🍯🌺 I'm writing this from a pile of boxes (send help)


Hey there, fellow survivor of adulting,

We moved.

That's it. That's the update. I am now one with the cardboard. The boxes have accepted me as their leader.

My dogs think this is the greatest adventure ever invented, and I've opened the same "kitchen stuff" box four times looking for a spatula that I'm 87% sure is in the garage. With the holiday decorations. Obviously.

(Photos below of what I'm generously calling "progress." You're welcome for the chaos content.)

🐝 TLDR for the time-crunched:

  • New house: We're in! Mostly. Emotionally? Questionable.
  • Hotshot: Still cooking. Slowly. Like a crockpot romance.
  • Social media: If anyone has a clone they're not using, I'm accepting donations.

📦 THE HOUSE SITUATION

Mister Mav has been an absolute trooper, which is code for "he's assembled more furniture than any human should in a single week." Meanwhile, I've been strategically avoiding the boxes labeled "office stuff" because opening those means I have to be a functional author again.

The dogs have claimed approximately seventeen new favorite spots. Wookiee has decided new couch is his now. Moo disagrees. There have been... negotiations.

📖 HOTSHOT UPDATE

Jack and Skylar are still doing their thing, I promise. The book is progressing at what I'll call a "leisurely pace" and what my planner calls "significantly behind schedule."

Turns out it's hard to write spicy hockey romance when you're elbow-deep in bubble wrap and can't find your laptop charger. Who knew?

🤖 CLONE NEEDED: INQUIRE WITHIN

Can we talk about social media for a second? I blinked and suddenly there are forty-seven platforms I'm supposed to be posting on, each with their own algorithm that hates me specifically.

I need a clone. Or maybe three. One for TikTok, one for Instagram, and one who actually remembers to post consistently instead of going "oh crap, it's been five days" while doom-scrolling at midnight.

If you see me being quiet online, just assume I'm either unpacking, writing, or having a staring contest with a box I don't want to deal with. All three are equally likely.

Still believing in happily ever afters (and eventually finding my coffee maker...),

P.S. The dogs have zero concept of "new house stress." They just see it as seventeen new places to leave fur. Living their best lives, honestly.

P.P.S. If you're also in the middle of life chaos, just know I see you. We're doing great. Probably. The bar is on the floor and we're clearing it.

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He's the grump with a shattered past. She's the sunshine determined to put him back together—if his demons don't break them both first.

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The NHL's most notorious playboy meets the one woman immune to his charm—too bad she's the team doctor with his career in her hands.

All the promos, all the books, all the love.


“I’d rather fight with you than make love with anyone else.”

The Wedding Date


Psst! Okay, so you made it to the end, but... could you see any of the pretty pictures?

If not, you'll need to add my email, author@honeymavryck.com to your safe sender/contact list. If that doesn't work, hit reply and we'll troubleshoot together!

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