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To Romancelandia. The readers. The writers. The ones who believe in true love. To the brave ones. Wait… Is this fucking play about us?
Happiness isn’t a zero-sum game. When you spread it around, everyone wins.
His eyes were kind as he reached for my hand again and squeezed. “Don’t worry, Just Annie. I’ll keep your hands warm.”
“It’s not a fanny pack. It’s my Annie Pack.” She laughed in disbelief. “It’s a … You… What?” I unzipped the front and opened it up, feeling like a momma kangaroo. “It’s my Annie Pack. I’m hella prepared now. Anything you need. I gotcha covered, girl.”
“Butterflies are brave. It takes courage to work on yourself. It’s a painful, ugly process to grow into who you’re supposed to be. It takes strength to break a shell and become yourself.”
Houston, we have a problem. Wander and Willow were right. I was the unsuspecting heroine who fell victim to the “just one bed” trope. And now I was waking up with the book boyfriend snuggling me like I was his.
Oh no … I was kissing my bodyguard. I really was a romance novel cliché. I pulled away abruptly and found him frowning. “I’m sorry,” I blurted out. “I—I got carried away in the moment. This isn’t me. I don’t just go around kissing people.” That slow, panty-dropping smirk slid up the corner of his mouth. “You should make it a habit.” “I’m sorry.” Miles was grinning from ear-to-ear. “If I kiss you, will you stop apologizing? Make us fair and square?” I was too stunned to speak, but the needy little devil inside of me nodded. “Uh-huh.” “Goddamn—I was hoping you’d say that.”
“Like I said—I’ve never seen him like this.” I followed her gaze, smiling to myself as I took him in. “He’s calm. Focused. He’s at peace around you.” Pinpricks of heat flashed across my cheeks. I pursed my lips and looked down at my feet. “If I had to guess, I’d say that you’re his peace.”
“I will worship your body. I will take care of all your desperate needs.” I widened my stance. “But after that little stunt downstairs, you’re going to drop to your fucking knees and crawl to me like a good girl.”
“There’s a difference between invisible and insignificant. And you, Annie Smith, are neither. You’re not just Annie. You’re not just anything. You’re not a mirror, reflecting what’s around you. You’re not a window—an empty necessity. You’re stained glass—broken and shattered but beautiful and whole. Divinely complex.”
“Sometimes love is loud. It’s grand gestures, glowing social media posts, roses, and candlelit dinners. Sometimes love is quiet. It’s a listening ear after a long day. It’s showing up with a snack and filling a need. And sometimes love is sunshine. It’s a light that you don’t know how you ever lived without.”
I was head over Crocs in L-O-V-E with my client.
“Give me your fears. Give me your anxiety. Give me your insecurity. I don’t need you to change yourself first. I don’t want you to change yourself at all. I want it all because I want you.”
“Okay—yeah. I’m your girl. Your girlfriend. Your pie making smut peddler. Take your pick. I just want to be yours.”
If I wrote for a hundred lifetimes, I would always come back to us.
