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You open your email, expecting an automated welcome message, when you suddenly find yourself in the middle of a busy coffee shop.

“Um… I didn’t sign up for this,” you protest as you look around.

“Yes, you did,” I call out, waving you over. “Well, maybe not the teleportation bit… but you did sign up for my newsletter. I’m romance author Mia Harlan, by the way!”

You introduce yourself, and your gaze drifts down to my laptop—which is a little worse for wear—and my coffee mug, which has a tropical beach painted on it in vibrant colors.

"The coffee here usually comes in paper cups," I explain, "but this is my fantasy, so I can do whatever I want.” My eyes light up. “Oooh, name a drink! Any drink. And it’ll appear in front of you. Come on. Try it.”

You give it a shot, and a mug appears in front of you. It’s got a fun, colorful design and the saying “Buy me books and tell me to STFUATTDLAGG” on it.

I grin. “How about I start by telling you a bit about myself?”

You nod, take a sip from your mug, and moan. “This is delicious."

“Magic.” I hand you a card. “I don’t have business cards in real life, but I thought it was a nice touch.”

“Quirky romance author,” you read. I can’t tell if you’re amused or impressed.

I nod. “I write romcoms as Mia Harlan, and I’ve also published a few short, steamy and over-the-top beach reads as Mia Sands. I’ve been planning to release some werewolf YA as Mia Meade, too, but life keeps getting in the way.”

You nod. “Life has a way of doing that.”

“Right?” I take a sip of coffee and bite my lower lip, a habit of mine whenever I’m trying to come up with something to say. “I live in Canada,” I add, “With my husband, who’s Not a Vampire.”

“Not a Vampire?” You raise an eyebrow.

I just nod and quickly move on before we can get into my husband's non-vampiric tendencies. “And our 3-year-old Mini Mortal doesn’t have fangs.”

“Um…” you say. I can’t tell if you’re not convinced, or just majorly confused.

“My bestie, on the other hand… definitely a vampire. But that’s a story for another time.”

You start to say something, but I interrupt.

“This is the part where I tell you how I got your email address… but I kind of got all my lists mixed up." My heart starts to race—though you’re probably not a vampire, and can’t tell—and I rush to explain. “If you weren’t receiving my newsletter before I disappeared off the face of the earth a few years ago, you signed up from one of these places.”

I hand you a piece of paper and you look over the list:

• My Facebook group, Harlan’s Harem

• A bonus scene from the back of one of my books

• Runes and Royals Bookfunnel Anthology

• Horns & Halos Bookfunnel Anthology

• Winter Wonders Bookfunnel Anthology

• Magic Gone Wrong Bookfunnel Anthology

• Paranormal Romance Bookfunnel Anthology

• Sizzling Summer Nights in Paradise Anthology

• LoveBite books

• A swag giveaway with a sign-up link

“That’s a lot of places.”

I nod. "I started having brain fog when I got pregnant. Black holes in place of memories, missing chunks, disorientation, confusion. I couldn’t keep characters straight, finish tasks, or stay organized… One time, I even forgot I wrote an entire story. When a reader mentioned it, I thought they got me mixed up with someone else.”

“For real?”

I nod. “I checked my computer, and when I re-read it, it sort of rang a bell.” I rub my forehead. “My brain didn’t really start working right until Mini Mortal turned two. And by then, I was completely burnt out from trying to raise a young child during a pandemic while juggling a full-time job and my writing career.

“Organization went out the window. And so did writing newsletters. So this is me, starting over.” I hold up my mug. “To new beginnings.”

“To new beginnings,” you echo.

“Now that I’ve told you a bit about myself, and how you got here, it’s up to you if you want to stick around. If joining me like this every once in a while isn’t your thing—or you don’t read my types of books—I won’t be upset if you unsubscribe. You can even pretend to go to the bathroom and climb out the window if you're non-confrontational, like me."

"Do people actually do that?" you ask.

"I mean, I haven't... but why else would the cafe's bathroom have a window?"

"So you could air it out?"

I snort. “Oh yeah, didn’t think of that. But anyway, the window is there if you need it, but I hope you’re into my sort of weird and you’ll stick around.”

I flick my wrist, and three paperbacks appear in front of me. “Really wish I could do that in real life,” I tell you as I hold up copies of Rubber Duckie Shifter Next Door, Her Donut Shifters, and Granny's Christmas Shifters. "Every once in a while, someone in my life asks why I can’t just do things like everyone else. Write normal books. Write normal emails. Keep doing things the way they've always been done…

“But this is who I am. And I wanted you to meet the real me so you know what you’re getting yourself into. I'll post again tomorrow to celebrate the launch of Rubber Duckie Shifter Next Door! And since you’ve still got some time, here’s a free book.”

I hand you Her Pastry Shifters.

“When Jessy enters a baking competition, she finds herself sharing a hotel room with three hot bakers who turn out to be her fated mates. I can’t wait to hear what you think!”