I fell in love with my husband in high school.
I couldn’t have told you that then. I didn’t understand what it felt like to be in love. Like — I didn’t know what I was looking for, so I had no idea that I’d found it. The fact that he and I eventually figured some things out and got married still seems like several extraordinary strokes of luck.
My inspiration for Slow Dance came simply from wondering, what if we hadn’t been so lucky?
Slow Dance tells the story of Cary and Shiloh, two bright kids from a rough neighborhood whose friendship keeps each other afloat during high school. They promise each other before graduation that nothing between them will ever change.
It isn’t a promise anyone could keep.
When the book opens, the characters are in their 30s. Shiloh’s a single mom working at a children’s theater, and Cary’s an officer in the Navy — and they haven’t spoken for fourteen years.
What happened? That depends on who you ask …
One of the things I wanted to explore in Slow Dance was how limited we are by our own perspectives. When Shiloh and Cary look back, they can see only slivers of what happened between them. They’re both walking around with half the story. (Half the story, at most.)
I was thinking, as I wrote, about the way old friends give you access to your younger self. There’s a part of Shiloh that only comes out when Cary is around. She can only be that version of herself when she’s with him.
All I ever write are love stories, but I think Slow Dance is my most romantic novel yet.
I wanted it to feel big and unabashed, like a power ballad — like the very last song at a school dance. Full-throated and full-hearted. I just wanted to leave it all on the floor.
I hope you feel some of those high notes when you’re reading it.
Rainbow
