The Great Love Ambush

By thirty-five I had figured out two things about myself for sure-that I am the type of person, bluntly honest and eccentric, who requires getting to know slowly, over months, before a romance has any chance of succeeding, and secondly, that I needed to stop chasing, stop obsessing, stop pining after the clever, charismatic men with whom I’d always felt instant sparks. The latest had been an impressionable debut novelist I’d met at a book fair, who…