Inside My Stories: Why I’m Drawn to Stories of Belonging

When I sit down to write a romance, I’m rarely thinking first about the love story itself.

I’m thinking about belonging.

That quiet moment when someone realizes they don’t have to stand on the edges anymore. When a place begins to feel like home. When a relationship — romantic or otherwise — offers the safety of being fully seen and still welcomed.

Stories of belonging have always drawn me in as a reader, and they’re the kind I’m most compelled to write. At their core, they reflect a universal longing: to know where we fit, to understand where we belong — in life, in community, and in love. Perhaps that’s one reason romantic fiction continues to resonate so deeply with readers.

Romantic fiction, at its heart, isn’t only about falling in love. It’s about finding connection — with another person, with a community, and sometimes with a version of oneself that had long been set aside. Love becomes the doorway, but belonging is often the deeper promise waiting on the other side.

That’s why I’m especially drawn to settings that feel grounded and intimate: small towns, wide-open landscapes, and the familiar rhythms of work, faith, and daily life. These places allow relationships to grow slowly and naturally. They create room for trust to build — not through grand gestures, but through consistency, kindness, and choice.

After moving from Virginia to Arizona several years ago, I fell in love with the great American West — its beauty, its sweeping vistas, and especially its people. Cowboy culture is very real here, and I’ve come to admire its emphasis on responsibility, grit, and community. Whether it’s children learning to rope for the first time or professional rodeo competitions, there’s a shared respect for tradition and hard work that feels deeply rooted.

Latino festivals add richness to everyday life as well — not only through wonderful food, but through a vibrant celebration of culture, family, and connection to the land. There is a sense of openness here, a deep love of place, and a belief in new beginnings. Though I may be one among many transplants, the West has offered me a sense of belonging I hadn’t known before.

In my stories, belonging rarely arrives all at once. It unfolds quietly — in shared responsibility, in showing up when it matters, and in learning that love isn’t something to earn, but something freely given. I’m drawn to the way people choose one another day after day, even when doing so feels uncertain or new.

Faith often weaves gently through these stories as well — not as perfection, but as hope. A reminder that broken places can be restored, that prayers whispered in doubt still matter, and that grace has a way of meeting people exactly where they are. Because while our deepest wounds are often shaped in relationship, healing, too, is found there. Love becomes not only affection, but purpose — a way of coming home.

Ultimately, the romances I love most — and strive to write — are stories where love creates a sense of home. Where two people don’t simply fall in love, but find themselves rooted — in purpose, in relationship, and in something lasting.

Because belonging changes everything.

And sometimes, the greatest love story is the one that reminds us we were never meant to walk alone.

May every story you read — and every one you carry in your heart — remind you that hope and belonging are never out of reach.