​     Hey, everyone! Lizzie here. I'm sorry I haven’t posted for a while, but family life has kept me pretty damned busy.
     By now you’ve all read my story. (Right? If you haven’t get to it! I’ll wait. No really, I’ll wait.) Okay, for those of you who haven’t, no spoilers, I promise. I’m not here to talk about me.
     I want to tell you a little bit about one of my other favorite men, Simon Prince. He’s my cousin (second cousin, to be totally accurate) and one of the best guys you’ll ever meet.
     When we were kids, Simon lived in England with his parents and sister, Kim, but they came home to visit from time to time. I’ll admit, I enjoyed the fact that I had a good-looking, slightly older cousin who, at the time, came with an accent that made every girl I knew drool. It definitely got me invited to the cool table once or twice.
     But Simon was more than that. He was always there for me, even if most of our communication was via telephone and snail mail, a shoulder to cry on, a guy friend that I could go to for advice on boys. (I tried talking to my brother, but that did not end well!)
     His parents divorced when he was fifteen, and he moved back to the States with his Mom and sister. They immediately became part of the neighborhood gang, and since Simon and I were the oldest, we tried to keep the younger ones in line, which was not easy! Those boys! (I’m looking at you Matt, Dare, Dave, and Sin!)
     He formed an immediate and unique bond with little Tessa Jameson, who was seven when they met. She thought that since his last name was Prince, he was a real prince like in her fairy tales. The little tomboy proclaimed herself his princess and swore that she was going to marry him someday. It was pretty damned adorable!
     Simon didn’t mind. He adored Tessa. She was Kim’s best friend, after all. But they had a connection that was impossible to define; he used to tell her that she was an old soul, wise beyond her years.
     And then, life happened. Simon went to college and, eventually, moved back to England while pursuing his career as a war correspondent. Tessa got over her crush and made plans of her own. They didn’t see each other again until her brother, Dave, married his sister, Kim.
     That’s where I’ll stop. Their story begins at Kim and Dave’s wedding, but neither of them could have imagined when or how Tessa would finally get her Prince.
     It’s a wonderful story, but you’ll have to wait just a little longer …
     
     Tessa’s Prince, coming November 2016.

​Hi all, Lizzie here! By this time some of you have read my story; for those of you who haven’t, don’t worry I’m not going to spoil it.
 
It’s not a spoiler to assure you that it has a happy ending. It’s a romance, after all, and that is how they end. Trust me; I’m an expert! I’ve never counted, but I’m guessing I’ve read several thousand of them over the years and, no matter what the plucky heroine and her macho hero endure, they always end with them beginning their lives together.
 
The end of the story is just the beginning for the newly-committed couple. But what, exactly does happily-ever-after mean?
 
Critics of romance novels and their readers would say that they encourage unrealistic expectations for life in the real world.
 
I disagree, but I doubt that comes as a surprise to anyone! I’ve always been a hopeless romantic, even when love seemed determined to bypass me.
 
The romance novels I read gave me hope. They helped me believe in love, in romance, in possibility, even when I doubted that it would ever happen for me. And I know that they helped me overcome my fears and take a chance on love.
 
Trust me; it was worth it
 
But what does happily-ever-after look like?
 
First of all, it’s not perfect. Life is messy and frustrating and even infuriating at times. Colin and I sometimes disagree, and, yes, we even argue. But the occasional quarrel doesn’t mean we aren’t happy and that we aren’t still crazy in love. All it means is that we’re normal humans who aren’t always at our best. So we screw up, we apologize, and we make up (ah, making up is magical).
 
Second, it’s hard work. Regardless of how much you love someone, navigating a relationship is not easy, especially when you’re in it for the long haul. It requires communication. Compromise. Compassion. Oh, and a sense of humor, because if you can’t laugh with someone, then there’s no way in hell you’ll stick it out for fifty-odd years.
 
Finally, it’s worth the effort. Happily-ever-after doesn’t mean spending every second of every day in a state of perpetual bliss. It’s simply not how life works. But having someone to hold your hand when life gets rough makes the less pleasant moments bearable. And having someone who wants to hold your hand can even make them beautiful.
 
Am I happy every second of every day? Nope.
 
But I am happy! My life is filled with joy and wonder and love, and I have enough moments of pure bliss to make the less perfect times fade quickly. I don’t need perfection. I don’t think I’d want it, even if it were possible.
 
My life is, at times, messy, loud, and borderline crazy and I wouldn’t change a damned thing. It’s everything I ever dreamed of and never expected to find.
 
I got my happy ending. More importantly, I got my happy beginning, one that continues to grow and change and, incredibly, to get better and better.
 
So is happily-ever-after for real? Hell, yeah!
 
Now, if you haven’t read my story, I highly recommend that you do so as soon as possible! I may be a little biased, but it’s sweet and funny and touching and lovely.
 

     Have you ever been stuck in a rut? 
   I’m guessing the answer is yes. Most people have, at one time or another, been trapped in a daily grind that no longer excites or inspires. 
     It’s like the time that my car skidded off an icy road and landed in a ditch. It was easy to fall into and tricky as hell to escape. 
The big problem with ruts is that they can be deceptively comfortable. Life may be mundane and predictable, but it’s also familiar and safe. And it’s way too easy to allow familiarity and safety to mute our hopes and dreams. 
     Before the events of my story, I was so deeply entrenched in my rut that I lost sight of the fact that I was stuck. And, honestly, I don’t even remember how I got stuck there in the first place.
      All I know is that I was moving through life without really living. I got up in the morning; I went to work at a job I didn’t enjoy, I bitched and moaned, maybe had a few drinks with my best friends, Meg and Jess, and came home to spend the night on my sofa reading my latest romance novel. It’s not that everything was horrible, or that I was miserable, really. I just lost sight of what I wanted and, okay, I believed on many levels that I simply couldn’t have it or didn't deserve it.
     Once upon a time, I had wanted so much! 
     I studied English in college. Not the best choice of majors if you want a career, but I had this crazy idea of someday publishing a romance novel of my own. But, yeah, no one will actually pay you to write that story. Reality can be such a nasty bitch! 
     I fell into a career as a travel agent because I had bills to pay, and the daily grind made the idea of writing a book seem ludicrous. I was just plain old Lizzie Kincaid, after all. Who on earth would want to read what I wrote?
     Better safe than sorry, right? A bad career that pays the rent is better than a risky one that doesn't. 
     I didn’t fare much better in the romance department. Did I want to find a good guy, get married, and have a couple of kids? Yup. I always had. But a couple of boyfriends who made me feel like crap about myself, and I gave up on that idea, too. 
     I watched most of my friends get married and start families. I played matchmaker for anyone who would let me. But me? I decided that romance just wasn’t going to happen. I contented myself with the romance novels that lined my bookshelves. 
     I felt like an observer in life, not a participant. 
     And I don’t think I realized it until a few surprises came my way.
     Surprises that made me remember my dreams. 
     Surprises that made me believe that they really could belong to me. 
   Surprises that lifted me from my rut as smoothly as the tow truck pulled my car from the ditch.
     Surprises that gave me the beautiful, full life I have now!
     Now, I know, you’re all curious about what those surprises are, right?
   And I’d love to tell you, I swear. But Lily would kill me and a smart character never makes her author angry!
     So you’ll have to be patient. I swear it won’t be long. 
     I can promise you this – you’ll love my surprise(s)! I certainly did!

     Did you ever have a secret place? A place where you can shut out the world and allow yourself to dream? 
     I did. From the time I was about twelve, I would hike to the covered bridge at the creek, wander down the one lane road, and clamber down a very steep hill. At the bottom? A bunch of smooth, gray rocks, perfect for daydreaming and, okay, a little sunbathing, just where a burbling stream meets the creek. 
     It’s a peaceful place. The lane isn’t well-traveled, so it’s rare to hear the crunch of tires on the gravel. At worst, you might run into a fisherman or two, but they usually stayed downstream where the water is a little deeper. 
     I stopped going after I graduated college. By that time, most of my childhood dreams had been deflated, so there was nothing to fantasize about. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it until the first time I went back, but I can’t tell you about that just yet. It was a lovely, special day, though, with dreams renewed and new ones born. 
     These days, I don’t get there as often as I’d like, not because I’ve given up on my dreams, but because I’m so busy living my dreams that I don’t have the time.
     The other day, I took the time. It was a picture-perfect April day. Bright blue skies, puffy clouds, sunshine, a cool breeze, and, miracle-of-miracles, an hour to myself. So I walked through the village, appreciating the pink and white dogwoods, and the brilliant azaleas which had just come into bloom. And the greenness! Pale green leaves popping open on the trees and vibrant green grass. My allergies weren’t thrilled, but my soul was in Paradise!
     The lane hasn’t changed much, although I do miss the handsome, screeching peacock that used to wander around, slightly aggressive but stunning all the same. The road is rough and pot-holed (it’s a Pennsylvania thing), more gravel than asphalt, but the crunch of the stones beneath my feet felt wonderfully familiar. 
     When I reached the hill, I had a moment of panic. When I’ve been away for a while, I tend to forget just how steep it is! But the path is clear and the steps that someone cleverly created many years ago are still there, so I made it to the boulders at the bottom in one piece.
     So much has changed in the village since I was a kid. More houses, more people, less open space. My bend of the creek hasn’t changed at all. The gray boulders are still smooth and warm from the sun, still the perfect spot to lean back and let your mind wander. The stream still splashes over a tiny waterfall before it bubbles into the broad, flowing creek. Sunshine gilded the water, making it shimmer, and a yellow butterfly fluttered just above the surface before landing on the foliage. 
     I reclined on the rock, resting on my elbows, face raised to the sun. It was magical. Inspirational. Spiritual, even. 
     Dreams, old ones, new ones, flitted through my brain like the butterfly. Some of the sillier ones made me smile and laugh at myself; no I had not become a forest ranger as I’d once imagined! Some of the abandoned dreams were bittersweet, but only for a moment. The power of my current reality, the spectacular life that even my overactive imagination could never have invented, erased the bitter and left only the sweet. 
     As I wandered home, I reveled in the beauty of springtime in the village. 
     Spring reminds me that no matter how bleak and cold winter may be, new life will blossom every year. Spring reminds me that even when life is difficult, there is always something new waiting to bloom.
     It’s spring in the village, and it is glorious!
     It’s spring in the village, and life is beautiful!
     Now get out and experience it!

     Hi, all! Yes, I know I’m a little late with this, but once you’ve read my story, you’ll understand why time management is a challenge for me. My life is crazy busy, loud, and occasionally messy, and, though there are times when I long for peace and quiet, ninety-nine percent of the time I’m cool with that. 
     For me, the noise, the activity, and the chaos is just a reminder of how full my life is these days. It’s all about family.
     Okay, so I tend to stretch the idea of family to the limit. But then I’ve always blurred the line between family and friends. You’ll understand that once you’ve read my story. And theirs.
     So who are they? They are the kids I grew up with. 
     Simon’s the oldest of all of us, but he lived in England until his parents divorced when he was fifteen. His Mom moved him and his little sister, Kim, back to the US and into the house next door to mine. I should mention that his Mom, Pamela, and my Mom, Beverly are cousins, which makes us second cousins. I always loved their visits when we were younger; there was something so exotic about having a relative with a British accent, you know? Unfortunately, Simon wasn’t in town while my story was unfolding, but you’ll get to know him soon enough. 
     I was the next oldest, which is why I tend to mother them all. And trust me, with the four younger boys along, keeping them out of mischief was a full-time (and impossible) job. 
     I’ll start with Darius, better known as Dare. He’s a Kincaid, my cousin, and son of the local police chief. He tended to be the voice of reason, mainly because of Uncle Ed, but he usually gave in to whatever mayhem the others had planned. Thankfully, their pranks were relatively harmless, since they were good kids at heart. Dare’s one of my favorite people in the world, but I worry about him since he became a cop down in the city.
     David Jameson grew up two houses down from me with his little sister, Tessa. He was the kind of kid who was always a little grubby because he was always outside digging in the dirt. Davy fell for Simon’s sister, Kim, the day they moved in; he was nine, she was seven. He tended to be a little torn between wanting to hang out with the boys and wanting to spend time with Kimmy. I have to say, he did a pretty good balancing act, and I think the other boys were always a little jealous that he always had a girl.
     The other two boys were both Brodys, cousins Matt and Sinclair. Matt’s Dad was our local pastor, so he could be a bit of a hellion. Matt always says that as a preacher’s kid, he was expected to be an angel, and that was the kiss of death. Still, he always had the kindest heart and knew what to say to make me feel better. His cousin, Sin, didn’t grow up in the village, but he spent most of his summers here growing up, so he’s always been one of the gang. He told the best campfire ghost stories of all of us; some of them left me sleepless for days. 
     The four boys could be a handful, but I caught glimpses of the men that they became. Did they make me crazy? Without a doubt. But I can admit that I enjoyed their crazy antics, at least in retrospect.
     I’ve already mentioned two of the girls. Kim Prince, little sister to Simon, fell for Davy as quickly as he fell for her. She always knew she would marry him some day. I envied her that. They always had each other. It took me a long time to find that kind of love. 
     Tessa, Davy’s little sister, was our tomboy. She tried to tag along with the boys, but they usually wouldn’t let her. (Until the day they all noticed that Tessa was, in fact, a girl and a stunning one!) Since the boys didn’t include them on their adventures, Tess and Kim bonded and became best friends.
     The baby of our group was Abby Brody, Matt’s little sister. Although she was a lot younger, Abby hated to be left behind, so we brought her along when we could. 
     A typical summer day for my little tribe usually meant walking to the creek. To get there, we had to pass the Walker house, the biggest, showiest house in the neighborhood. Mary Sue Walker was just a year younger than the boys, but she was never allowed to join our fun. It always made me sad to see her peeking out the window, but her father didn’t like us, so … Poor kid.
     Apart from Davy and Kim, I doubt any of us could imagine where our lives would take us on those sunny summer afternoons at the creek. Life wasn’t quite as simple as those picnics on the creek bank. It’s been difficult. Painful. Even ugly. Some of us have made it to the top, others, like me, got stuck in a life we didn’t really want. But all of us eventually found what, and who, we needed. 
     They’re incredible stories! I can’t wait for you to read them and get to know my ‘family’. 
     But my story is first. And it’s one hell of a story if I do say so myself.
     You’ll laugh. You’ll cry. You may even swoon a little. 
     And you’ll understand why I adore every second of my crazy busy, loud, and occasionally messy life!

     I can honestly say I love my life. It’s more than I ever dared imagine and more than I once believed I deserved. I guess that’s why I wanted my story, our story, told. 
     I’ve always been the one to take care of everyone else. When I was a teenager, I regularly looked after half the neighborhood kids, so I got used to putting what I wanted and needed at the bottom of the pile. Looking back, it became an awful habit, compounded by the fact that I was pretty much a misfit at school. 
     So, yeah, I was insecure, and my self-confidence was more-or-less nonexistent. Add a series of boyfriends (emphasis on boy) who treated me like dirt and I just … gave up. Oh, I was still in love with the idea of romance, but not for me. I devoured romance novels like they were Hershey’s Kisses and I reread Jane Austen over and over, but I felt like my chances of finding my soul mate were slim to none. I was in my early thirties, after all; if I hadn’t found Mr. Right by now, it probably wasn’t going to happen. 
     Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t miserable. I come from a tight-knit if slightly annoying family, I got regular kid time with my three adorable nieces, and I had two of the best friends a single girl could ask for. Jess is like the little sister I always wanted, and Meg is the kind of person who gives you the pure, unvarnished truth (whether you want it or not). 
     But in my hopeless romantic heart, I still longed for what I believed I would never have. And, honestly, I wanted to be hopeful instead of hopeless, even if I was afraid to ask for it.
     It turns out, I didn’t have to ask. We all have those moments that change everything, right? Moments that take us down a different path, that set in motion a series of events we didn’t dare to dream. 
     My moment was a single phone call. Nothing’s been the same since and for that I am profoundly grateful! So how can one phone call change everything? You’ll have to read my story to find out …

My original idea for this post was to introduce you to my main character, Lizzie Kincaid. But as I sat down to type, Lizzie gave me a not-so-gentle nudge. It seems that she wants to introduce herself, so, without further ado, I’m giving her control of the keyboard.  – Lily
   
     Hi, all! I thought she’d never leave! (Just kidding, Lily!) Seriously, though, I’m thrilled to be here, but I’m even more thrilled that she’s finally going to put my story out there. Trust me, it’s been a very long time coming!
     I’ve read hundreds of romance novels over the years, and I can honestly say that I never expected to live one. Oh, I was a hopeless romantic, emphasis on the hopeless part, but I’d given up on finding a love story of my own. Too much heartache, too little actual love.
     But I’m getting ahead of myself. My full name is Anna Elizabeth Kincaid; I’m Lizzie to family and friends, but Anna at work. Weird, I know, but there was already an Elizabeth and a Liz when I started, and management wanted to avoid confusion. Whatever. I didn’t really mind.
     My childhood was relatively normal. We weren’t poor, but we didn’t have a lot of money for extras. Still, it was happy enough, great parents, annoying older brother, quirky relatives, and a menagerie of dogs, cats, bunnies, and other assorted furry creatures.
     We lived in Crossroads, which is barely a tiny dot on the map. It’s the kind of place where you know almost everybody, or if you don’t actually know them, you have someone in common. Small town life has its pros – safety, security, comfort – and its cons – zero privacy and every single thing you do gets back to your parents. Ugh.
     Growing up, I spent most of my time playing with the other neighborhood kids. You’ll get to know them along the way since we’re all still close. We had a lot of fun, even if I did spend half of my time trying to keep them out of trouble. Okay, so I may be a bit of a mother hen, but that’s not a bad thing, right?
     I’m not sure I ever really chose my grown-up life, you know? I went to Penn State, studied English lit (I blame Jane Austen for that), and, with no real career aspirations, I drifted into a job as a corporate travel agent. Trust me, it’s not the glamorous job that people imagine, but it did pay the bills. Or it paid some of the bills, at least; there was never quite enough left after paying my rent to pay them all.
     It wasn’t all bad, of course. My family may be quirky, but I know I can count on them. And I have two amazing best friends who always know when circumstances call for an emergency bottle of wine or two. But I wasn’t really living, you know? No romance. No adventure. No actual life.
     The thing is, I didn’t really understand how lonely and lost I was until I wasn’t.
     And now? I’m living a life I never imagined and, trust me, I have a vivid imagination!). I’m happier than I ever dreamed possible, all because of one phone call.
     Curious? Good, because it’s an amazing story, complete with romance, near-tragedy, laughter, tears, and, yes, a surprise (or two)!
 
XOXO
 
Lizzie (by the way, you can follow me on Twitter, too! I'm @LizzieKincaid)