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not romantic.

not fiction.

just a snapshot of my life in 252 pages.


This is a story that has no ending. At least…not yet.

R.C. is thirty-four years old and checks the ‘single’ box on official forms that feel entitled to such information. A hopeless romantic at heart, she’s still waiting for Mr. Right to come along. As he seems content to take his time, she’s set her heart on other goals—namely, living the dream as a full-time author. Though, as her royalties aren’t enough to put a roof over her head, that dream has yet to come true, either.

In truth, R.C. is tired of pretending she’s not the one writing this blurb.

Here’s the deal. I wasn’t going to write this book until I had my happily-ever-after. You know—a husband, a best-selling novel, two-point-five kids, and a KitchenAid mixer sitting on my expansive kitchen counter. Then one day I looked at my life and wondered—who’s to say this isn’t my happily-ever-after?

I’m single as the day is long and the oldest virgin I know. I write contemporary romance novels, and the only thing I can tell you about being self-published is it’s hard as hell. By the world’s standards, I’m doing something wrong. From the outside looking in, I haven’t made it yet. But in spite of all that, I’ve never been so content.

My readers know me as R.C.
You can call me Rosalyn.
And this is my story.

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