Having overdosed on the cold, unyielding aspects of reality at an early age, books became a welcome escape I was happy to dedicate my life to. Editing romance vels seemed like the perfect career choice for the girl who craved fantasy and a world she could exercise a little control over. Bottom line, I like having a happy ending I can count on. Until...Jensen. Where I prefer to have my head in the clouds, unattached to the tumultuous roller-coaster of real life, his feet are so firmly planted on the ground, they're sinking in and getting buried there. Jensen seems an unlikely hero for any story, let alone mine. He's moody. And confused. And pretty damn sure there's such thing as happy ever after. But then that's the thing about all the best happy endings. They show up when you least expect them to.