“I guess he’s the one that got away. Sorry you’re stuck with me instead.”
“Well actually, don’t be sorry,” Seth says. “Because you’re here at our twentieth reunion with me as your date.”
“Oh ho ho, no you don’t,” I say. “You predicted we would sleep together the night of our twentieth reunion. You have no idea if you’ll be so lucky.”
“I think I will,” he says into my ear. “You can’t resist me after you get started on those Preptinis.”
“All right, Rubes,” I say. “I’ll award you a provisional victory, but only because I want that hot, hot—”
He holds up a finger. “Not so fast. Do you remember what you have to say to me, since I win?”
I make my face very sour. I hate losing.
“Soul mates exist,” I recite in the voice of a hostile Muppet.
“Good girl,” he says. “Though I could do without the tone.”
I sigh. “Soul mates exist,” I say in a sexy baby voice. “Is that better?”
He scowls. “I worked hard for this. For years. Don’t make it creepy.”
I grab his face and put a kiss on his lips, leaving a smear of red on his cupid’s bow. “Okay,” I say softly. “You were right, Seth. Soul mates exist.”
“Thank you, Molly,” he says. “I know defeat is hard for you.”
“Actually, it works out,” I say. “Because, on the upside, apparently soul mates exist. And somehow, I got lucky enough that you’re mine.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A few months after I finished this book, we lost my beloved Grandma Pat. She was the person whose lurid Fabio-bedecked paperbacks got me into romance as a disturbingly young child, and she made sure to stock signed copies of all my books in the library of her retirement community, where her closest and most salty friends could pass them around and marvel at the sex scenes. She never got to read Just Some Stupid Love Story, but so much of it is inspired by the place where she lived and helped to raise generations of our family that I think she would have gotten a kick out of it.
That place, as you may have gathered, is Florida. I would like to acknowledge my peculiar home state for shaping me into a person who knows more than she ever wanted to about hurricanes, circus culture, grifters, mosquito-borne illnesses, heatstroke, red tide, plagues of escaped anacondas and alligators in swimming pools. My dear Sunshine State, your politics make me so sad lately, but I would not be the person I am had I not grown up in your bathwater seas beneath showstopping sunsets, and Seth and Molly would not exist without you.
Seth and Molly would also not exist were it not for my husband, a dazzling creature who showers me in adoration I in no way deserve and who was one of the original readers of this book, twice. Thank you for making it possible for me to sit on the couch writing romance novels all day, and for thinking it’s impressive instead of utterly slothlike. I am still madly in love with you, even after forty-five years. No notes.
And thank you as well to my whip-smart and indefatigable agent, Sarah Younger, without whom I would be a lost child instead of a semifunctioning writer. Nothing perks me up like your red lips on FaceTime, nothing improves my books like you demanding that I instill swoonery into the text, and nothing keeps me going like you fighting for me. I am also so grateful to NYLA mastermind Nancy Yost for her encouragement and wise counsel, and for foreign rights genius Cheryl Pientka, who so devotedly and skillfully got this book into the hands of readers around the world.
The book in your hands would not be what it is without the editor of my absolutely wildest dreams, Caroline Bleeke, who sliced through it with surgical precision to make it one hundred times sharper, cleverer, and more heartfelt. I am so grateful for your vision, tenacity, and delightful emails.
I am also so thankful to Sydney Jeon for shepherding me through production and to Shelly Perron for the rigorous copyedit and encouraging asides. I’m grateful to the whole team at Flatiron for giving this book such a great home—thank you to Bob Miller, Megan Lynch, Malati Chavali, Claire McLaughlin, Maris Tasaka, Erin Kibby, Emily Walters, Jeremy Pink, Jason Reigal, Jen Edwards, Keith Hayes, Kelly Gatesman, Katy Robitzski, Emily Dyer, and Drew Kilman. And a massive thanks to Vi-An Nguyen for designing the gorgeous cover.
One of my main occupations in my day-to-day life as a writer is threatening to quit writing, and I might have succeeded by now without the support of my writerly sisters-in-arms. Erin, Kari, Alexis, Emily, Kelli, Melonie, Nicole, Susan, Susannah, and Suzanne—you are not just my pocket friends, but my family. Thank you for filling the existential void, bat by bat. And thank you to my platonic wife, Lauren, for helping me to understand how to craft rom-coms in the first place. Our Baby prepared me to write this book, and our wine-soaked nights keep me sane. And ta, indeed, to my beloved Claudia: guru into the UK publishing world, best cook, best time on Whatsapp, best transatlantic friend.
I am also so grateful for my family, who my dear father, on whom Roger Marks is not in the slightest way based, will be very annoyed to see me call the Dirty Doyles in this text. You are so funny and loving and supportive, you speak a language all your own, and I adore writing about family because of you. I’m sorry that all your cats pale in comparison to mine, and I love you to the ends of the earth, except when you are beating me at Settlers of Catan.
No painfully long acknowledgments section would be complete without a word of devotion to all the brilliant romance writers who keep upping the game of what this genre brings to the world. Molly Marks can doubt love stories all she wants, but you make me believe in them and aspire to write them better. Thank you for inspiring me, for making me more ambitious, and for being evangelists for a world of fiction that holds, nurtures, and delights its readers like no other.
And finally, thank you to everyone who has read this book, and all my books, and books in general. Authordom is a strange, lonely calling, and your enthusiasm, kind words, hilarious social media posts, dizzying annotations, and careful reviews make it so, so worth it. None of us authors would be here without you, and I doubt many of us would want to.
Recommend Just Some Stupid Love Story for Your Next Book Club!
Reading Group Guide available at
www.flatironbooks.com/reading-group-guides
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Katelyn Doyle is a writer based in Los Angeles. Just Some Stupid Love Story is her debut rom-com. She also writes as the USA Today bestselling historical romance novelist Scarlett Peckham. You can sign up for email updates here.
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