A huge shout-out to my hardworking, upbeat, and fantastic team at BookSparks, including Keely Platte, Grace Fell, and Crystal Patriarche, for all your work in spreading the word about my debut. You guys are amazing.
Thank you to my incredible team at Viking/Penguin UK—Lydia Fried, Harriet Bourton, Ellie Hudson, Federica Trogu, Olivia Mead, Tineke Mollemans, Samantha Fanakan, Rachel Myers, and Linda Viberg—for all your work in getting my series across the pond. I’m blown away by your enthusiasm and am overjoyed to continue working together!
I am so grateful to Penguin Random House Grupo, Editions Arquerio, Brainfood Publishing, Nemesis Yayincilik Hizmetleri, Helion, and Verlagsgruppe Droemer Knaur for getting Set on You into the hands of readers around the world.
As always, thank you to my amazing agent, Kim Lionetti, and the whole BookEnds team for all your publishing expertise and support, and for shepherding me through this process.
Piles of gratitude to Jackie Lau, Sarah Echavarre Smith, Denise Williams, Lynn Painter, Rachel Lynn Solomon, Kerry Winfrey, Jesse Q. Sutanto, Ali Hazelwood, and Helen Hoang for taking the time out of your busy schedules to read and endorse Set on You. I’m very humbled and grateful for your support.
I wouldn’t have been able to get through the lead-up to publication without the emotional support of the Berkletes, all of whom have become such close friends. Thank you endlessly for all the laughs, love, and inappropriate GIFs.
Thank you to Jordyn, who talked me through the day-to-day life of a nurse, and Kathleen for inspiring Tara’s hots for Dwight Kurt Schrute—a highly underrated love interest.
My sincerest gratitude to all of the passionate and creative bookstagrammers, BookTokers, bloggers, influencers, journalists, booksellers, and librarians for spreading the word about my books. The steadfast support of readers and creators has meant the absolute world.
Last, but certainly not least, thank you to all the crappy exes （my own and friends’） who inspired this book, and thank you to Taylor Swift for inspiring me to turn my bad experiences into something beautiful.
READERS GUIDE
Exes and O’s
AMY LEA
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
Tara is a massive fan of romance tropes. What are your favorite and least favorite romance tropes and why? What is the main trope for Exes and O’s?
Do you agree with Tara that classic romantic comedy–style meet-cutes are “dead” in today’s technologically driven society? Have technology, the internet, and dating apps made modern dating harder or easier?
What is your favorite breakup song?
Inspired by Grandma Flo, Tara decides to seek out her own second-chance love story by exploring whether there is relationship potential with her past boyfriends. Would you reach out to any of your exes? What are the benefits of second-chance romances?
Many of Tara’s ex-boyfriends refer to her as the “crazy ex-girlfriend,” a term that is often used against women. Why do you think the term “crazy” is used as a weapon against women in particular? What are some examples of “crazy ex-girlfriends” in film, television, or music that depict this stereotype? Is this portrayal usually negative? Does Tara fit this stereotype?
How did Trevor’s childhood experiences and his family situation impact the way he views love and relationships? In what ways did Tara’s passion for romance （and romance novels） change his understanding of relationships?
In what ways are Tara’s and Trevor’s outlooks on love and relationships different? In what ways （if any） are they similar? Do you believe a relationship can work between polar opposites?
Tara’s ex Seth believes that reading romance has given her unrealistic expectations when it comes to love. Do you agree that romance books or movies give people unrealistic expectations? Why or why not?
In what ways could romance books or movies be beneficial to romantic relationships?
Keep reading for a sneak peek at Amy Lea’s next book
The Catch
A THICK PLAID FLANNEL button-down covers a barrel chest so broad, I doubt I could wrap both arms around him and touch my fingertips. Not that I would dare get within a five-foot radius of someone whose hostile blue stare is so poisonous, I think he could vanquish all his enemies with a single look.
His commanding presence freezes me in place. A foreboding sizzle zips through me as I take in the thick, unkempt ashy beard concealing his jawline, barely covering a surly, grim expression. Dirty blond, overgrown hair wings out the end of his faded and frayed Maple Leafs ball cap, which has seen better days.
“Who the hell are you?” His voice is gruff and terse, like uttering anything beyond a single syllable is a herculean effort he’d rather not be bothered with.
My body betrays me with a bark of laughter. The moment it spills out of me, I hike my tote over my shoulder, righting my posture in a sad attempt to match his height. From his position on the staircase, my eyeline hovers at his distressed, oil-stained jeans. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. Your voice took me by surprise.”
He raises a thick, dark brow. “My voice?”
I blink. “It’s just so . . . deep.” I wave a hand, trying to unearth the words. “Kind of like an action movie bad guy?”
No response. Just a scowl.
“Um, is this the Whaler Inn?” I ask, despite the Whaler Inn information pamphlet displayed on the desk. Though based on the ad offering a quaint B and B that isn’t in the midst of being gutted, it’s a fair question.
He widens his stance like the loyal bodyguard of a young pop star at the height of fame. “Who wants to know?” His narrowing gaze is so skeptical, I bite my lip to stop myself from laughing again.
“Um, me, obviously. I just made a reservation on Airbnb. You’re not the owner, are you?” Frankly, I’d imagined a folksy, salt-and-pepper-haired couple in matching Roots sweaters. They’d be in their seventies, though they’d intend to keep running the inn until the day they died （the same day, of course）， because it would have been in the family for millennia. Upon entry, I’d be offered fresh-baked banana bread and an assortment of senior citizen candies from a crystal bowl. I’d be charmed by their tendency to add an “Eh?” at the end of every sentence while delighting me with tales of merciless Northern winters past.
Conveniently, the Plaid Giant fails to confirm or deny ownership. “You didn’t make a reservation,” he says matter-of-factly. That flannel is really doing overtime under the swell of his arms. He strikes me as the type who got those Thor-like muscles by doing honest work in the wilderness, trapping animals and hauling logs for the cabin he’s building miles from civilization because he clearly hates humanity.
“Actually, I did. For a week.” Panicked, I bend over to pick up my phone, overturned on the floor at my feet. Crystal has long hung up, though she’s tried to call back four times, along with multiple texts. I pull up the Airbnb email, brandishing the screen at him, as if he can read it from this distance with bionic sight.
A trace of a frown forms under that bushy beard. “Nope.”
“I have my reso right here.” I hold out my phone, extending my arm completely, which only results in a deeper scowl. It’s not like I want to stand here and argue, but I’ve had enough reservation mix-ups for one day.