What I Want You to Feel When You Read This Book

On emotional promises and why I take them seriously

Every book makes a promise.

Not always out loud. Not always in the blurb. But somewhere in the first chapter, in the tone, in the way the author leans into the story—there's a handshake. An unspoken agreement between writer and reader. Here's what I'm offering you. Here's what this experience is going to feel like.

I take that seriously. Maybe a little obsessively. (My notes document has an entire section called "The Feeling" and it's exactly what it sounds like.)

So before Saltwater Between Us lands in your hands on April 21st, I want to tell you exactly what I promised myself I'd give you.

I want you to feel swept away.

Not in a passive, "this is fine" kind of way. In the way where you look up from your book and you're genuinely surprised you're still in your living room. The islands of Te Motu Aroha (my love letter to French Polynesia) are as much a character as Cerys and Liam—the turquoise water, the salt-thick air, the way the light falls differently there, like the world has different physics. I wanted the setting to feel immersive, because the best vacation romances don't just happen in beautiful places. They make you inhabit them.

I want you to feel inspired.

Cerys does something hard. Not just the sailing—though yes, she absolutely sails a boat by herself and that is legitimately impressive—but the internal thing. The I'm going to choose myself even when it's inconvenient thing. I hope reading her journey feels like permission. Like a small, quiet, sturdy reminder that it's not too late to want what you want.

I want you to swoon.

I said what I said. Liam Taimona is... look. He's patient and grounded and has this absolutely devastating habit of giving people his complete, undivided attention. He closes distance slowly. He laughs infrequently, which means when he does, it transforms the whole scene. I spent considerable time writing him and I regret nothing.

And finally—I want you to feel satisfied.

I know that sounds basic, but hear me out. So many romance stories leave me with this bittersweet ache—not because the ending was sad, but because someone had to sacrifice something they loved for love. Someone's dream got quietly shelved. Someone's self got smaller.

That's not what happens here.

Cerys gets to keep her dreams. Liam has to find his own freedom before he can meet her in hers. The love story is real and tender and earned—but it doesn't come at the cost of who either of them is. I wanted to write a romance where two whole people find each other and choose to build something together, rather than one person folding into the shape of the other's life.

That felt worth writing. I hope it feels worth reading.

April 21. Pre-order here. Add it on Goodreads here.

Bring snacks. You're going to want to stay a while.

Until next time

— Jade

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