Chapter 1

There are few things in life as bittersweet as finishing a truly great book. It seems almost silly, but I feel like every great book has left a hole in my heart, like a long-lost love. As I put my Kindle down, I grab my coffee mug and down the now-cold dregs and sigh to myself. A good author makes you happy; a great author makes you cry.

I sit back and look out at the mountains in the distance, not quite prepared to head inside and face the real world after having my heart broken by … words. The second-floor balcony of our house – that is, my boyfriend and I’s house – had, since nearly day one of us buying it, become my preferred reading spot. My sanctuary. No matter the weather, if I had a spare minute I’d spend it here.

For once, I had a few days between projects, so I’d been essentially living on this balcony, devouring the bibliography of one ‘Dani Collins.’ I hadn’t intended to become obsessed with her, it just kind of happened. A friend loaned me one of her books, and I read it in the span of four cups of very strong coffee. A quick e-trip to Amazon later and I owned all of them. That book that just tore me up? That was the last one. The book hangover struggle is real.

The thing that stuck out more than anything else was her ability to write characters with depth, and the fact that I shared the profession of one of my favorites helped too. But none of that was going through my head right now, just the separation anxiety I felt. I send Erica (the friend who introduced me to Dani’s works in the first place) a text:

Me: That’s it. I’m broken. Done. I’m not ever reading again.
Erica: … Lol. Finished velocity I take it?
Me: Fuck you. You should’ve warned me.
Erica: I did. Repeatedly.
Me: So when’s her next one coming out?

I could practically hear her laughing through my phone, but then she sent me an invitation on Facebook. Pulling it up, it seemed to be for “Collins’ Collective.” A fanclub? That seems a bit… obsessive. I couldn’t help but feel like a 12 year old with a crush; the warmth ran into my face. Was I really about to join this group? Shit, I already clicked Join. I guess the answer is ‘yes.’

Looking at the clock, I realized I’d just spent over half an hour browsing through old posts. Apparently her next book is coming out in less than a month. A month’s not too bad – I can handle that. I’ll just have to fill the time with … well, I can re-read a lot of books in a month!

I throw my phone in my pocket, grab my Kindle and coffee mug, and head inside. As soon as I open the door, a wall of delicious smells hits me and draws me straight to the kitchen. Paul is facing the oven and listening to music at obscene volumes, as per usual when cooking, so I can slip in behind him and grab him undetected. After squeeling like a little girl, he hits pause on the nearby speaker and turns around to give me a kiss.

“You’re going to pay for that later. You know that, right?” He chastises, holding a sauce-covered spatula in a mock-threatening fashion.

I just smile wider and give him another kiss. “What’s for dinner? I smell … curry, and ricotta?”

“Yup! I was craving Indian, but I had all this pasta. So we’re going to have butter chicken lasagna. Uh, assuming it isn’t terrible. I’m not sure yet.” Paul is unconventional, to put it mildly. Never one to sit still, he made his career on stumbling into the new trend before the new trend even existed. His passion in the kitchen, and in the bedroom, was equally out of the box.

“This. This is why I love you, you big weirdo.” I give him a big hug and wander off to my office.

He shouts after me, “dinner’s in 45! Be on the lookout for Italian-Indian music to set the mood!” Such a strange guy. But that’s why I fell in love with him, and we’ve worked out great for half a decade now. I wouldn’t trade him for the world.