My entire life, I thought I needed to hold on to love with an iron fist. It was a feeling I needed to trap, to smother, so it wouldn’t slip through my fingers. Little did I know, when you’re with the right person, being in love never feels like the bottom is going to fall out. It’s solid, stable, and indestructible.
Sure, Trevor may be a massive grump with an irrational hatred for singing in the car. But he does what no one else has ever done. He accepts all of me. The parts no one else has seen. He listens to my every word, never cutting me off or rushing me. He accommodates my picky eating and my hoarding tendencies. I’ve even bought my own pair of Crocs to match his, which he deems “Couples Crocs.” And thanks to therapy, we’ve learned multiple strategies on how best to meld our different communicative styles.
He’s even kept his word, embracing the PDA with hand-holding and movie-worthy kisses in random places, like the frozen-food aisle in Costco. Or in the stairwell of our apartment. Or even in front of Angie, who makes a dramatic show of covering her eyes, complaining until it’s over.
I’ve been spending a lot of time with Angie lately, as her designated party planner. This year’s birthday extravaganza is going to be something special. She deserves it after the success of her heart transplant, only a few months ago. She’s insisting on a boy-band-themed party—her latest obsession, because she’s “over Disney.” I’ve been attempting to learn a TikTok dance for her, a painful endeavor I do not recommend to anyone over twenty years old.
“I can’t believe you did this for me,” I whisper, running my index finger over the book spines. “This is pure shelf porn.”
“Figured it was necessary to get you to stop leaving your books in random piles around the apartment,” he says through a low chuckle. He wraps his arms around my waist from behind and plants a soft kiss in the cove of my neck.
I zero in on a vibrant pink-and-red book I don’t recognize. It sits, cover out, in the middle of the shelf.
I pluck it from its spot. It’s light, slightly thinner than your average trade paperback. Like all my other rom-coms, the cover is illustrated. The hero and heroine are lounging on a stack of pillows. The heroine is stretched out, her head resting against the hero’s lap as she reads a book. He holds her tight, his arm wrapped around her, cherishing the moment. Artfully hand-brushed hearts fill the empty space around the couple. In bold font, the title reads, Can I Ask You a Question?
It takes a moment to register the tiny little hearts dotting the woman’s sweater. The man’s dark, tousled hair and tattoos partially visible under the rolled sleeves of his shirt. And, most telling, the way he’s looking at her, like she is everything he never knew he wanted.
The adorable cartoon couple is us.
“Open it,” Trevor urges gently.
My hands shake as I flip to the first page of the “book.” Through the tears blurring my vision, I make out another illustration. Of this very moment. Cartoon Trevor and me, standing in front of this bookshelf, heart balloons closing in around us, hugging us. As I let the successive pages fall, one after the other, the illustration changes like a flip-book. Cartoon Trevor bends the knee, my cartoon eyes enlarge like saucers, my hands slowly come up over my face in shock and awe.
Before I can even register what’s happening, Real-Life Trevor is on his knee. “Read the last page,” he instructs.
When I flip the page, the script font reads:
Tara Li Chen,
Please know I hate myself for this title. But damn, it was appropriate.
The day you barged into my life and talked my ear off, you rewrote everything I thought I knew. I’ve told you this before, but I felt like I already knew you. I fell in love, fast, with your warmth, passion, and kindness. Somehow, you go to great lengths to make everyone in your life feel special, and you don’t even have to try.
Most of all, after everything you’ve been through, you never once gave up hope for love.
I don’t think I can ever repay you for the joy you’ve given me over the past year. I know there will be challenges ahead, but I want to face them head-on with you by my side. I promise to spend the rest of my life making sure you get the happily ever after you deserve.
Will you marry me?
Tears spring into my eyes, and I fumble the book. It plummets to our feet, facedown. Through my blurred vision, I see that Trevor holds a red box. In the cushion sits a stunning oval diamond atop a thin yellow band. It’s an exact replica of the one from all my Pinterest boards.
The weight of his eyes on me produces an instant smile. “This is . . . the grand gesture of all grand gestures.”
“You deserve all of this and more,” he says, his tone unwavering. “If I’m going to keep up with those heroes in your books, I need to up my game.”
“I don’t need gestures, honestly.” I stare into the eyes that captivated me from day one. They’re brimming with pure love, drowning out every last bit of doubt I’ve ever had. “You are more than enough. Just you.”
“I love you.” He stands, giving me a tender kiss on the temple that makes me see stars. “Now can you please answer my question? I’m gonna pass out if you don’t say yes right now.”
I raise one brow. “Metcalfe, did you really think there was a reality where I’d say no?”
A grin lights up his entire face like pure sunshine, just for me. “Nah. But I want to hear you say it anyway.”
“Yes!” I shriek, yanking the ring out of the box.
Trevor’s steady hand helps to guide it onto my finger.
When I hold my hand up, the diamond hits the ray of sunshine streaming in from the window. Aside from my new fiancé’s smile, it’s the single most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I will never take this off as long as I live.
I go on my tiptoes, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Are you sure you know what you signed up for? Me, all over you, talking in your ear, forever and ever? Swooning over the other fictional men in my life?”
“I can’t imagine a future more perfect than that,” he says without an ounce of hesitation. “As long as I’m your favorite hero in the end.”
Without notice, I leap into Trevor’s arms, wrapping my legs around his waist like a koala. He holds me there, tight to him, laughing softly into my mouth.
I tell him I love him, over and over, planting feverish kisses everywhere I can manage, one for each of the infinite reasons I am crazy in love with him.
He’s not just the hero of my dreams. He’s the hero beyond my wildest imagination.
The best part? He’s nonfiction.
acknowledgments
The struggle to write the second book is all too real （ask me how I know）。 Exes and O’s took me much longer to write than Set on You, but it is truly the book of my heart. First and foremost, thank you to John, who held my hand as I wrote, trashed, and rewrote parts of this book over and over. I also owe so much to my sweet goldendoodle, Albie, who is always by my side through every book.
As I write these acknowledgments, I am gearing up for the publication date of Set on You （yes, publishing timelines are strange）。 There are so many people to thank for their role in getting my books into the hands of readers: Endless thank-yous to my team at Berkley, including Kristine Swartz, Mary Baker, Fareeda Bullert, Yazmine Hassan, Tina Joell, Lindsey Tulloch, Christine Legon, Andrea Monagle, Daniel Brount, Vikki Chu, Allison Prince, and Alex Castellanos. Thank you for making my publishing experience an absolute dream. I couldn’t have imagined a better team to champion my work.