It’s a stormy weekend again here in Hawaiʻi. Hurricane Lala is making her way through the islands, the sky has been gray all day, the winds have been howling, and the rain keeps coming and going. There’s nothing romantic about the damage a storm can bring, but from the safety of home, I’ve always loved the sound of rain—and apparently, gray skies are still my cue to get a little dramatic and start writing.

I know. I know.

Most normal people see a stormy weekend and think, Well, there go my plans. I see rain hitting the windows and immediately become the main character in a movie no one asked for. Give me a cup of coffee, a gloomy sky, and the sound of rain outside, and suddenly I have feelings. Thoughts. Things I need to write down.

So naturally, I opened my blog.

And since I’m here…I think it’s finally time I properly introduce you to that book I’ve been telling you about.

You already know I wrote one. A few months ago, I told you I had somehow finished the first draft of an actual novel—eighty-something-thousand words that came out of my head and turned into a story with characters I now talk about as though they are real people. At the time, I told you it still had a long way to go. Editing. Revising. All the things that happen between typing The End and actually putting a book into someone else’s hands.

What I didn’t tell you was what it was called. Or what it was about. Or exactly how much of my heart I had quietly tucked inside it.

So, I think it’s time you meet her.

My Husband Is a Supernerd

Coming December 2026.

Even typing that still feels a little surreal.

If you follow me on Instagram, then this isn’t exactly breaking news. I finally let the rest of the secret out on National Book Lovers Day, after months of quietly writing, editing, rewriting, reliving our Japan trips, researching locations at ridiculous hours, and occasionally turning to my very real husband to discreetly ask questions that probably required a lot more context than I gave him—because he had absolutely no idea I was writing this story.

But I wanted to write about it here, too. Because this little corner of the internet has known me for a very long time. Before the book. Before Bar Bae. Before I married Bronson. Before I became dog mama and crazy cat glamma. Before some of the biggest plot twists of my life. Before I knew exactly what I wanted the next chapter to look like.

And somehow, after all these years of writing about my life, I finally wrote something that isn’t my life at all.

Well.

Mostly.

My Husband Is a Supernerd is a romantic adventure about Isla, a fashion photographer who has been happily married to Luke for years. She knows her husband. Or at least, she thinks she does.

Luke is brilliant, nerdy, sweet, dependable, wears glasses, loves anime and technology, and has always been the safest person in her world.

Then they go to Japan.

And Isla discovers that her harmless supernerd husband is not quite as harmless as she thought.

There are cherry blossoms. Tokyo Fashion Week. Fashion. Friendship. Nerds. A secret organization. A little danger. A lot of marriage. And one wife slowly realizing that the man she has loved all these years has been keeping some very interesting things from her.

And yes. Before anyone asks.

I have been married to a brilliant, nerdy man for ten years. We have been together for twenty. We love Japan. And my husband does own an alarming number of graphic T-shirts.

Make of that what you will. 😂

But somewhere underneath all the adventure and ridiculousness, this book became a love story about something I didn’t fully understand when I started writing it: what it means to really know someone. To grow beside them. To discover that even after years together, there are still pieces of each other left to uncover.

And to realize that sometimes love isn’t knowing everything about someone from the beginning. Sometimes it’s learning them again and again—and choosing them every time.

This year, Bronson and I celebrated twenty years together and ten years of marriage.

Twenty years.

I genuinely don’t know how that happened because I am approximately twenty-seven years old in my head, but apparently the math has other opinions.

And now, in the same year we celebrated all of that, I get to say something I have wanted to say for longer than most people probably know:

I’m going to be a published author.

At forty.

And somehow, I love that.

There were younger versions of me who probably thought certain dreams had deadlines. That by a certain age, I should have already figured everything out.

Instead, my life took the scenic route.

And thank God it did.

Because I don’t think twenty-five-year-old me could have written this book. She hadn’t loved someone for twenty years yet. She hadn’t traveled enough. She hadn’t failed enough, started over enough, laughed enough, lost enough, changed careers enough, or learned that sometimes the life you end up loving doesn’t look anything like the one you carefully planned.

She hadn’t become this version of me yet.

And this version had a story to tell.

So I wrote the story I wanted to read but couldn’t find anywhere. And somehow, somewhere between Hawaiʻi and Tokyo, cherry blossoms and superheroes, fashion and nerds, marriage and danger, Isla and Luke became real to me.

Now I get to send them out into the world.

That part is terrifying. And wonderful. And very, very strange.

There is still so much happening behind the scenes before December. Editing the copy edit (just finished that part). Proofreading. Interior design. Cover design. All the tiny details I had absolutely no idea existed when I innocently thought, I think I’ll write a book.

Cute.

Past Honey had no idea what she was signing up for. But it’s happening.

My first novel. My next chapter. Written at thirty-nine. Published at forty. Inspired, in all the ways that matter, by twenty years of loving my favorite nerd.

And announced properly from my favorite place to write: at home, coffee nearby, rain outside, being entirely too dramatic about all of it.

Some things never change.

Love,

Honey