Let me tell you a secret about romance novels: the whole point is that they shouldn’t end up together.
That’s it. That’s the engine. The bigger the spark between two people, the more reasons they have to stay apart, the better the book. Because when they finally do kiss — when they finally, finally end up together — it’s earned. It’s the most satisfying thing in the world. You’ve been holding your breath for three hundred pages and you get to let it out all at once.
I’ve read romance novels with unsatisfying endings. The kind where the two people don’t make it, where it’s all very profound and bittersweet and Important. And look — those are the ones that get nominated for awards. I understand why they exist. But day in and day out? People don’t want to ache. They want to watch two people fall in love and make it. They want the payoff.
I think this is because, in a way, books are a guide for the rest of us. We learn how to handle things by reading about people who handle them first. And here’s the truth at the center of every romance I write: most of us only fall in love — really fall, the once-in-a-lifetime kind — one time. The butterflies don’t last forever. Even when you do end up with your person in real life, there’s a stretch where you don’t know yet, where it isn’t certain, and somehow that not-knowing feels as good as the certainty does later. Romance novels live in that exact space. That’s why we keep coming back.
Now, a confession. For the longest time, I only watched one kind of movie: action. Things blowing up, a lot of fighting, the smallest possible amount of romance. Then a roommate got me hooked on romance movies — and I mean hooked. The cheesier the better. I will happily watch a B-grade romance and a B-grade action flick back to back and love them both equally. I genuinely can’t help it.
And honestly? I think that’s where the writer in me actually comes from. Somewhere between the explosions and the meet-cutes, I figured out what I love: the spark, the impossibility, and the deeply satisfying moment when two people who shouldn’t work out — finally, against all odds — do.
That’s the ending that works. Every time.