The art for this one is amaaaaazing. Just saying! Stay tuned :)

It wasn’t the sight of them, but the sound. A great, slow rush, like the mill sail catching wind. Like every sheet in the village snapping on the line. Warmth poured off him the way heat rolled off the bread oven in January, and Alba leaned in.

During the dream, she always leaned in.

His hand found the curve of her jaw. She knew the weight of that hand the way she knew the weight of a full pail, of a sleeping lamb. She turned her face into his palm and lifted her chin to look at him at last, but the shadows above his shoulders remained dark, and the place where his face should have been was still a blur. Somewhere behind her ribs, a thin cold thread pulled taut, far away, like a hook set in ice.

Look at me, she tried to say, but she could never speak in that place.

She woke with her hand reaching, her palms clammy. The loft was black. Cold. And smelled of straw and the sheep below. She curled her hands back under the blanket, pressing her knuckles against her breastbone until it ached.

Blessed Mother, full of grace. The prayer flooded her head, as easy as kneading bread, her hands moving before thought. Forgive me the dream. Again. Forgive me for not wanting to wake.

Again.

She never managed to confess the dreams to Père Colin, who read out the sins of the parish each Sunday with such relish that Alba had privately concluded he kept a list through the week like Maman kept accounts of laid eggs. “Lust,” he’d thundered last month, “was a wolf that came dressed in sheep’s wool.”

He looked very satisfied with the phrase. Alba had sat in the third pew with her hands folded, knowing for certain it wasn’t a wolf. It was wings. And then she spent the rest of the mass certain that everyone could see the shame written across her face.

She couldn’t pray this away. Creatures of shadow were monsters, and yet she dreamed of them. She should be married by now, or at least looking, and yet the only man that held any interest for her was of her own imagining. Père Colin talked of this from the pulpit. Sermons about the Devil’s servants who wore beautiful faces. Papa said it plainly at the table with the shutters barred. Maman said it with ash and rowan on the windowsills every night before bed.

Danger. Horror.

Despite her internal self-flagellation, three or four nights in every seven, Alba dreamed of wings. Of warmth. Of a hand she trusted. Craved . . .

She jolted under the blankets when the ladder creaked under Papa’s weight as he came in from the yard. The morning was starting whether she was fit for it or not.

“Alba, are you—”

“I’m up, Papa.” She made a show of rubbing her eyes and yawning.

Her father raised an eyebrow. “Dreaming again?”

She averted her eyes, hunting for her smock. “Only of adventure.” That was a lie, but only because those stories hadn’t popped into her head last night. When she wasn’t dreaming of hell, she dreamed of long journeys. Of weapons and battles. Of a bejeweled hilt and gleaming blade with her hand wrapped around it.

Her father didn’t need to know which dream appeared when.

“Always swords and armor. Why not a needle and thread?” He grunted and lowered himself to the floor, and Alba dressed quickly. Maman had the fire up and the first loaves shaped by the time she climbed down from her bed, and the kitchen smelled of smoke and yeast.

Wash day, baking day, spinning day. Every day had its name. This one had two. To everyone else in the village it was preparation day. In this house it was also the day of the ward.

Papa sat at the table with the wooden box in front of him, the one with the wool lining, and did not meet her eyes. It was his way of telling her to sit. The box had come from Maman’s mother, from hers before that, and from some longer line of grandmothers stretching back past anyone’s remembering. Inside, on the wool sat the silver thorn. Hollow, finger-long, bright as the day it was made no matter how many years it had been used.

She sat, then laid her arm on the table, wrist up, the skin there pale and dotted with the small fading marks of a hundred Fridays.

“It’s low,” Papa said to Maman, not to her. He tilted the clay vial against the firelight. The tincture inside, dark as walnut hulls, barely climbed its walls.

“There’ll be more,” Maman said in the voice she used for the hens will lay and the frost will hold off.

Papa grunted. “From where? The group from the north didn’t come at Michaelmas. Nor at Martinmas.”

Maman’s hands paused in the dough. Started again. “There will be more.”

Papa dipped the thorn. The silver point went dark, and Alba did what she always did. She studied the beam over the door and took inventory to distract herself. Adze marks: eleven. Nail: one, bent. Hook where the herbs hung: the bundle wanted changing, the rosemary had gone grey as a mouse.

The sting was small and familiar, like the bite of an asp. Then the cold came threading up the veins of her wrist toward her elbow, and behind it the taste arrived at the back of her throat though she’d swallowed nothing. Bitter and green.. Her body knew the ritual so well that the shiver arrived on schedule, halfway up her forearm.

“There.” Papa pressed his thumb over the bead of blood. He held it there, firm, while Maman brought the scrap of linen. He bound the wrist himself, tight and tucked. Not one drop free. Not one drop ever free. When Alba was small, she’d asked why the cut from the thorn never bled past his thumb, why her scrapes closed by supper when Hauviette wore her scabs for a fortnight at least. Papa said, “The ward keeps your blood strong,” and she had asked, being small, stupid, and not yet schooled in keeping her mouth shut, “What would I need strong blood for?”

Maman had crossed herself. Twice. That had been the end of asking.

But the rules had come after, taught like catechism. By repetition until they lived in her bones and not her head. Never bleed where the air can carry it. Burn what your blood touches. And the third rule, the one Papa always delivered with his eyes on the shutter latch: do not go out after dark.

“Done.” Papa pulled the dressing from her bound wrist and threw it into the fire. Already healed.

Papa was not truly old, but the winters sank into his joints early. Some mornings, Alba caught herself looking at other men and women in their village with their swollen knuckles and rattling breath. It wasn’t quite grief that she felt. It was more like standing in a doorway with no way in.

She was never ill. She’d never once, in eighteen years, been ill, and she had learned to lie about it. To invent headaches, to walk more slowly than her legs needed, because in a village this size, health like hers was its own kind of mark.

“The Cattenoz girl is at the well by now.” Maman slid the water yoke toward her. “If she tells the news to anyone before you, we’ll hear about it all week.”

Alba snorted and rushed out of the house.

Hauviette Cattenoz was indeed at the well, and had saved the news the way a cat saves a mouse. Presented with pride. Only a little mauled.

“Refugees,” she spat, before Alba’s bucket had touched water. “In the night. From up past the north woods. Gilles saw them on the road at first light. A whole family with their goods in a handcart and the grandmother riding the ox. They wouldn’t stop. Wouldn’t so much as take bread. The man just kept saying they’d started moving at night.”

Alba pretended to be shocked. “Who had?”

“The English.” Hauviette leaned in, thrilled and appalled. “The host that burned Availles. They say it doesn’t march under the sun. They say it comes on after dark, and it’s at your fields by matins, and—” She dropped her voice. “—they say the dogs won’t bark at the men. They whimper and hide.”

The rope ran cold and wet through Alba’s fists.

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I think we all secretly want to be the sunshine. We want to let the crap parts of life roll of our backs and see through rose colored glasses. It’s both idealizing a personality while latching on to the universal fantasy that our goodness can change someone’s heart.

Why do we have that fantasy!? We could dig deep into societal norms, gender conformity, etc., but having raised a girl (halfway, at least) and watching how much she loves feeling like the apple of her dad’s eye, I wonder if it’s something a little deeper, too. And not just for women.

We all want to be special. To be seen. To know that our unique gifts can make a difference. And that is on full display with the grumpy/sunshine trope.

To be clear, the sunshine character doesn’t fix the grump. She just refuses to be blocked by his walls. She sees past the scowl, the sharp words, the deliberate distance, and keeps showing up. And eventually, those walls start to drop.

Here are six clean reads that nail it.

Some Like It Scot by Pepper Basham

Tropes: grumpy/sunshine, fish out of water, humor, faith themes, forced proximity

Pepper Basham is genuinely a genius at this trope, and this book is proof. Katie Campbell is a travel writer and podcaster who says yes to everything, including a three-week Edwardian immersion experience in the Scottish Highlands. Graeme, the all-too-surly Scotsman she encounters there, wants nothing to do with her boundless enthusiasm or her mischievous shenanigans. But here’s the thing about sunshine characters: they don’t take no for an answer.

The Scottish setting is lush and eccentric, the banter is sharp, and the softening of Graeme is SO gratifying. This one is funny and warm and has a little more depth than you’d expect — grief, found family, and faith woven through without feeling heavy-handed.

Romancing the Grump by Jenny Proctor

Tropes: grumpy/sunshine, fake dating, hockey romance, closed door, humor

I must say, I kind of hate when the trope is in the title of books. It feels so unoriginal, even though I understand the need to signal to readers what the book is about. But I digress…

Nathan Sanders has a reputation as the grouchiest player on the Appies hockey team, and he’s done absolutely nothing to change it. Summer Callahan, on the other hand, has never met a social situation she couldn’t charm her way through, which makes her the worst possible fake girlfriend for a man who has zero interest in being charmed. The fake dating setup does exactly what it’s supposed to here: forces two people into proximity long enough to actually see each other. Clean, funny, sweet, and the slow build is well done.

The Breakaway by Cynthia Gunderson (moi!)

Tropes: enemies-to-lovers, grumpy/sunshine, forced proximity, hockey romance, slow burn, forbidden

Okay, I’m a little biased here, but hear me out. Rob Thompson is the definition of a grumpy hero: cocky grin, sharp edges, allergic to warmth. And Sharla has been dating his best friend for years, totally miffed that she’s never been able to win him over. But when circumstances leave them sharing space - alone - the tension ramps up until she finally has to know why he hates her so much. This one is a slow burn. The tension builds across the whole story mixed up with coming of age, and the forbidden element makes every charged moment hit harder. There’s no cheating and it’s set in 1994 with that nostalgic college hockey energy.

The Breakaway is in my top three fave books I’ve written. Read it, and I think you’ll understand why. Deep themes and messy relationships plus strong girlfriends and hilarity throughout.

Borrowed Sunshine by Ivy Emerson

Tropes: grumpy/sunshine, vacation romance, small town, faith themes, opposites attract, redemption arc

If you’ve ever needed a book that felt like coconut sunscreen and a good cry, this is it. One character steals away to Hilton Head Island needing to escape a mess of their own making. The other is already there, committed to being left alone. Ivy Emerson writes clean, faith-centered romance that doesn’t sacrifice emotional depth. Her characters feel real, their growth feels earned, and the romance is tender. The grumpy/sunshine dynamic here is particularly well-done because you understand why the grump has built those walls.

West of Port by Carina Taylor

Tropes: grumpy/sunshine, forced proximity, closed door, adventure, one sailboat (better than one bed?)

Leave it to Carina Taylor to add a Mafia subplot to her grumpy/sunshine romance and make it work. West is a retired cop and a full-on grump who wants to be left alone. Sydney is spunky, determined, and a little chaotic. When her revenge plan backfires and she becomes a target, West begrudgingly takes her aboard his sailboat to keep her safe. Closed quarters, forced proximity, banter with stakes. This book has a surprising amount of tension for a book with so much humor. Sydney’s refusal to dim herself around a man who keeps insisting he doesn’t care? Chef’s kiss.

The Fake Date Fix by Lily Love

Tropes: grumpy/sunshine, fake dating, small town, closed door, bookshop romance

A sunshine heroine who talks to her houseplants. A grumpy hero who secretly reads every book she recommends. A small town that takes matchmaking very seriously. I mean...

Wren owns Ivy Hollow’s beloved bookshop and needs a date for a Valentine’s wedding. Beckett is a reserved veterinarian who needs everyone to stop asking about his personal life. What starts as a practical arrangement slowly becomes the most terrifying real thing either of them has felt in years. This one is exactly as cozy and swoony as the premise promises.

Another reason why I think this trope resonates so deeply is that most of us have felt like we were too much or not enough for the people in our lives. There’s something comforting about a story that shows the right person won’t ask you to be different. You can compliment each other and be okay with the differences.

I just wrote “The Big Dink” with this trope, and I’m sure there will be many more to come. Do you have a favorite book with this trope?? I want to know in the comments.

But, traveling in Indonesia, you just expect no toilet paper in the bathrooms. They have sprayers, and I usually bring a pack of tissues in my purse (which I don’t flush).

So why did I just have the WORST bathroom experience of my life right here in Colorado!? Probably because I wasn’t anticipating an issue, so I wasn’t prepared.

You guys. I went into a 7/11 after filling up with gas, and after using the facilities, discovered no toilet paper. Since there was no one in there, I shimmied over to the other stall to find - you guessed it - ALSO NO TOILET PAPER. There were no paper towels, nothing.

Quick PSA: women often have bodily functions that require more attention than just peeing in the bathroom.

I’m not proud of it, but I ended up using a liner from the changing table station. ☹️

But the best part? When I went out to inform the staff, he just shrugged and said they didn’t have any. At all.

Sir. That requires a sign on the door with bold print.

So, that was my low this week. LOL!

My high? Rebel’s Oath is out! Audio and Kindle versions can be read/listened to now.

This is a low-spice fantasy shifter romance with beauty and the beast vibes. Happy listening!

Here are some pics from the trip!

Are you a book trophy person?? I just ordered the whole series for myself, and I can’t wait to put them on my shelf. The holo foil is on the spine and back cover, as well 😍

One of my favorite things to gift are books, so one of these beauties might just be my go-to gift for the holidays this year!

See all the bespoke books.

I’m working away on Rebel’s Oath, then on to the third book of Le Sombre! I know how long you’ve been waiting for that one, and YES. There will be a Bespoke hardcover!!

xo Cindy

Now on to the main event!

I sat down to write Buoys & Girls and asked: Can two people really fall in love in a week?

Well. Depends on how we define love.

Here are some thoughts:

“Love is not something we give or get; it is something that we nurture and grow, a connection that can only be cultivated between two people when it exists within each one of them.”
— Brené Brown

“Love is a choice you make from moment to moment.”
— Barbara De Angelis

“Love is sustained by action, a pattern of devotion in the things we do for each other every day.”
— Nicholas Sparks

What happens on a cruise, a long weekend, a road trip, or any pocket of time you step outside your usual life is that the everyday armor comes off. You’re not checking your work email. You’re not driving the same routes. You’re not on autopilot getting through your Tuesdays. Which could mean you’re a better or worse version of yourself, depending on how much you cling to routine.

But vacations can be like a Petri dish for growing love and wonder and awe if we open ourselves up.

Mason and Liv have no choice but to open up a little when they’re forced to bunk together, and it turns out, they both have a lot to learn about themselves.

That’s my favorite definition of love:

“One of the greatest journeys in life is overcoming insecurity and learning to truly love yourself—and often, love is the mirror that shows us where healing still needs to happen.”
— Brené Brown

Maybe in seven days, we can see a spark of that potential. A glimpse in the mirror. A window into that journey.

And really, if love is a choice—an action we keep choosing, over and over again—then it doesn’t take more than a second to opt in.

If you haven’t read it yet, Buoys & Girls is here. We dive into the modern epidemic of “non-dating” and real intimacy in the middle of friendship and rom com hilarity.

xo Cindy

P.S. Audio version is here if you want to listen!

This series brings me SO much joy. It’s funny and heartwarming. This book has the best meddling friends (and kid!), hilarious banter (between friends, too! The conversations with Justin are some of my favorites).

After you read this, can you guess which book is next??

Audio

Ebook

Happy reading/listening!!

xo Cindy

BUT. Then I got an email from a reader. She’d purchased some paperbacks from my website and the printing was off on a few of them.

These are the worst emails to get as an author, but I’ve been working on letting the good behind the uncomfortable shine through in these moments. Why do I feel that pit in my stomach?

Because I love my readers and want them to be so delighted by my books, digital, printed, or otherwise.

Because I care about the quality of my work.

It makes the decision of how to handle a situation like that so easy. Some of it was my mistake (just not being careful enough in checking the files) and I was not only going to refund, but I needed to go in and make those adjustments.

The fact that I HAD to do the work made it easy to say, “Well, if I’m doing the work anyway…”

So I made something pretty.

Foiled letters and sprayed edges!

Not only that, but I decided to put up the Vanquish and Shatter special editions as well.

These are signed, beautiful copies you can’t get anywhere else. I realized that’s what I wanted to offer on my website from now on, and there will be more to come! Any requests??

This is the app for anyone who wants closed-door reads without having to search. Everything on the app is closed-door and you can filter for swearing, genre, tropes, etc.

Here’s the link for a free trial subscription (my audiobooks are on there!).

And now for my next book!

The Hot Shot

Prologue

You can learn a lot about someone when you watch them wait. Some people pace. Some scroll. Some hover as if they might bolt if the wrong person looks at them.

The kid by the front desk does none of that. He stands perfectly still. Small, zipped into a hoodie that’s a size too big, hands buried deep. Just watching the courts.

His dad, on the other hand, is the opposite of still.

He shifts his weight from one boot to the other, his eyes roaming back to the exit as he blows out what looks like an annoyed breath. He’s in a navy blue T-shirt with suspenders holding up black turnout pants with hazard strips around the ankles.

Firefighter. I want to look outside for his truck since I can’t see anything through the coated front windows. Why is it that at twenty-seven, my eyes still light up when I see an emergency vehicle? Probably the pancake breakfasts. Or the slip and slide the firefighters always did for our neighborhood on the Fourth of July.

I slow my jog and walk up to him. “Hi, there. I’m Rachel. I run our juniors program.” I offer my hand, and as he steps forward to take it, I realize how tall he is. It’s not often I have to crane my neck to look at a man’s face. I’m 5’10, so he must be at least 6’3”? Maybe 6’4”?

His hand engulfs mine. Warm and calloused. He squeezes, but not too much, gives one firm shake, then lets me go slowly, like he’s releasing a fish back into water.

As if realizing the timing is off, he pulls his hand back and loops his thumb in the pocket of his pants. “Jake,” he says, then nods toward the kid who still hasn’t moved an inch. “This is Colton.”

Colton looks over at the sound of his name, then locks back in on the point being played on court four.

Jake clears his throat. “We moved up here at the beginning of the year. He used to play a lot of pickleball down south.”

“Oh yeah, where were you before?”

Jake has a nice jaw. A nice everything, actually. There’s a little bit of grey in the scruff on his face, and he has full lips. Which I’m definitely not distracted by when he wets them and says, “Castle Rock.”

I yank my eyes back to his and force them to stay put. This is a dad. A parent of a child who’s interested in my junior program.

Still, warmth floods through me at the realization of what just happened in my body. Since my breakup a couple of years ago, it’s rare that I notice a man, let alone feel a flutter of interest. Usually, I hear a clang of warning bells the second I see a nice set of arms. Maybe it’s the fireman gear or the obvious disinterest, but Jake isn’t making my hackles rise.

“Nice,” I say. “Did you have a club there?”

Jake shakes his head. “Just played through the city. They had a Saturday youth rec league.”

My eyes light up. “No way, that’s amazing. I’ve been wanting to try an outdoor league like that here, but there aren’t many courts available for booking on the weekends.”

Colton turns around and looks up at me. “Outdoors is okay, but the courts here are way nicer. And there isn’t any wind.”

I laugh. He was right about that. I step closer to him and crouch a little to talk to him at his level. “What are you hoping for? Classes or more league play?”

He considers this. “I want to get really good. So probably both.”

My smile widens. “Well, then I think you’re in the right place. We have workshops and open plays, plus leagues that start up every few months.”

Colton’s eyes jump to his dad’s. He doesn’t ask in words, but the pleading look on his face is obvious enough.

Jake nods. “What does it look like schedule-wise?”

I rise from my crouch. “Our junior workshops run in five-week sessions. Same day, same time each week. It helps the kids build on skills and get comfortable with the group.”

His jaw twitches. “Five weeks. Do you pay per workshop? Just the ones you can attend?”

I shake my head. “No, we run it as a sequence of classes, so it’s important the kids attend each one if possible. We’ve found consistency is the key to improvement.” His brow furrows, and I’m not sure if he’s thinking or if he doesn’t like my answer.

Before it can get awkward, I go on, “The sessions are only five weeks, so people can hopefully commit when they don’t have other sports or extracurricular demands. Some of our kids come in mostly over the summer, some during the school year when their families aren’t traveling. It’s a great group. We usually have eight to twelve kids signed up for each session.”

“Are the kids good?” Colton asks.

I nod. “Yep. We have some beginners, too, though, so there’s a spot for everyone.”

“I’m not a beginner,” he says, and his dad gives him a look. “I mean, I’ve had a lot of experience.”

I grin. “Hey, you can own your skill. If you get in there and crush everyone, we’ll make sure we move you up.”

Colton’s mouth and nose twitch, but it’s his eyes that give away how he feels about this information. They get wide and shiny, like he just spotted a five-dollar bill in the parking lot.

“Okay.” As he turns back to watch the game, his dad motions for her to take a few steps away from his son.

Jake lowers his voice. “The thing is . . .” He exhales through his nose. “My schedule’s not consistent.”

Right. Firefighter.

“Twenty-four on, forty-eight off,” he continues. “Days change every week.”

I nod. Growing up, my next-door neighbor was a firefighter. I remembered being surprised when I saw him working in the yard in the middle of the week when my dad only ever got home at dinnertime.

“Do you have someone who could bring him on the days you’re on shift?” I ask. “Partner, family, neighbor—”

“No.” He purses his lips. “It’s just us.”

Colton’s sneaker scuffs against the floor as he moves a half-step closer to his dad.

My curiosity sparks, but I resist the urge to ask what happened to Colton’s mom. If they just moved here, it wasn’t a surprise that they didn’t have a great network yet. Guys are notoriously bad at making friends unless they’re forced to. Plus, if he’s a single dad, he’s probably maxed out, and—

I internally shake my head. What was I doing? I didn’t need to get an entire life history to enroll this kid in juniors, but the drop of Colton’s shoulders and the furrow in Jake’s brow leave a hollowed-out pit in my gut.

I clear my throat. “Got it. Well, we can be flexible within reason. If he misses a week, we’ll catch him up, but you’ll have to pay for the whole session.” I glance at the front desk. Mark and Elana, the owners of Smash Point, aren’t there. Not that it would help. They’re kind people, but we’ve had enough issues here with people trying to get reimbursed for missed classes that they had to draw a hard line.

Jake runs a hand over the stubble on his jaw. “Let me think on that. I don’t want to sign him up for something I can’t follow through on.”

“But dad—” Colton looks up and stops when he sees his dad’s face.

“Totally understand,” I say, even though a part of me wants to start rearranging the entire program to make it work. “We’ve got sessions starting all the time, so if this one doesn’t line up, maybe the next will.” I turn my attention to Colton. “Even if it’s not perfect, I’m sure you’ll find a way to practice. You seem motivated. It’s great to see. Most kids get dragged in here by their parents, not the other way around.”

Jake’s mouth tightens again. “We’ll figure it out.” He reaches for his son, and seeing Jake’s large fingers wrap around Colton’s tiny hand makes something inside of me wobble.

What happened to them? Had Jake or Colton smiled once during that entire interaction?

They head for the door, and right before they push out, Colton glances back.

I lift a hand. “See you soon?”

He gives a small nod, and—there. Right there. The tiniest curve of his lips.

My heart swells, and it takes me a second to remember what I was doing before I ran up to the front. Right. I was in the middle of a game with my friends.

I jog back to the courts, all eyes on me before I even get to the gate

“What?” I give Brooke a wary look.

She smirks. “How was that conversation?”

Ah. So they’d all noticed Jake’s physique, even from this distance. “Seriously?” I grab my paddle, rolling my shoulders. “He’s just a dad looking for a program for his kid.”

“What about something for him?” Brooke shoots back. “He’s probably tired after a long day—”

Alecia snorts. I ignore both of them, but it isn’t easy. I feel unsettled. My brain still stuck on whatever haunted Jake’s eyes.

“Get your ass on the court, partner,” I say, pointing at Brooke. “I’m ready to play.”

We step onto the court, the noise snapping back into reality. Balls popping, sneakers squeaking, Justin saying something to Drew that makes him laugh.

Normal.

Totally normal.

I set my feet and serve. Overshooting the baseline by an inch.

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I was beyond nervous because my body works so well for me, and I didn’t want to screw up that equilibrium. Lol!! Also didn’t know how I’d respond to anesthesia.

I happened to get the sweetest nurse ever (who’s also a reader and bought Against the Boards right there in the pre-op room!). She made me so comfy and also had crazy IV skills. I’ve never had it be so seamless.

I learned so much about surgery from the patient side that will definitely be showing up in a book at some point, and thinking about it from a creative perspective made me curious instead of nervous and scared.

It made all the difference. Plus, you know, drugs.

(Me crying to Scott in a video message about how grateful I was that it went well. My sons skipped school to pick me up and we went out for a great lunch. Didn’t realize there was iodine still all over my neck. Lol!!)

It’s the trope that takes all the almosts (almost feelings, almost confessions, almost connections) and removes the escape hatch. And when it’s done well, it delivers that slow, satisfying shift from this is inconvenient to this is inevitable.

Here are six clean forced proximity romances that do it right, each with its own twist.

The Roommate Situation by Katie Bailey

Tropes: roommates to lovers, slow burn, forced cohabitation
When living together is the only option, boundaries blur fast. A woman agrees to live with a man out of necessity, only to realize the biggest complication isn’t sharing space. It’s falling for someone she’s not supposed to want.

Called for Icing by Cynthia Gunderson

Tropes: sports romance, close quarters, “we shouldn’t” tension
He’s injured, he’s his PT…and they’re roommates. This one brings proximity in a pressure cooker. Between team dynamics, professional lines, and personal emotional walls, the tension ramps up to a ten.

Rookie Season by Katie Bailey & Leah Brunner

Tropes: small town, sports, community closeness
In a small town, proximity isn’t optional. This one features a rookie athlete trying to prove himself. He can’t afford distractions, but the woman he keeps running into in his small town becomes exactly that.

The Breakaway by Cynthia Gunderson

Tropes: college setting, shared spaces, coming-of-age romance
Wait, more hockey, you say? She’s trapped in an apartment with her enemy. This is proximity with a ticking time-bomb. Especially when stays up to make sure she gets home safe…

Buoys & Girls by Cynthia Gunderson

Tropes: vacation romance, temporary proximity, only one cruise cabin
When she gets stuck rooming solo after her friend bails on the vacay, she doesn’t expect to find someone already inhabiting her cabin. But when there’s no other option, they decide to make it work…and lines blur faster than the shoreline.

Cruise (Shipped) by Savannah Scott

Tropes: forced travel, I remember you, confined setting
If she’s going to be stuck with anyone, at least it's a hot fireman with that smile she can't seem to forget…

There’s a reason this trope keeps working.

It strips away distractions. Removes distance. Forces honesty whether the characters are ready for it or not.

And maybe we love it because we’re so good at avoiding things in real live.

Conversations, feelings, annoying people. Lol.

Do you love this trope?

Do you think the odds of loving someone go up when you’re forced to spend time together?

Have you read these ones yet?

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And if you’re writing a female main character (which I do in every single one of my books) your mountain is twice as steep.

Not interesting enough, and she’s forgettable. Too interesting, and suddenly she’s unrealistic. Too emotional, and she’s dramatic and annoying. Not emotional enough, and she’s cold. She makes mistakes and she’s immature. She doesn’t, she’s boring and unlikable. She’s scattered, negative, naive, guarded, messy, ambitious, unsure . . . and she’s too much or not enough of anything.

Here are a few examples:

Now, I’m not saying these could be legitimate criticisms of my writing. I’ll be the first to admit I have so much to learn when it comes to crafting excellent characters. But what I know about my FMC’s is that they’re real. I work, play, and interact with women from all walks of life not only in my community but through my volunteer work with women led organizations. I have good friends who are single, divorced, married, widowed, and in thriving and wildly unhappy marriages. Ask anyone who’s in their thirties and in the single dating scene . . . it’s like high school all over again. SO much girl drama (and the guy drama is even worse).

I want to write stories that move from the most frustrating parts of reality to the most beautiful ones. Yes, sometimes we’re annoying and self-critical and causing all our own problems. AND WE’RE STILL LOVABLE.

We ask for representation in books, and yet when a woman with ADHD is written, the reviews are: she’s too self-critical, she takes things too seriously, she can’t stay focused and has no direction. Ummm yes. Exactly. That’s what it’s like to live with ADHD.

AND WE’RE STILL LOVABLE.

We learn. We grow. We make the best we can with what we have.

AND WE’RE STILL — Ok, you get the point. But seriously. LOVABLE.

That individuality, weakness, and growth are what make stories compelling and inspiring.

Here’s a review I loved because this reader was able to see that growth in one of my characters and the major pros that accompany this personality type:

And then some reviews of this same character from a few other POV’s:

Reading the thousands of reviews I’ve gotten in the last year, it makes me wonder: is there a version of a female character that would satisfy everyone?

Or is this conglomeration of opinions an end-point in and of itself? Do we judge certain characters more harshly because they hold up a mirror to the traits we dislike most in ourselves?

In all of this, I keep coming back to that monologue in Barbie, delivered by America Ferrera. The one that lays out the impossible math of being a woman.

You have to be thin, but not too thin. You have to be confident, but not intimidating. You have to lead, but not come off as bossy. You have to be a mother, but act like motherhood doesn’t change you. You have to care about your appearance, but not seem like you’re trying.

Once you hear it, it’s hard not to see it everywhere. Including in fiction.

When a reader says, “I didn’t like her. She was too immature,” that tells us what an ideal woman should be from this reader’s POV. A mid-twenties single woman should be poised and mature. Even though she hasn’t necessarily experienced the things in life that develop that maturity.

When someone says, “she was too negative,” they’re saying that the ideal woman should be positive all the time. Even when I have yet to meet a woman who doesn’t doubt herself or struggle with self-critical thoughts.

Yet the male main characters can be grumpy (in fact, that’s a much-desired trope) or cynical and cruel (again . . . a best-selling trope) or bumbling (ahem . . . our current favorite trope killing it in the box office), and women fawn.

LOVE this discussion and huge list of Reddit comments about female main characters. We could discuss this summary for hours (and I hope you’ll add your thoughts and comments below so we can).

Have you noticed yourself bristling with certain FMC’s? Are we still too afraid of strong, passionate, loud women as a society that we can’t handle them in fiction without hate? Are romance novels so skewed toward idealization of the MMC that we can’t enjoy an interesting and deep FMC?

I refuse to believe that the answer to that last one could be yes.

All of my books feature strong female friendships, found family, and what I hope to be interesting FMC’s. Of course, my writing has gotten better over time, and I’m constantly working to continue to improve.

I love writing about love. But more importantly, I love writing about how love changes us. How it makes us question our past behavior and ask ourselves what we should and shouldn’t give up to make a relationship successful.

My book Pier Pressure just launched last week and the audio will be sent out today (available first on my website and YouTube channel). If you need a quick, heartwarming read, this vacation romcom series is it!

Let me hear your thoughts below about female main characters! Go!

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve grappled with what it means to have true romance. What is cultural, what is fantasy, what is true. If you start at the beginning of my books and read through chronologically, you’ll see the changes I’ve made and truth I’ve discovered along the way.

I could talk for hours about romance through the female gaze, but to make this a short post, let me say this.

It’s complicated.

I believe it’s complicated for men, too, despite the pervasive cultural belief that “all they want is one thing.” My experience with male readers is: that narrative is categorically false.

Men want intimacy. Men want to feel wanted, desired, safe, and needed, just like women do.

Some of my romances skew more fantasy (ahem the ones in the fantasy categories) and I think there’s an important place for that. A place to explore what feels unexplorable or to understand pieces of ourselves that bubble up and cause us embarrassment or shame.

My sports books? That’s where I’ve tried to explore vulnerability and true intimacy, from the feminine and masculine side. One of my favorite scenes I’ve ever written is in the Comeback where Logan expresses worry about his physical capabilities. When have you ever read that in a book or seen it in a movie? Yet most men feel this regularly.

I believe that our weaknesses and insecurities are exactly what make us strong in romance and relationships (when we’re willing to give a voice to them).

If you haven’t read these books yet, check all of them out here. Happy International Women’s Month!

We took inventory this week, and guess how many butter knives we have left?

Four.

How? Why? I would think that the spoons would be missing since the kids take those to school sometimes, but butter knives??

Also, I’m reading the very first Nancy Drew book to Brooke right now. We’re about halfway through, and last night she said, “Mom, I know where the second will is. It’s in the clock.”

Me: “What clock?”

Brooke turns over the book and points at the cover. “That one.”

I mean, the book is called, “The Secret of the Old Clock.” So. Could’ve been a little less heavy handed with that one, Carolyn Keene. I told her the fun of a mystery is figuring out the how’s and why’s.

I’m not sure I convinced her. And honestly, it’s not very fun trying to figure out the how’s and why’s for our case of the missing knives. I realized that mysteries are really only fun if you get to know the answer at the end, which made me again remember that this is why we love reading books! Because we get to see the ending when we so rarely get to see endings in the real world!

With that, I have a new book out today! This is part of my Luna M. Rose catalogue, so these are steamier romances with open door but non-explicit soul bonding (PG-13). I know it sounds weird for those who don’t read paranormal, but it’s important for wolves. Just trust me. Lol.

Get the audiobook here

Read on Kindle here

Here’s my author note for the book:

I read the Brother’s Karamazov by Dostoevsky when I was in college, and it quickly became one of my favorite novels. Then I read the Brother’s K written in 1992 by David James Duncan and fell in love with that fresh retelling.

When I started publishing, I had in the back of my mind that I wanted to do a shifter version of that classic story. A broken father. Four boys dealing with the trauma of their childhood in wildly different ways. Political intrigue plus steamy fated mates—how could I go wrong?!

Well, it took my five years, but here it is! Book 1 in the Brother’s Kade! I hope you love it. And that you go read the novels that inspired this story. Send me a note if you do!

Chapter 1

Some of the happiest moments in my life arrive with a hitch of sadness right as they begin. Like our family trip to Disneyland when I was sixteen. Or my first spring break as a freshman in college. Or the three weeks I had completely free and clear of any responsibilities after graduating with my bachelor’s, before starting my internship at the care facility where I now work full-time.

The wait is over. That experience I’d been dying for is here. Which means the clock is ticking. It will all be over soon.

I grit my teeth and try to look relaxed because this is one of those moments.

I sit at a round table covered in crisp white linens with my four best friends. All of us lived in the same dorm at CU Boulder freshman year and became roommates when we moved into a house off campus during our sophomore year.

After graduation, we scattered like dandelion seeds in a spring wind. Addison, with her willowy frame and long blond hair, moved back to California when her mom got divorced for the second time, and now she’s fully plugged into their all-female-owned real estate business.

Kris—yes, that’s her actual name, not short for Kristy—moved out to DC and worked her way up to campaign manager for a senator, or was it a congressman? She recently switched, and I’m embarrassed to say I lost track during the chaos of my recent breakup. She’s physically stronger than most of the men I know and can talk any politician under the table. Her brain moves faster than a chatbot.

Nora, my freckled, green-eyed beauty, took over property management for a series of vacation properties in Vail and Beavercreek. We had to convince her to leave her flannels at home.

Gianna worked for a sobriety program in Denver for a time, but then took a job in Arizona two years ago as a therapist for a world-class recovery center in Scottsdale, Arizona. She looks a little like she’s been living at a wilderness retreat with her wild, dark curls, turquoise earrings, and hand-twisted bracelets up her arm.

And I . . .

Well, I’m the only one who ended up staying put in Boulder. Not Boulder proper. Rent was way too expensive. My boyfriend, Ben, and I found a townhouse in Louisville.

Ex-boyfriend. He’s my ex.

Ben still lives in the townhouse. I temporarily took up residence in the en suite in my parents’ basement in Broomfield, which is a big reason why, even though I’m surrounded by my favorite people in the world right now, I feel a tad sad.

We only have two weeks together. From Venice to Montenegro and back again, sleeping on this beautiful little yacht, sailing around the Adriatic, eating incredible food.

Before I have to go back. To that.

“Hey, Macy, you good?” Nora waves her hand in front of my face like she’s already tried to get my attention twice.

“What? Nothing, I’m fine. Just tired.” I take a bite out of a perfectly crisp mini BLT sandwich. It’s a “get to know the ship” reception, and they just showed us to our assigned table for the rest of our stay.

While “tired” doesn’t cover it, the statement is true. On the way over, I stopped in Stuttgart, Germany, for five days to visit our old exchange student and her family. She lived with us for a year in high school, and we became fast friends. I don’t consider myself an out-of-shape person, but the hikes she took me on in the Black Forest kicked my ass.

Kris popped a grape in her mouth. “Whatever. You’ve already adjusted to the time change. I’m a total zombie.”

Gianna grinned, leaning back in her seat with a sigh. “That’s why we have an entire day and evening to do absolutely nothing.”

Addi made a sound, almost like a whimper, and when I look up, her eyes glisten with tears. “I can’t believe we actually made this happen.” She sniffs, reaching for her napkin.

Emotion wells up in me, and it isn’t even a conscious choice to stuff it all back down. If I started, I wasn’t going to stop.

I reach for Addi’s hand and squeeze. “What? After two and a half years of texts and shared influencer vacation reels, you didn’t think we were serious?” Comedy as a deflection from being vulnerable. My personal superpower.

She laughs, swiping at her cheeks.

“I mean, I can’t even get you to visit me up in the mountains,” Nora teases.

I roll my eyes. I had visited her once, though it had been over a year ago. And it’s not like she was volunteering to drive down to Denver on the regular.

In my defense, Ben didn’t like driving. It was why we chose Louisville. Our grocery store and favorite Indian restaurant were within walking distance of the house.

“Ten bucks says she won’t make it up to Vail before September,” Gianna says, slapping a bill on the table.

Everyone, including me, busts up laughing. I can’t remember who started it, but bets had kind of become our thing. Back in freshman year, Kris bet Addi fifty dollars that she wouldn’t audition for the musical Peter Pan playing at a local dinner theater.

Addi went on and on about performing locally the entire semester and yet somehow found a way out of every single audition. But that time, she needed the cash and ended up sacking up for the cattle call.

And landed the role of Tinkerbell.

Since then, anytime one of us was too scared or stubborn to do something, money hit the table.

I take another bite of my sandwich. “You’re on, babe.” Damn it. Now I was going to have to drive up the pass during Colorado’s hurricane season. My car was little more than an aluminum can, and it caught the wind off the Rockies like a sailboat. But I’d never lost a friend bet, and I wasn’t about to start now.

Before Gianna can pull her hand back, Kris pipes up. “No, if we’re going to make a bet, it needs to be bigger than that.” She crosses her arms, her eyes narrowing.

I frown, wiping my fingers on my napkin. “I’ve got nothing worth betting on. What, are you going to bet that I can’t break up with Ben? Too late, already did that.”

Addi smirks. “Did you, though?”

Eesh. That was a low blow. I know she’s kidding, but

Read more

I’m excited to introduce Bright Haven Books—a brand new website designed to make it easy to find closed-door romance based on the tropes and content level you’re comfortable with.

Instead of guessing from blurbs or reviews, you can simply:

• Browse and filter by tropes and preferences on the website

• Find the stories that match your comfort level

• Download the ebooks or audiobooks directly in the Bright Haven app

It’s that simple.

Even better, all of my clean, closed-door romances are available there, including my new pickleball series and all my clean fantasy romance.

They have a free trial!

So if you’ve ever wished there were an easier way to find romance that keeps the swoon without the spice, this site was built for you.

Explore Bright Haven Books here:
https://brighthavenbooks.com/pages/about-us

The goal is for all of the filtering and searching capabilities to integrate into the app eventually, but they’re still in the beginning stages. I’d love for you to check it out and let me know what you think!

xo Cindy

It was perfect timing.

What we didn’t anticipate was stretching our relationship to a whole new level and falling in love with a brand new community.

Playing team sports with your spouse/significant other is no joke. It drags out every terrible personality characteristic FAST. Lol! On a team, there wasn’t nearly as much friction as when it was just the two of us…and the only targets for blame after bad shots were either ourselves or the other person.

I’m happy to tell you that we’ve figured it out (mostly). It required us to be okay with constructive criticism and a curiosity about our actions instead of defensiveness. We’ve cried on the court (okay…mostly just me) and we’ve had serious “aha” moments that have transcended any match or drill session. Plus, we’ve connected with so many incredible people, all going through the same thing as they work to improve their game.

Oh, and also?? We’ve had TWO sets of friends meet at pickleball and get married. It made me think of this article about meeting your partner at every age. In your thirties? Picking up new hobbies is listed as a great way to expand your social network and meet people in real life who might be a good fit.

I loved that it talks about how the best place to meet a partner is anywhere you are consistently showing up as your real self in front of other people. Pickleball definitely won’t let you hide behind a mask for long!

All of this made me RABID to write a pickleball rom com. This sport has all the parts and pieces for a perfect, hilarious, heart warming read. Found family, conflict, laugh-out-loud innuendo (I mean, c’mon, it’s all low-hanging fruit), and opportunities for major personal growth and connection.

If you’re new here, my book The Big Dink follows Alecia Monroe, who is bubbly, competitive, and up for anything. Her office crush, Garrett, loves pickleball. So when a coworker suggests a weekly company pickleball night, Alecia does what so many of us have done (if not with sports, then with music, hobbies, books, or that one foreign film we pretended to love):

She lies about knowing how to play.

The plan is simple:
1. Learn enough to fake being decent
2. Spend time on the court with Garrett
3. Charm him with her personality

What she doesn’t expect is Calder. The instructor who challenges her competitiveness, calls her out on her crap, and doesn’t actually want to help her connect with his friend, Garrett.

It will leave you with a huge smile on your face (and you’ll want to dive right into Alecia’s friend Sam’s story next).

The best part? Today it’s free on Kindle! Download it here. You can also get the audio from me here.

I can’t wait to hear what you think of this new series!!

And I’m curious: would you ever lie about knowing how to play a sport for a crush? Have you told a white lie about anything to make a connection happen in your dating life?

I might’ve told Scott a white lie to create an opportunity to hang out…

I’ll have to tell that story another time! Lol!

xo Cindy

Every once in a while, I log in to Audible and see my reviews. I used to have ZERO reviews on Audible, and now that I’m selling more consistently, I have quite a few. There are some books with none, and then there’s this book with one stellar review…lol!

This is for The New Year’s Party. It was my first attempt at writing a romance ever (after doing the Tier series and a few women’s fic novels back in 2020). It’s scathing…and it absolutely made my day.

Because here’s the truth: I had no idea what I was doing back then. I had great taste in stories, and I think I’ve always understood good characters, but I had no idea HOW to craft good narrative drive. I didn’t know how to use plot, I was so character focused!

Is this story a waste of time? I don’t think so. I love these characters, and I love the little snippets of life we see over these twelve years in the book. But is there much plot? Nope. Haha! They were right on with that assessment.

The funniest part - this is one of my books that does best on TikTok. People love the beginning hook of this book, and it sells decently well!

So why am I sharing this?

Because I believe there’s so much power in sharing the actual journey of success. It involves SO much more failures than wins. And as soon as we’re able to see the failures as absolute signs that we’re heading in the right direction (ie: trying new things, taking risk, moving out of our comfort zone) we are FREE.

Suddenly, that upper limit created by fear and ego and pride disappears, and we’re able to fly higher than we ever thought possible.

Some failures still hurt more than others, especially when I’m on failure number 7 or 10 in an area and I’m not sure if the win will ever come. But I’ve had enough experience now with this process, I have absolute faith that it will come if I keep trying.

If you’re failing right now, SMILE. That means you’re on the right path because you care and you’re putting in effort. Take a deep breath and try, try again. I’m rooting for you!!

xo Cindy

P.S. Here’s a link to read or listen to The New Year’s Party, the book hailed as an utter and complete waste of your time. LOL!

And then I met Scott.

I went home for Christmas and had a moment where I knew we were supposed to be together. I also knew that if I went to Belgium, we weren’t going to get the time we needed to build a relationship.

Scott and I had only been on one date, but I canceled my trip and forfeited the money. More importantly, I didn’t say a word to anyone because I knew they’d think I was CRAZY.

Maybe I was. But we were married five months later and we’re about to celebrate our 22nd wedding anniversary.

So. I’d gladly give up that $250 again.

This topic fascinates me. When should you take a risk and when should you wait to see if it works out? Do you need to be ready for that kind of change?

This article has an interesting take. I recommend you read the whole thing, but here are a few of my takeaways:

• Psychologists have found that our sense of being ready for a relationship often doesn’t match how relationships actually unfold.

• Research on “relationship readiness” suggests that even when you feel unready, that doesn’t necessarily mean you won’t fall in love, it just means the timing isn’t as linear and predictable as we imagine.
  

What I love about this research is that it reminds us that there’s nothing uniquely “wrong” with us if we find ourselves pulled toward someone at a time that feels impossibly messy. That tension might actually be unavoidable. Just part of being human.

Maybe there isn’t ever a right time?

Many of my characters meet at the wrong time. When they’re interested in someone else, when they’ve sworn off all relationships, or, as we find in Buoys & Girls, when you’re on vacation and will likely never see that person again.

I love this trope because it forces the character to ask what they’re willing to risk for the slim chance that this could be something great. And great love stories are about great risk.

Have you read Buoys & Girls? Or listened? Would you take the leap like Mason did?

Tell me in the comments:

• Have you ever fallen for someone at the “worst possible” time?

• How did you navigate it? Did you lean in, step back, or meet in the middle?

• What do you think we get wrong (or right) when we talk about good and bad timing in relationships?

I read every comment, and I’d genuinely love to hear your stories, questions, or even disagreements.

And if you do pick up Buoys & Girls, come back and tell me which parts were your favorite!!

xo Cindy