Why All My Books Are Closed-Door (And Always Will Be)

I get asked this sometimes, usually gently, sometimes less gently: "Have you ever thought about writing something spicier? You'd probably sell more."

Maybe. Probably, even. And the answer is still no.

It was never a marketing decision

Let's start by ruling out the thing people usually assume. I didn't back into closed-door romance because I was scared of writing something else or because I didn't think I could. I write closed-door because it's the kind of romance I actually want to read.

There's a persistent, slightly condescending idea in this industry that "sweet" or "clean" romance is a starter genre, something you graduate out of once you're a "real" romance writer. I've never believed that, and three books in, across two very different worlds — the college-campus vibes of Book Smart and Smart Move, and the small-town chaos of Gardens & Grudges — I believe it less than ever.

Closed-door isn't a limitation I'm working around. It's my choice and my joy.

Where the chemistry shows up when the door is closed

Something that sometimes gets missed in the "wouldn't it sell better with spice" conversation is that closing the door doesn't remove romance from a book. It just relocates the romance. Every ounce of chemistry that would otherwise appear in an explicit scene has to go somewhere else instead — in the dialogue, in the way two people look at each other across a room, in the small, loaded moments that mean everything precisely because nothing more obvious is happening.

When Mel and Cameron are trading texts back and forth in a meeting they're both trying to survive, all of the flirtation has to happen in word choice and timing, because there's no other tool available. 

When Ivy meets Toby at the registrar's desk and every sound in her head turns into color because of his voice, that moment does the work that an open-door book might spend on something else entirely. 

In Gardens & Grudges, each scene between Sylvie and Jack is doing double duty, advancing a genuinely petty cat custody dispute while also building real trust between two people who'd rather not admit they're building anything at all. 

None of that needed an open door. All of it still had chemistry.

Readers deserve to trust what to expect

This is the part that actually matters most to me, more than any craft argument: Readers who specifically want closed-door romance deserve an author they can trust completely, every single time, without having to double-check or brace themselves. 

That trust is no small thing. A lot of readers have been burned by inconsistent heat-level labeling or books marketed as "closed-door" that weren't or a beloved series that changes spiciness halfway through without warning.

I never want to be inconsistent. Every book I write — whatever world it's set in, whatever trope is driving it — comes with the same guarantee. The door stays closed. Every time. That's not a marketing promise I'm making reluctantly. It's a promise I actually want to keep because I know exactly how much it matters to the readers who are specifically looking for it. Readers’ trust is priceless to me.

It's also who I am as a writer

I think there's something about voice that goes beyond any single writing craft decision, and closed-door romance fits the way I think about intimacy on the page. I love the built-up, earned, slow-burn version of connection, the moment someone's guard finally drops, the conversation that goes deeper than either character meant it to, the small gesture that means more than a grand one would have. 

That's the emotional register I want to write in, across every book, regardless of setting. It's why Book Smart and Smart Move, set in the same tight friend group, and Gardens & Grudges, set in a completely different small town with an entirely new cast, still feel like they came from the same hand. The tropes shift. The worlds shift. The choice to close the door and to put everything I've got into what happens instead? That doesn’t change.

So, always?