My mom was right. Just because getting this story published wouldn’t keep us in our apartment didn’t let me off the hook for writing it. This assignment and wherever it led could still bring me closer to the financial independence and career development I craved. Derek had granted me a rare opportunity to speak to the readers of Tea, and he hadn’t snatched it away just because the story I’d pitched had fallen through. He’d given me carte blanche to write anything I wanted as long as it struck an emotional chord with his readers.

Despite conducting a handful of interviews with the people of Pleasant Hollow, nothing yet fit the bill. Grace and Laura’s bookstore and nail salon success stories were lovely, but they lacked a common thread.

And then last night, something had clicked in my brain. I’d arrived in Pleasant Hollow with an abundance of expectations and preconceived notions about life in a small town, none of which panned out. I’d escaped the city, longing for the utopia of a Hallmark-town life, and found myself craving the comforts of home. I’d romanticized small-town men only to fall for a fellow city dweller.

What if I’d gone in search of other subjects for the story when it was me all along? What if I was the story? Let’s give it a go, shall we? I booted up my laptop and started writing.

A few weeks ago, I was in a bad place. I’d been stood up, had another story pitch rejected, and learned I was in danger of losing my home. I blamed it all on New York City, where dating is as cutthroat as the job market, and housing costs are astronomically ridiculous.

My antidote: the Hallmark Channel, Lifetime, Netflix, or wherever I could get a comforting small-town romance.

Where better to escape my own career failures, romantic nonstarters, and economic strife than a small town where the nearest festival is a block away and the major conflict lasts about fifteen minutes before being resolved to everyone’s satisfaction and sealed with a long-awaited, chaste kiss?

“I’m sorry that took so long.”

I looked up as Finn stepped out of the bathroom, his face slack. “Is everything all right?”

I saved my document and closed my laptop.

He sat on the edge of the bed. “September is a particularly hard month for him. A clusterfuck of my mom’s birthday, the day they got married, and the anniversary of her death. She’d have turned fifty-four this week.”

“Oh, Finn.” An abundant sadness swept over me. “There was never anyone else? Besides your mother, I mean.” I bit down on my lip, unsure how much he wanted to tell me.