She's unprepared for the rush of wistfulness that floods her as she listens to the words that send them drifting around the floor, or the way his fingers tightening on hers makes her own squeeze his back. Tell me this is real romance, croons the singer, and she can't help it, pictures bringing him to the house in Virginia, charming her parents, walking together through Brooklyn.

Nothing that's possible. Nothing that can be real. But for a moment she wants it so badly she almost lets herself believe that it really could be.