Carrick I laugh. I cry. It comes so hard I ugly sob and snort, not sure how I feel except overwhelmed with hope that the war is finally over.

I hug my parents and get on the next train back to New York City. As it travels south, I open a fresh document on my laptop and spend the next hours finishing the story Claire and I started writing all those years ago.

When I'm done, I go to my blog and instead of wasting my time on writing up the ABCs for Tristen, I write The Book Boyfriend turned out to be a toad and not the kind that turns into a prince. However, I did find my prince. Well, a paper one who I realized had been there all along. We'll call him my OTP. One true pairing.

We modern women don't really need a prince, a knight in shining armor, a Romeo, or a Mr. Darcy, not necessarily. But it's okay to accept the truth of whom we might be, to desire examples of romantic tropes, to want to feel adored and desired. I'd be a liar if I said I don't like a surprise bouquet of flowers. It would be a fib to deny a sweet compliment doesn't make me blush. A complete and utter fabrication if I denied the little thrill of a twinkling, smoldering, handsome pair of eyes on me. You couldn't trust me if I claimed not to want a book boyfriend. You'd leave this blog if I said I don't like chocolate or I don't like sex. I want and I like and need all of the above. In a three-piece suit and aftershave during the week and a perfectly worn in pair of jeans, a baby-soft T-shirt, bare feet, and tousled hair on the weekend.

The girl I really am wants all of these things. I've hid the truth in the darkest, most frightened parts of my heart-a part of me that wanted nothing more than to protect me from further pain. It's caused me to renounce relationships, dating, and sometimes even made me think it was a good idea to leave the house dressed in what some might consider less than proper attire. (And anyway, if I'm wearing a heavy winter jacket, no one can tell that I'm wearing my pajamas underneath.) Love is paradox. Love is contrast. Love is complicated. I don't understand it, my OTP, or myself any better than the next couple, but it's up to me to own who I am without apology.

It's up to us. We can be modern and empowered, yet want our feet rubbed by a prince at the end of the day. We can want our independence and a relationship with a modern Romeo. We can be fierce warriors in the home and workplace and put on lipstick and a sexy skirt with the slit up the side for our guy. Wanting and having both doesn't diminish the work we and our sisters have done to promote, empower, and gain respect for women. In fact, the greatest thing we can do for ourselves and our sisters is be honest about our desires, to lay claim to them, and be the truest version of who we are.

Today, that means a girl going after her guy, taking a risk, and being completely honest and vulnerable.

My best friend had a theory that people are like birds. I had a theory that men are like dogs. Nope. We're just people. Messy, complicated, big hearted, tremendous people. This whole thing got started with a discussion about OTPs at a housewarming party and it turned into a dare, but the thing I know about my one true pairing is that it started long before that party and I'm on my way to see how it goes. Wish me luck.

I'll be signing off for now, but you can be sure, whatever happens, whether he is my OTP or it doesn't work out and I turn back to my paperback boyfriends, I'll keep reading and believing in love. I hope you do, too.

I press publish and lean back, but before I get too comfortable, I remember there are others relying on me. I open up the UBoss chat.

The program is over, but members have lifetime access to the material, modules, and the chat. There are only three avatars lit up, indicating the current users, including MelodyMiles.

She instantly writes Navybean! Where ya been?

I inhale and begin typing. I've been exploring living more and being the boss of my life. There were times I wanted to turn back, give up, and let someone else take the wheel. But I couldn't let myself or any of you down.

I came to UBoss when I was feeling stuck, lacking purpose-those big dreams that everyone is supposed to have. I came here because I was done hiding and living a small, hidden life behind the safety of fiction.

Confession: I didn't do all of the modules. I didn't participate in all of the tasks. And for a day I hated Mimi Boss. But I met all of you unicorns. You helped me find the courage to be okay with who I am, with not knowing my purpose, and at the same time, stepping out of my comfort zone into whomever and whatever that is: a brave, red-lipstick-wearing woman who loves books, friends, family, the ocean, romance, Valentine's Day, and all of you.

I'm not entirely sure what comes next for me, other than quite possibly a trip overseas. Maybe I'll find my big purpose there, the creative thing that lights me up and drives my passion. Maybe not. Whatever I do, I'll keep living more, keep loving myself, and creating a fun life I love living. I'm not going to wait around for great things to happen, I'm going to create them. Thank you for being on this adventure with me. I wish you all the best. Love, Navybean.

I kind of feel like it's the last day of camp or school, like I'm saying goodbye, knowing despite the best intentions we won't stay in touch. But maybe we'll cross paths someday. I'll see MelodyMiles eating a grilled cheese, playing the piano, or wowing the world with her unique style. Perhaps I'll be at a book conference and meet a lady named Daisy who mentions her love for The Dukes of Hazard. If Kat gets married in Bali, maybe I'll find ShellsXOX on the beach. Who knows where life will lead us. Our paths may intersect again if we keep living more.

Lastly, I dial Mr. Bouche's mainline. The recorded voice of an assistant that probably had more sense than me requests that callers leave a message.

"Hi, Mr. Douche, sorry for the short notice. Actually, not really, but you'll have to find someone else to get your triple, venti, soy, not sweet, no foam, latte. I quit." I won't be getting a positive recommendation from the firm, but that's ok.

I hang up with a satisfied grin.

Chapter 32.

Taking Flight When I return to the city, the streetlights, stoplights, and shop lights are bold, Technicolor pulsing with life. The wind nips my nose. However, the cold air doesn't reach my chest, causing me to bunch my shoulders up and hinge forward, bracing myself against the chill. I stand tall. I am on a mission. Dirt and slush stains the heaped remnants of Blizzard Bob, but none of it is as vibrant as how alive and purposeful I feel.

I breeze into the apartment to find Kat, curled up on the couch under a blanket. A half-full glass of rose is on the coffee table and she doesn't look up from the book she's reading when I enter.

My keys rattle on the kitchen counter, and I set my bag down with a thud. "Hello?"

"Navy!" She tosses the book down and runs over, arms ready for a hug. "Are you okay?"

"I should ask you the same thing. What are you doing home in the afternoon reading?"

"It's one of the benefits of creating my own schedule as a yoga teacher. Time freedom."

"Usually you nap."

"I couldn't sleep. Plus it's Valentine's Day."

"All the more reason I'm wondering what you're doing here, reading."

"Oh, that. I just picked up this little love story." She grins.

"Boy meets girl, they fall in love,-now I know why you enjoy reading them so much." She lifts both eyebrows suggestively.

"Yeah, yeah, I know how they go."

She shakes her head and puts her hands on her hips. "No, not this one."

"Kat, they're relatively formulaic." I lower onto the stool. "They're an escape. The characters make mistakes and take risks, but in the end, hearts heal and they live happily ever after."

"Exactly. Three acts, internal and external conflict, dialog, the funny and insightful friend." She winks. "True love at the end. Blam."

"I'm confused. You said I don't know how this one goes."

She sashays over to the couch and picks up Love Letters by C.K. Flynn. "He didn't write this to humiliate you. He wasn't trying to expose your story or have you relive it..."

My fist hits the granite counter. Although I'm ready to follow my heart, I haven't reconciled the content of his book. "Ouch," I say, rubbing my knuckles.

"Don't cut off your nose to spite your face. Or punch a piece of granite and break your hand."

"Kat, you're reading Carrick's book?" I ask, feeling the sting of betrayal and my already aching hand.

"Yeah, and I already ordered the other ones in the series from Amazon." She pokes at the embers of my anger.

"I thought you were on team Navy."

"One-hundred percent."

"But I haven't told you about my change of heart yet."

"You didn't need to. Well, I read your blog post. Nice title, by the way, the OTP. I told you five guys, that was the original dare, remember?"

I reluctantly nod.

"And this book, Love Letters, it's Carrick and Navy or Xavier and Olivia as the one true pairing. OTP, baby. Which do you like better? Cavy or Navrick or Carrivy?"

"None of them have a good ring." If I'm ever going to be in a relationship, I'll certainly retain my identity while loving my guy with all my heart. No losing myself to him or vice versa; I've read enough novels to know the perils of that scenario.

"Carrick wrote you a three-hundred page love letter. It's called the Love Letters series meaning it's probably more like thousands of pages. You're a hopeless romantic, surely you see that."

"You read the whole thing?"

"I'm on the last chapter. There's no way something terrible happens at this point. It's the sweetest story. And steamy. Five stars. I highly recommend it."

"He said he added a plot twist; he wrote what he wanted to be true," I whisper, recounting our conversation. In that moment, letters, words, sentences, and scenes rush at me, hot and inky. It's true. Kat's right. We broke each other's hearts so maybe we can help put them back together.

"It's Valentine's Day. No pressure or anything. All of those other guys were just training wheels to get you back on your feet. So what's it going to be? Are we going to the airport or not?"

"How did you-?" I ask, pulling the plane ticket from my bag.

"You didn't get past chapter seventeen. And you should really use bookmarks, folding the corner of the page over is so primitive."

"Ha ha."

"So are we going or not-?"

I let the smile that's been building since I was in my parents' basement push past the corners of my lips.

"First, you need to bathe," Kat advises. "You smell like a combination of sleep, low-tide, and a musty basement."

"And hope; I won't wash that off."

"I'll pack," she says expertly.

I call from the bathroom. "Just nothing too short. Or heels. I don't want to fall on those old cobbled streets. It's probably cool this time of year so-"

"Navy, I've been to Rome in February. I can handle it."

After I've washed my hair and loofah-ed, I turn off the shower abruptly, my pulse racing with questions, and rush to my room to find Kat with two suitcases on the bed, both nearly full.

"I think his traveling style is more like backpacking: a tidy rucksack and polished boots," I say, thinking of my Marine.

"If there's going to be a Navrick, he'll have to adapt a bit. Unless you want to backpack, of course. I'd say more of a bohemian vagabond style though. Like glamping."

I chuckle. "I don't know what I want other than to know what happens after chapter seventeen."

I spot the book on my bed, but she lunges for it, as always, holding it out of my reach. "I'm on the last chapter, but I think you should find out for yourself. No spoilers from me."

"That's what I'm trying to do," I say, scrabbling across the bed toward her. "I can read it on the ride to the airport."

Katya says, "Nuh uh. I meant you're going to find out in real life. No more living vicariously through the characters on the page."

The outrageous skirt and top I bought during the first week of the UBoss is laid out on the bed. "Ooh, pack that," I say.

She shakes her head. "No, wear that."

"On an airplane?"

"You'll look gorgeous, darling, just like people used to when they flew first class."

"First class?"

"I had to check your departure time."

We reach the JFK International terminal and the line for security is interminable. I scan the crowd, searching for the strong, angular planes of Carrick's face, his broad shoulders, and summer blue eyes.

"This is crazy," I say, doubt growing with every person I see that isn't him.

"Love tends to be that way."

"What if he doesn't show up? Worse, what if he does? How am I going to afford this? What will you do without me? Who's going to pay my rent when I'm gone? What happens in chapters eighteen through thirty-whatever?"

Kat squeezes my hand. "He will. You will. I'll be fine. I can afford it. You'll find out."

I nod and close my eyes, filling in the blanks with her answers. The resolve I carried from my parents' house to Manhattan kites somewhere overhead wheeling and spinning and dipping on a zephyr, but I realize I still hold the string, I always have.

The line to pass through security creeps forward and Kat loosens her grip.

"Make sure you hydrate on the flight."

"I think that's the least of my worries."

"No, trust me, there's nothing worse than being puffy and having your skin dried out."

"Thanks, Katya," I say, giving her a hug before shuffling forward.

"You're taking a big risk, but I think it's the right one and it's Valentine's Day, what's more romantic than running across an airport terminal into the arms of your OTP."

"Very rom-com."

"Very about to happen. I wish I could watch." She glances around. "S'pose I could have someone record it on their camera?"

"Kat! It could be a horrible fight, a public shaming. Last time I saw him I told him to leave."

She lifts my chin and our eyes meet. "You did, but I have a feeling you didn't mean it. Call me, text me, blog, whatever. I want details."

"Don't get lonely without me."

"Don't worry, I won't," she says with a wink. "We're already out of sugar. Can you believe that?"

The security officer calls me forward and I give Kat one more hug while fumbling with my ticket and ID.