“Did you just say yes?” He popped up to standing.

“I just said yes.”

“Shit!” He started scrambling for his pants, even though he only had one leg through his underwear. “I’m not ready!”

“You’re not ready? You’ve only asked me a million times.”

“I know, but you’ve lulled me into complacency with your relentless rejection,” he said as he dug around in the pocket of his pants. He shuffled over to her, his underwear down around one ankle, fell to one knee, and held out his closed palm.

“Oh my god, have you been carrying a ring around in your pocket all this time?”

He shot her a signature Max smirk. “I have not been carrying a ring around all this time. I have been carrying this around.” He opened his palm to reveal a golden object. She picked it up. It was a dog tag. It was heavy and shiny and had max engraved on it in a fancy script font.

“Dani,” Max said, his voice all scratchy, “I love you. I love your dog. Will you finally marry me?”

She smiled down at Max, her Max, her blue-eyed, dukeish casual best friend, protector, and lover, and said, “Yes.”

Acknowledgments

My thanks to:

My friend Sandra Owens, who not only provided feedback on an early draft but is my daily dose of sanity.

Patricia Ruiz-Rivera, who helped me think about what Dani’s experience, and that of her family, would be like.

My friends Emma Barry and Erika Olbricht, who read with an eye toward Dani’s job and straightened me out on several things. Any irregularities that remain do so because this is a fairy tale. (Only in fairy tales do people get tenure-track jobs in the cities of their choice right after grad school, and only in fairy tales does everyone attend departmental parties and do those parties have open bars!)

My friend and favorite historian, Amy Bell, for help with the World War II stuff. In fact, we pulled up next to each other at a drive-in movie in the COVID-upended summer of 2020, rolled down our windows, and talked at a distance about mines and bombs and the resistance while we waited for the show to start—and that show was Dirty Dancing!

My friend Marit Grunstra for advising on dogs and such and for being the best surf-and-turf, I-heart-not-camping friend a girl could ask for.

Carina Guevara for the stunning cover art.

My agent, Courtney Miller-Callihan, for her unwavering support and steadfast good counsel.

My editor, Elle Keck, for embracing the “Hallmark, but make it spicy” vibe of this series from the get-go, and for helping make this book shine. Everyone at HarperCollins, especially Andrea Monagle and Rachel Weinick for careful polishing and shepherding of the manuscript.

The citizens of Romancelandia, for your lively debates on Love Actually. I hope you don’t excommunicate me.

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