I came to UBoss when I was feeling stuck, lacking purpose—those big dreams that everyone is supposed to have. I came here because I was done hiding and living a small, hidden life behind the safety of fiction.

  Confession: I didn't do all of the modules. I didn't participate in all of the tasks. And for a day I hated Mimi Boss. But I met all of you unicorns. You helped me find the courage to be okay with who I am, with not knowing my purpose, and at the same time, stepping out of my comfort zone into whomever and whatever that is: a brave, red-lipstick-wearing woman who loves books, friends, family, the ocean, romance, Valentine's Day, and all of you.

  I'm not entirely sure what comes next for me, other than quite possibly a trip overseas. Maybe I'll find my big purpose there, the creative thing that lights me up and drives my passion. Maybe not. Whatever I do, I'll keep living more, keep loving myself, and creating a fun life I love living. I'm not going to wait around for great things to happen, I'm going to create them. Thank you for being on this adventure with me. I wish you all the best. Love, Navybean.

  I kind of feel like it's the last day of camp or school, like I'm saying goodbye, knowing despite the best intentions we won't stay in touch. But maybe we'll cross paths someday. I'll see MelodyMiles eating a grilled cheese, playing the piano, or wowing the world with her unique style. Perhaps I'll be at a book conference and meet a lady named Daisy who mentions her love for The Dukes of Hazard. If Kat gets married in Bali, maybe I'll find ShellsXOX on the beach. Who knows where life will lead us. Our paths may intersect again if we keep living more.

  Lastly, I dial Mr. Bouche's mainline. The recorded voice of an assistant that probably had more sense than me requests that callers leave a message.

  "Hi, Mr. Douche, sorry for the short notice. Actually, not really, but you'll have to find someone else to get your triple, venti, soy, not sweet, no foam, latte. I quit." I won't be getting a positive recommendation from the firm, but that's ok.

  I hang up with a satisfied grin.

  Chapter 32

  Taking Flight

  When I return to the city, the streetlights, stoplights, and shop lights are bold, Technicolor pulsing with life. The wind nips my nose. However, the cold air doesn't reach my chest, causing me to bunch my shoulders up and hinge forward, bracing myself against the chill. I stand tall. I am on a mission. Dirt and slush stains the heaped remnants of Blizzard Bob, but none of it is as vibrant as how alive and purposeful I feel.

  I breeze into the apartment to find Kat, curled up on the couch under a blanket. A half-full glass of rosé is on the coffee table and she doesn't look up from the book she's reading when I enter.

  My keys rattle on the kitchen counter, and I set my bag down with a thud. "Hello?"

  "Navy!" She tosses the book down and runs over, arms ready for a hug. "Are you okay?"

  "I should ask you the same thing. What are you doing home in the afternoon reading?"

  "It's one of the benefits of creating my own schedule as a yoga teacher. Time freedom."

  "Usually you nap."

  "I couldn't sleep. Plus it's Valentine's Day."

  "All the more reason I'm wondering what you're doing here, reading."

  "Oh, that. I just picked up this little love story." She grins.

  "Boy meets girl, they fall in love,—now I know why you enjoy reading them so much." She lifts both eyebrows suggestively.

  "Yeah, yeah, I know how they go."

  She shakes her head and puts her hands on her hips. "No, not this one."

  "Kat, they're relatively formulaic." I lower onto the stool. "They're an escape. The characters make mistakes and take risks, but in the end, hearts heal and they live happily ever after."

  "Exactly. Three acts, internal and external conflict, dialog, the funny and insightful friend." She winks. "True love at the end. Blam."

  "I'm confused. You said I don't know how this one goes."

  She sashays over to the couch and picks up Love Letters by C.K. Flynn. "He didn't write this to humiliate you. He wasn't trying to expose your story or have you relive it…"

  My fist hits the granite counter. Although I'm ready to follow my heart, I haven't reconciled the content of his book. "Ouch," I say, rubbing my knuckles.

  "Don't cut off your nose to spite your face. Or punch a piece of granite and break your hand."

  "Kat, you're reading Carrick's book?" I ask, feeling the sting of betrayal and my already aching hand.

  "Yeah, and I already ordered the other ones in the series from Amazon." She pokes at the embers of my anger.

  "I thought you were on team Navy."

  "One-hundred percent."

  "But I haven't told you about my change of heart yet."

  "You didn't need to. Well, I read your blog post. Nice title, by the way, the OTP. I told you five guys, that was the original dare, remember?"

  I reluctantly nod.

  "And this book, Love Letters, it's Carrick and Navy or Xavier and Olivia as the one true pairing. OTP, baby. Which do you like better? Cavy or Navrick or Carrivy?"

  "None of them have a good ring." If I'm ever going to be in a relationship, I'll certainly retain my identity while loving my guy with all my heart. No losing myself to him or vice versa; I've read enough novels to know the perils of that scenario.

  "Carrick wrote you a three-hundred page love letter. It's called the Love Letters series meaning it's probably more like thousands of pages. You’re a hopeless romantic, surely you see that."

  "You read the whole thing?"

  "I'm on the last chapter. There's no way something terrible happens at this point. It's the sweetest story. And steamy. Five stars. I highly recommend it."

  "He said he added a plot twist; he wrote what he wanted to be true," I whisper, recounting our conversation. In that moment, letters, words, sentences, and scenes rush at me, hot and inky. It's true. Kat's right. We broke each other's hearts so maybe we can help put them back together.

  "It's Valentine's Day. No pressure or anything. All of those other guys were just training wheels to get you back on your feet. So what's it going to be? Are we going to the airport or not?"

  "How did you—?" I ask, pulling the plane ticket from my bag.

  "You didn't get past chapter seventeen. And you should really use bookmarks, folding the corner of the page over is so primitive."

  "Ha ha."

  "So are we going or not—?"

  I let the smile that's been building since I was in my parents' basement push past the corners of my lips.

  "First, you need to bathe," Kat advises. "You smell like a combination of sleep, low-tide, and a musty basement."

  "And hope; I won't wash that off."

  "I'll pack," she says expertly.

  I call from the bathroom. "Just nothing too short. Or heels. I don't want to fall on those old cobbled streets. It's probably cool this time of year so—"

  "Navy, I've been to Rome in February. I can handle it."

  After I've washed my hair and loofah-ed, I turn off the shower abruptly, my pulse racing with questions, and rush to my room to find Kat with two suitcases on the bed, both nearly full.

  "I think his traveling style is more like backpacking: a tidy rucksack and polished boots," I say, thinking of my Marine.

  "If there's going to be a Navrick, he'll have to adapt a bit. Unless you want to backpack, of course. I'd say more of a bohemian vagabond style though. Like glamping."

  I chuckle. "I don't know what I want other than to know what happens after chapter seventeen."

  I spot the book on my bed, but she lunges for it, as always, holding it out of my reach. "I'm on the last chapter, but I think you should find out for yourself. No spoilers from me."

  "That's what I'm trying to do," I say, scrabbling across the bed toward her. "I can read it on the ride to the airport."

  Katya says, "Nuh uh. I meant you're going to find out in real life. No more living vicariously through the characters on the page."

  The outrageous skirt and top I bought during the first week of the UBoss is laid out on the bed. "Ooh, pack that," I say.

  She shakes her head. "No, wear that."

  "On an airplane?"

  "You'll look gorgeous, darling, just like people used to when they flew first class."

  "First class?"

  "I had to check your departure time."

  *

  We reach the JFK International terminal and the line for security is interminable. I scan the crowd, searching for the strong, angular planes of Carrick's face, his broad shoulders, and summer blue eyes.

  "This is crazy," I say, doubt growing with every person I see that isn't him.

  "Love tends to be that way."

  "What if he doesn't show up? Worse, what if he does? How am I going to afford this? What will you do without me? Who's going to pay my rent when I'm gone? What happens in chapters eighteen through thirty-whatever?"

  Kat squeezes my hand. "He will. You will. I'll be fine. I can afford it. You'll find out."

  I nod and close my eyes, filling in the blanks with her answers. The resolve I carried from my parents' house to Manhattan kites somewhere overhead wheeling and spinning and dipping on a zephyr, but I realize I still hold the string, I always have.

  The line to pass through security creeps forward and Kat loosens her grip.

  "Make sure you hydrate on the flight."

  "I think that's the least of my worries."

  "No, trust me, there's nothing worse than being puffy and having your skin dried out."

  "Thanks, Katya," I say, giving her a hug before shuffling forward.

  "You're taking a big risk, but I think it's the right one and it's Valentine's Day, what's more romantic than running across an airport terminal into the arms of your OTP."

  "Very rom-com."

  "Very about to happen. I wish I could watch." She glances around. "S'pose I could have someone record it on their camera?"

  "Kat! It could be a horrible fight, a public shaming. Last time I saw him I told him to leave."

  She lifts my chin and our eyes meet. "You did, but I have a feeling you didn't mean it. Call me, text me, blog, whatever. I want details."

  "Don't get lonely without me."

  "Don't worry, I won't," she says with a wink. "We're already out of sugar. Can you believe that?"

  The security officer calls me forward and I give Kat one more hug while fumbling with my ticket and ID.

  "Bye," I call, but the crowd already swallowed her up.

  Once I'm on the other side of terminal, the night sky stacks like building blocks in the large, square windows. Yet everything inside is lit up, blinking, flashing, rushing, and dashing.

  Against the frenetic energy surrounding me and inside of me, I take my time putting my shoes back on and gathering my luggage. I wander over to the newsstand and buy a few magazines, a giant bottle of water, and some snacks. I drift toward the gate, enveloped by a sense of the surreal. Am I really doing this? I could go back now, return to my life, to business as usual. Mr. Douche is going to be pissed. I could do the exercises in the UBoss program that I missed, go on dates, and hang out with Kat.

  I could.

  But the point of the program and everything I learned about myself in the last month is that I can think and contemplate and journal and all the rest, but none of that will substitute actually living more, following my heart, seeing where it leads me, and what kinds of dreams materialize.

  I continue through the terminal past people coming and going on business trips and from faraway places to see friends and lovers. Families say goodbye and hello. In a way, I'm saying goodbye to the past and hello to something else, yet to be defined.

  When I turn the corner, I spot him standing by a bank of windows, a backpack slung over his squared shoulders and his reflection a wavy blur in the glass.

  I study him: long, clean lines of muscled arms and powerful legs. The kind of posture that nothing can sway, except maybe me. I never want to see him so ruined as when I told him to leave and when I said I hated him. I don't want to forgive myself, but if he does, I have to do the same because I can't keep living with heaps and piles of guilt.

  I step closer. There's no turning back. My heart accelerates. My surroundings turn fuzzy. I wobble on newborn pony legs. Life is about to change. Either we'll be in it together or it'll be over.

  I clear my throat. "Carrick," I call.

  He turns slowly as though he isn't sure whether he heard his name floating in his thoughts or if it was a trick in the din of the bustling terminal. His expression rapidly passes from surprise to overwhelming joy to uncertainty. He closes the space between us in several long strides, dropping his bag at our feet. He picks me up and swings me in a circle, knocking over an elderly woman's cane leaning against her seat.

  I press against him, relieved to be welcome into his strong embrace—the pillar I needed against my uncertainty.

  "Sorry," I speak the muffled apology into his shoulder.

  Carrick's hand shakes as he palms mine, leading me over to the windows. He takes the other one and we face each other. I look up and up, meeting his blue eyes.

  "This isn't what I expected," he says.

  "I'm sorry for everything I said."

  "I'm sorry for everything I did or didn't do." When his apology leaves his lips, this time I accept it.

  "You gave up on me once. I gave up on love once, let's see what happens if we don't give up."

  He leans in and whispers, "I never gave up on you, not during all of the years we were apart. I thought of you every day, regret haunting me, desire moving me. I don't know how else to say it, write it, or tell you. I have a few typos, some misplaced commas... I'm more of a work in progress than a finished draft."

  "I’m alright with that. I haven't even gotten that far. I'm like an outline."

  He smooths my hair back and his face brightens when I smile. "You slay me with that fucking dimple." He gazes up at the ceiling as if steeling himself. "Now, it's up to me to show you what something else means," he says.

  "We don't have to define it. It can be whatever we want it to be. It's up to us."

  "Let's start simple. Navy, will you go on a date with me? You look beautiful, I might add."

  I smile my biggest dimpled smile. "Where?"

  "Everywhere and wherever you are."

  I wave my ticket. "Starting with Rome?"

  "Happy Valentine's Day."

  Chapter 33

  Valentine's Day Night

  We settle into first class seats.

  "Thank you for the ticket, sir," I say, giving a little bounce and then swinging my legs like a child. "This is a nice way to travel. Should I expect warm nuts?"

  Carrick chuckles.

  Katya and her innuendoes cross my mind. "That's not what I meant. I mean, never mind." My knee bounces uncontrollably. I shift to get comfortable. I fidget with the lap belt and the buttons and dials in our shared compartment. There's a TV, a privacy screen, and I tip backward, my feet lifting onto the footrest of the reclining chair. I don't have to worry about people's knees behind me as I adjust the position of the seat and scrub my clammy hands down my skirt.

  "Where I thought you were the strong and silent type. I was wrong on one account. You're strong, that's for sure, but it's clear you're full of words, like, literally spilling onto the page."

  Carrick nods for me to go on.

  "So, let's talk more. Be honest. Not hold thoughts and feelings back."

  "Sounds good to me."

  "From now on I'll tell you everything that's on my mind. Well, not everything, because there's a whole lot of weird going on up here you want no part of."

  "I don't mind weird."

  "Trust me. It can be crazy."

  He shakes his head. "So we'll each be an open book."

  "Ha ha. No secrets. No regrets."

  "Agreed."

  "I believe in true love and in happy endings."

  "No, not endings, beginnings." His smile warms me.

  "I'm very romantic, but don't need a knight in shining armor or want rescuing."

  "You already saved me," he says, patting the scar on his chest.

  "I'm at a funny place in my life. I quit my job; I'm getting on a plane. I'm sitting next to Carrick Kennely and am happy about it."

  And there it is. The look. The I-want- you-right-now look, but if I've learned anything from romance novels, it's to relish the slow burn, the anticipation, the brush of fingers, the lazy gaze, the quirk of lips, the look.

  *

  Butterflies dance across my skin and then swoop in my belly. I'm not a nervous flyer. I'm excited! I'm with Carrick! Together at last! We're going to Rome for goodness sakes!

  There isn't a second love interest I'm leaving behind, a love triangle of sorts with my heart torn between two uncommonly attractive men. I'm not giving up a career/house/dream for a guy. I'll miss Katya, but we'll text and talk because that's what we do no matter what continent we're on, and she's been to nearly all of them. I love New York and I'll be back there for sure. My career, well, perhaps this trip will help me figure out what that is. It's mostly the unknown, the next chapter, the unfinished chapters…

  All the loose ends are resolved and wrapped in a tidy little bow. The couple often walk off into the sunset, hand in hand… What I rarely read in my romance novels is how even after the OTP get together, there are still jitters and nerves. I can't believe I've never thought of this before. That can't truly be the happily ever after because they're not going to keep walking forever, no beach is that long. That's not how real life works.

  What happens next? What's the next chapter after the last one? The reader in me MUST KNOW what goes on in a writer's mind. I wonder if I asked an author—

  "Carrick, what happens after the last chapter?"

  "Huh?" he asks, inclining his head in question and running his giant paw across his stubble. His fingers distract me as they've done since I had that first surge of hormones when I was thirteen and I imagined them twined in mine.