I kiss his cheek, excitement lifting me onto my toes. “I’ll tell Jen we’re running ten minutes late. Just, so many books came out this week I want to read. There’s—”
“The new Taylor Quan and the Cassandra Ray Smith,” Nathan finishes. His grin lingers on me a moment too long. “What if someone recognizes us in there?”
I tighten my grip on him. “Then we’ll sign some books and confirm we’re together,” I say easily.
Nathan raises an eyebrow. “Confirm we’re together?”
“Do you want to stay a secret?”
Nathan laughs lightly, more to himself. “Were we ever a secret?”
“Only to ourselves,” I say.
“So when I propose to you,” he says, “should I do it in a bookstore?”
I nearly stop on the sidewalk. My mouth drops open a little. Nothing comes out. I close it, then start over. “Hilarious,” I say, studying him. He’s serious, despite having wrapped the question in a joke. I know because, while he’s playing casual, he’s watching me too intently.
“What about in the finished copies of our book?” he asks, once more serious and not.
I’m only just holding onto my composure, joys I couldn’t possibly catalogue crashing over me. “Our book about divorce?” I remind him.
“Good point.” He pauses, his eyes drifting contemplatively. Unsatisfied, he turns to me. “Care to brainstorm this with me?”
I shove him, delighted. “I will not cowrite your proposal with you.”
“Damn,” he says ruefully. “Well, I’ll figure something out. Soon.” His gaze darts to me on the final word, watching for my reaction.
“I look forward to it,” I say softly.
“Yeah?” His question is immediate, his voice searching, even vulnerable. I have to smile, my heart cracking happily. Everyone talks up the proposal. Not enough is made of whatever this is. The preproposal. It’s wonderful in its ordinariness. Proposals are for candlelit dinners and champagne. Preproposals are for sidewalk conversations and running late. They’re one of the small moments you don’t find in stories—only in real life.
He’s still waiting for my answer. “Ask me first,” I tell him.
“Fair enough.” He has the stupidest, most wonderful grin. His shoulders straighten while he walks, his head a little higher. I feel like my entire self flows into our joined hands.
We’ve written the rough draft of our love together, the draft with loose ends, unfinished edges, mistakes every other page. But every writer knows there’s magic in revision, where your work changes from a manuscript into a book. Where intentions, emotions, missed connections coalesce into something complete. It’s where what you mean to say becomes what you have said. The characters deepen, the details shine, the prose sparkles. Suddenly, from nothing, you find your story.
We’re in the revision now, Nathan and me. The second draft. Each next one will only improve, becoming more nuanced, more honest, more profound. More us.
We reach the bookstore. Nathan walks up beside me, where he’s been so often before. Before we ever kissed, before we traded pages, before the new book. Before fire, thunderstorms, calmer waters. I love even our roughest draft. I love every fraught page we’ve rewritten to get to here. Because in the end, the best part of a love story isn’t having it. It’s getting to keep writing.
While Nathan holds the door open, I walk into the bookstore, inspired not by what I’ll find on the shelves or put onto the page but by every new day.
Acknowledgments
It’s intimidating venturing into a new genre, especially with a story so personal and close to our hearts. We could not have done it without the support, love, inspiration, and hard work of everyone we would like to thank here. The Roughest Draft could not have existed without you.
We conceived this idea on our honeymoon while discussing how our agent was probably relieved we’d finally put rings on our writing partnership. When we returned home with the spark of this idea, the manuscript only came together because said agent, Katie Shea Boutillier, encouraged us to keep pursuing the concept. We’re endlessly grateful to you for believing in this new genre for us and in this story, which could not have happened without your pushing us on every character and motivation. None of our stories ever do.
What’s more, thank you for representing with grace this novel in which certain literary agents come off, uh, not awesome. Had Nathan or Katrina loved their agent the way we do you, passages of the book would read much like this one.
The most joyful part of this journey has been, without a doubt, finding our new Berkley family. This starts with Kristine Swartz, who we knew from our first phone call perfectly understood the novel we hoped we could craft here. Your insight and sense of the book’s positioning and identity is incredibly inspiring, and your friendship has made a publishing house feel like a home.
We’ve been honored and moved to be embraced by our entire Berkley team. To Vi-An Nguyen, thank you for a cover so stunningly perfect it inspired a whole new scene in the book. To Christine Legon, Mary Baker, Megha Jain, and Erica Horisk, thank you for bringing this book from the literal roughest draft to this gorgeous novel. To Jessica Brock, Danielle Keir, and Fareeda Bullert, thank you for reaching readers with your extraordinary work.
One thing that never changes is the importance of wonderful friends. Aminah Mae Safi and Bridget Morrissey, you two aren’t friends—you’re family. Thank you for pandemic weekly video calls and making us not want to slingshot ourselves into the sun. Seriously, you light up our every day. The best decision we ever made was going out to the desert with a group of people who’d literally never hung out together before. Maura Milan, doing writing sprints with you and catching up on our progress every day is the only way this book got outlined in time. Between working out story beats with you and trading video games, your friendship helps us “keep on keeping on.” To the rest of the LA Electrics, thank you for group chats and movie nights, publishing advice and shared joy.
Rebekah Faubion, thank you for being a fabulous human and for your early read and insight on this manuscript. Everyone needs an agent sister like you. Gretchen Schreiber, thank you for always being there for venting sessions even when we’re living in different states. Diya Mishra, your enthusiasm for this story was a real lift when we needed one. Gabrielle Gold, our oldest friend, thank you for so much, book- and non-book-related. We’re honored and overjoyed to be part of the romance family—Rachel Lynn Solomon, Jen DeLuca, Lyssa Kay Adams, and Emily Henry, thank you for welcoming us in!
To our family, thank you for fostering the love of writing and stories that inspires and sustains us in everything we write.
Finally, our readers new and old—everything we write is a love letter to you.