Dear Readers,
Some stories don’t begin with a plan.
They begin with a feeling.
That’s how Something Borrowed found me—not through plotting or planning, but with a quiet image I couldn’t shake: a woman unlocking the door to an old bridal boutique on a breezy Florida morning. I didn’t know her name yet. I didn’t know why she’d returned. But I knew she was holding on to something—memories, longing, maybe even regret. And I knew I needed to follow her.
Her name became Becky Navarro. And the boutique...