“I imagined you’d met a dark and handsome stranger in the woods and fallen madly in love.” I snorted. “Please no.” “Don’t you dare protest how I choose to write my stories,” she said. “When you play the heroine in Rosie’s tales, even you long for true love rather than continuing to stubbornly entertain your delusions that you want a future devoid of romance.” “They’re not delusions; I don’t want to fall in love.”
