Love You Can Rest In
Love doesn’t need confusion to feel real.
It doesn’t need games, uncertainty, or pain to prove its depth. Somewhere along the way, many of us were taught that love is supposed to be complicated—that if it isn’t difficult, it isn’t meaningful. I don’t believe that.
In my stories, love is something you can rest in.
That doesn’t mean it’s effortless or perfect. It means it’s honest. It means partners choose each other with intention. They listen. They show up. They create space for softness as well as strength. Love, to me, should feel steady—not like something you’re constantly bracing yourself for.
When I write romance, I’m writing the kind of love I want readers to experience, even if only for a moment. The kind that feels grounding. The kind that reminds you that being understood isn’t too much to ask for. The kind that doesn’t make you question your worth.
Fantasy gives me the freedom to write that love without distraction.
There’s a quiet kind of magic in stepping into another world—one built from words, imagination, and possibility. You don’t have to believe in dragons or spells to believe in that magic. All it takes is turning a page and letting yourself be carried somewhere else.
In fantasy, emotions can breathe. Wonder is allowed. Hope isn’t something you have to justify.
That’s where love and magic meet for me.
The magic in my stories isn’t always loud or dazzling. Often, it’s subtle. It’s found in small moments, in shared silence, in hands reaching for each other and knowing they belong there. It’s the feeling that something good exists, even when the world feels heavy.
When you open one of my books, I hope it feels like an exhale.
I hope it feels like being held by a story that doesn’t ask you to prove anything. A story that lets you believe, even briefly, in love that is kind, in magic that is gentle, and in worlds that offer comfort instead of chaos.
If you close the book feeling steadier than when you opened it, then the story has done its job.
Welcome to the Wildwoods.
