I sat on it. Prayed about it. Cussed about it. Drank wine about it. I talked with my husband, who shrugged and said, “It’s up to you, but you started writing because you wanted real characters out there, and I think you’ll regret it if you take out the realness and it sells.”

“But what if I leave it in and it never sells?”

“Then you write another one.”

(By the way, that’s the last thing an author ever wants to hear. “Just write another one.”)

Well, I wrote another one. And another and another. I’ve been so, so lucky to have fallen in with my agent, Kate McKean, and my publisher, Wednesday Books, and my editor, Vicki Lame. Meg Hennessey started out as a side character in my second book, More Than Maybe. Over the course of writing that book, I spent some time getting to know Meg, and she bloomed in full color, faith struggle and all, in my heart. I knew she had her own story to tell, and to be honest, at first, I didn’t want to pursue it. I’ve gotten a little flak in my previous books for hinting at faith, and I knew if I opened this can of worms, I couldn’t go back. Meg’s story would be polarizing, and I’m not super into confrontation.

And that was before I met Micah!

I figured, hey, I’ll toss out this idea of Meg’s faith search during her gap year to my editor, and for sure she’ll say no. Who wants that? How would you even market that?

She did not say no. I tried other ideas! Safer ideas! “That’s cool,” she said. “First Meg.”

I thought, maybe I could focus on the romance and go sort of light on the faith search. But then #MeToo happened, and a lead pastor at a church I grew up attending was in the news for using his position of power to sexually abuse women leaders in that church, and I was devastated. Sickened. All I could think about was the years and years I was told that as a female, I was responsible for not only my purity but the purity of the boys and men around me. How I was told that sex before marriage or outside marriage was a serious sin and would not only ruin me for my future husband but also curse our marriage. Tank tops and shorts and visible bra straps and V-necks and bathing suits and sitting with a boy on your bed … all these things were wrong and shameful. To this very day, if my husband tries to comment in a flirty way about my neckline, I have to fight the urge to change. It’s ridiculous and I hate it and I’m so very certain this is not how God wants us to live.