Hello, First name / my friend!
 

I'm not sure what to say other than THANK YOU SO MUCH! 

 

The love and excitement for Shucked absolutely knocked me off my rocker and, without getting too emo-artsy-precious about the creative process (I can already imagine several people cackling about that because I am ~so~ emo-artsy-precious about the creative process), knowing that you're as pumped for this book as I am makes all these months of work worth it. Thank you 🧡

 

In case you missed it or need to hear info multiple times before it sinks in (me, that's me), here are all the pertinent details on Shucked:

Since there's a small eternity between now and August 22, let me tell you about Cal and Stella from Before Girl. I loved writing this book. I loved Stella and her 🍆 appointment calendar. I loved Cal and his whole shy guy with 🌶️🌶️🌶️ thoughts vibe. I loved that these calendars are all grown up, late thirties and early forties, and it was a true standalone with a slower burn. So much to love. 

 

I have a little snippet from Before Girl for you since Amazon decided to put the ebook on sale in the US and Canada this month. Even better: Audible members also get a special price on the audio. Enjoy!!

 

I was wrong about not needing to touch her. Whatever I'd been thinking a few minutes ago was incorrect. I didn't have the patience or strength necessary to be this close to her without touching her. I'd waited months—yeah, that one was on me—and I didn't want to wait a second longer. I motioned toward her legs and then patted my lap.

"Come here, sweet thing," I said. 

"Don't mind if I do." She leaned back and settled her legs on me, her ankles crossed. "Careful, Cal. I could start to expect this every night."

"Careful, Stella," I replied. "I could start offering every night."

I glanced up from her legs at the moment her smile flattened, her dimples disappeared. Her eyes flashed dark. She stared at me, pointing with her plastic spoon. "It's always the nice ones. They're the most trouble."

I dragged my fingertips up her calf to the tender space behind her knee. "Is that how it goes?" 

She met me with a wide-eyed nod. "Mmhmm. The bad boys have hearts of gold and the rebels just want to be understood. The nice ones though, they show up and cause all kinds of trouble."

"I don't know," I hedged. "I seem to recall you enjoying all kinds of trouble last night." Bobbing her head from side to side, she replied, "That's where the nice ones nab you. They reel you in with the good-boy manners and complete absence of douchebaggery. Everything is fabulous until you realize you brought a throw pillow to the office because your a** hurts and you've seen him two nights in a row despite your personal commitment against agreeing to back-to-back outings." She drew a checkmark in the air with her spoon. "That's how the nice ones nab you."

I stared at her a moment, not sure which thread to pull first. She didn't make a habit of seeing the same person on consecutive evenings. That was an interesting nugget. Then there was the entire analysis of nice guys and our faults. Our penchant for nabbing otherwise hard-to-get women. I was starting to see Stella as just that: hard to get. It wasn't a prop so much as the set she'd chosen for herself. 

If the past two days proved anything, it was that Stella wasn't nearly as unattainable as she wanted me to believe. And I was holding on to that interesting nugget. 

I waved toward her seat. "I'm sorry you're uncomfortable today."

She scooped up a bite of black raspberry, smiling. "I know. You're a good guy. You give a s*** about how I feel and you want to make it better when things are bad." She ate that spoonful of ice cream and went hunting for another. "You also want to destroy me on every solid surface in your apartment and meet my parents and build particle board furniture on your day off, and that's why you're trouble."