I smirked at him as we climbed the stairs. “Are you trying to scare me off?”

“Nah, but full disclosure—I will leave laundry in the basket for a month if it means I don’t have to fold anything.”

“You’re impossible.”

“I know. What are you even doing with me?”

“I ask myself that every day.”

He pouted next to me while I unlocked the front door.

But I smiled, clarifying, “If I could figure out one reason why you’re with me, I’d be satisfied.”

“Oh, I’ll give you a hundred, Tess Monroe.”

The way he said it was a promise or a warning—I couldn’t be sure. Either way, I wanted every one.

“A hundred, huh?” I turned for my room with him on my heels, hoping at least a few of them involved kissing.

“Mmhmm,” he hummed, kicking the door closed and setting the boxes down. He stepped into me with a predatory look on his face that hit me in every soft spot of my body. “For starters, your lips are the sweetest thing I’ve tasted. Your devotion to what you love inspires me. Forever used to feel like a cage, a trap, but then you taught me that forever is an adventure, and I want to spend every minute of it with you.”

I wanted to tell him all the reasons I loved him too, but he kissed me before I could. Laid me down in the bed we would share, in the room where we’d spend our honeymoon and where we’d conceive our own Bennet brood. I had a glimmer of it then, a tingle of hope, and a rush of possibility for a future that would come true.

I’d live every moment with joy.

And I’d love him with every heartbeat, to my very last breath.

Thank you

Every book we write is its own ride. Down a rocky hillside. On a bike with square tires. It’s a fun ride, but a difficult one nonetheless. And as such, there are always a lot of people to thank for riding on the handlebars with us.

At the top of my list is always my husband, Jeff. The man with the plan who always anticipates what I need, usually before I even realize I need it. You are my forever hero. Thank you for always believing in me.

The second person in my list is always Kandi Steiner. She’s the first person I say good morning to (as Jeff rises long before me in a feat of willpower I will never possess), and she’s the last person I speak to at night. She is privy to every little bump, every little scrape. Every high, and every low, she is always there, my Polly Pocket and best friend. I love you, babe. Thank you for holding my hand always.

I am fortunate—so fortunate—to have a tribe of women who are always kind, generous, and loving with their time and hearts and souls. Karla Sorensen, who is always willing to listen, always eager to help, unflinching and prepared for anything. Everything. Abbey Byers, who spends countless hours plotting with me, deconstructing characters, discussing the minutia of every scene, every moment between these people who aren’t people, but are. Kerrigan Byrne, my love and mentor, my guru whose imagination is bigger than the known universe, who is always prepared for a long string of what ifs and a blooming of a story into something epic. Sasha Erramouspe, who is always the first to offer to read the story just one more time, ad infinitum.