry me through tough times--"

Daya twirled around the living room, throwing her arms wide, her face upturned in ecstasy. At some point she tugged the hair band free, and the hair cascaded down her shoulders. She was inviting happiness into her life, Mike realized. Even in mocking him, her movements told a story and arrested his attention.

"I shall read it as well and fall for you to overcome my figure skating hangover! Then we run away into a flower garden under the rainbows." She put her fingers together like a frame and centered it on him. "Final shot: Sonu Nigam sings sweetly in the background."

She chuckled. "That's Bollywood, Mike, not real life."

I should not have carried this foolish act this far. She is smart. "You..." He gulped for air. Funny, she danced around the room, but it was he who was out of breath. "You wouldn't have to do anything. Theoretically, once I had achieved my goal weight, I'd use an inverse technique, stop being in love with you. Positive outcomes all around."

She was laughing so hard, tears welled up, brightening her eyes.

He pushed the tissue box over the glass top of the coffee table towards her, and she dabbed them dry.

"Mike, we're doing it my way. Gym time!"

Belting out a cheerful Bollywood tune didn't sound so bad now... "Do we have to go to the gym? I don't really want to lose weight, it was just a hypothetical scenario."

Daya pointed at his avatar on the TV screen. "You don't want to lose weight? Then why does your alter ego looks like this?"

Patience is a princely virtue... "Because it's the only body type in this game."

Instead of accepting this perfectly rational explanation, Daya slammed her fists into her narrow waist, made even smaller by the devilish athletic wear designers. "Mike! Now!"

He waved the book at her. "I'll pine so hard that I'll wither before your very eyes. Perhaps, if I am not in love with you by Christmas... I'll start going to the gym then?"

"Oh, it's a win-win for me now? And I prove you wrong how? Take you on your word?"

This was her problem with his proposal, the accountability? Peculiar. Oh, Daya Dhawan, thy mysteries are many. "You can always spot true love."

Daya's eyes tinged with sadness. "No, you don't. Sometimes you think you do, but you're wrong."

Mike gave up fighting. Daya didn't leave her ice castle in Toronto just because. Some bastard must have broken her heart, so he couldn't very well keep whining about his toes. Hearts hurt longer after the breaks.

And he could use something sweet, with a bit of a crunch.

A chocolate bar? No, no, that was all wrong. A Twix would just smother him, stick to his teeth, leave its sugary aftertaste lingering along with guilt.

Almonds dipped in dark chocolate would be just the thing. First bite would crack the chocolate coating, the second one would break up the almond, freeing up the flavor. It is such a tease, a sweet little thing pretending to be bitter, like a white lie...

He could grab a few from his stash and pop them one by one into his mouth with no one noticing. Even if the certain someone noticed him eating it, dark chocolate and almonds were a healthy choice.