Emily Henry

I used to live in sensible cities and wear someone else’s shoes—figuratively, of course. One day I woke up with a book-length loneliness and decided to write my way out of it. I bought a house by the lake, named it Fitz, and started telling stories about people who think they’ve got it all figured out. My process is equal parts playlist and popcorn, silence and banter. If you're feeling stuck, pull up a porch chair. I’ve got tea, stories, and a soft spot for second chances.