Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from How to Find Love in the Cereal Aisle by Alissa DeRogatis, which releases on August 4th 2026.

If you can’t write a good meet-cute, maybe you need to live one first…

Ainsley Green writes happily-ever-afters for a rabid fanbase of hopeless romantics. In real life? Her boyfriend just broke up with her, her editor wanted a new book yesterday and she’s starting to wonder if love actually exists beyond the pages of her favorite novels.

So when Lucas, Ainsley’s best friend and biggest cheerleader, insists the best cure for writer’s block is real-life inspiration, she’s ready to try anything. Enter: the meet-cute plan, a mission to take her head out of her heartbreak and force meet-cutes IRL to spark some new ideas. But as failed missions bumping into strangers at the airport and spilling coffee on men at the cafe result in nothing but embarrassment and stained clothing, Ainsley begins to wonder if maybe the romance she’s been chasing already has a leading man.

Because the truth about falling in love? It never goes according to plan.

Equal parts heartbreak, humor, and hope, How to Find Love in the Cereal Aisle is a fresh, flirty send up of dating in the modern age and a reminder that love finds us when we stop performing and start living.

EXCERPT

Chapter 4

My laptop balances on top of an open suitcase as I sort through a pile of clothes, trying to decide if I can justify packing a fourth pair of shoes.

“Why is every single piece of clothing in your suitcase black?” Ross’s voice comes through the Zoom call. “Are you a romance writer or a funeral home director?”

“Very funny,” I reply, holding up a black sweater. “Black is classic.” He raises an eyebrow. “Black is also what people wear when they’re trying to disappear. Are you sure you’re not packing how you feel?”

I pause, the sweater still in my hands. Ross never goes for a subtle look, but today he’s not wrong. “Maybe I just don’t want to draw attention to myself.”’

“You do realize the whole point of a book tour is that people are literally coming to see you, right?”

“I know.” I say, tossing the sweater into the suitcase anyway. “It’s just after that first signing, I feel like I should be hiding. Not repeating it in multiple cities.”

Ross leans in closer to the screen. “For your first event, it could’ve gone a lot worse.”

I snort. “I literally word-vomited about my ex into a microphone. In front of strangers. That’s not worse?”

“Sure, you word-vomited,” he admits. “But you didn’t run. You stayed. You answered, you signed, you got through it. Were you messy? Yes, but people kind of ate it up. They saw a real human being, not some robot spitting out PR-approved answers.”

My stomach twists. “I just keep wondering if someone’s going to ask about Cole. What if I lose it all over again?”

Ross shakes his head. “You won’t lose it. Look, yeah, you word-vomited, but you were honest. Remember what people in that line said after? That you made them feel less alone. That’s what they’ll remember, not the rambling.”

I sink onto the edge of the bed. “I don’t feel like the version of me who wrote those books anymore, and I definitely don’t feel like someone who should be up there answering questions like I have it all figured out.”

“You’re not supposed to have it all figured out,” Ross says. “Relatable is better than polished, and you proved that. Your readers want to meet the person who ugly-cries to Gracie Abrams and isn’t afraid to admit it. That’s why they connect with you.”

I blink, throat tightening.

“And if someone brings up Cole again,” he adds, leaning back with a smile creeping in, “you have every right to keep it vague. Pivot, make a joke, or blame me. You don’t owe anyone your heartbreak just because you write books about love.”

I manage a laugh, shaking my head. “Thanks. Seriously.”

“Of course.” His grin sharpens. “Now, Q and A prep. I’ll send you a cheat sheet by the end of the day. And Ainsley, I’m begging you to hire me as your stylist next tour.”

I reach for the loafers on the floor. “Why? So you can throw these away?”

Ross groans dramatically. “Exactly. But seriously, pack at least one fun top. Maybe even a heel?”

“No promises,” I say with a smile as I hang up the call.

***

The automatic doors slide open, and Boston Logan Airport greets me with its usual mix of chaos: gate change announcements, squeaky suitcase wheels, and a baby crying somewhere in the distance. I scan the crowd near baggage claim until I spot him.

Lucas stands near carousel three, holding a small white poster board that reads: looking for an anxious author with great hair. He’s smiling and totally unbothered by the fact that people are staring.

I laugh, despite the slight embarrassment warming my cheeks. “You’re insane.”

He shrugs. “I like to make an entrance.”

“You know if you hadn’t insisted on picking me up, I would’ve taken a rideshare like a normal person. Instead, you’re subjecting me to public transportation.”

Lucas grabs my suitcase and starts walking. “The T builds character. And besides, I wanted to see your face when you read the sign.”

“Mission accomplished.”

We step out into the cool fall air, and as we make our way to the shuttle to Airport Station, I let the sounds of the city buzz around me. Car horns, conversations, and the rumble of trains are almost enough to distract me from thinking about tonight. Almost.

I’m surprised by how crowded the T is this early in the afternoon. The platform smells like wet concrete and a little bit of urine, but it’s still much cleaner than New York subways. A woman in a Red Sox jacket rushes past us as a kid accidentally swings his backpack into my shoulder. Everyone looks like they’re in a rush to get somewhere else, excitement and community buzzing around me. Meanwhile, I wouldn’t have minded a flight delay and an excuse to cancel instead of facing a crowd.

Lucas glances over. “Margo’s excited for tonight, by the way.” I raise an eyebrow. “She’s coming?”

“She’s gonna try to make it after work.” He says it casually, but there’s something in his tone that tells me that it’s not a sure thing.

Margo’s a lawyer. The kind who’s crushing it in the big league, and as a byproduct, might always be too busy for anything or anyone that isn’t work. Lately, that’s even included Lucas. He’d never say it outright, but I know he’s frustrated. Most of their relationship lately seems to circle around lapsed calendar invites and logistical planning.

They met sophomore year of college in the dining hall. Lucas walked right up to the table she was sitting at with a group of her friends, told her she was cute, and asked for her number. It was direct, sweet, confident, and—unfortunately for me, someone currently on the hunt for meet- cute inspiration—completely unremarkable. It’s not that I don’t love a bold move, but even Ross said meet-cutes need a little chaos. Lucas and Margo’s story is sweet, but it lacks plot. Sorry, Lucas.

Anyway, I try not to cast Lucas in the romantic hero role, even if he might, to many readers, fit the bill. Back when I met him freshman year, he was more puppy-dog cute than anything else. He had big brown eyes, an easy grin, wavy dark hair paired with this innocent charm that made him impossible not to like, even when he was being insufferable. Like when he’d blast EDM remixes at eight a.m. and wake up the whole floor, or when he got weirdly obsessed with some fantasy video game and skipped an entire semester’s worth of parties just to stay home and slay three-headed beasts.

Now, nearly a decade later, the puppy-dog thing has faded. His dark hair is shorter, and the boyishness has been replaced by a sharp jawline and stubble he can finally grow. The confidence is still there, but he’s not the eighteen-year-old kid who lived down the hall from me anymore—he’s quieter now, more careful. Still the same easygoing Lucas, but with a tendency to gloss over conflict and wait things out instead of speak up. Especially when it matters. He’s a pleaser, a good listener because he doesn’t judge but he also doesn’t pry.

Margo’s never had that problem. She says exactly what she wants and where she sees herself going, no hesitation, which, at this stage in my life, is both as admirable as it is terrifying. She’s someone that always has a five-year plan. She grew up in Massachusetts and moved to North Carolina for school, but she always knew she’d come back. After passing the bar, she landed a job at a law office in Boston and didn’t look back.

We’ve always gotten along well, though I’m not sure you could ever quite call us friends. Mostly because she already had her own circle, one that ran around the high-achieving set at school. She’s the kind of woman who captivates a room without saying a word, and not just because of how she looks. Her caramel complexion and sleek dark brown hair make her hard to miss, but it’s the way she carries herself that really pulls people in. There’s something about her that makes you feel like she’s always the smartest person in any room. Now, picture that in a courtroom. I can’t even imagine.

The thing about college relationships is that sometimes you just fall into them without asking the questions that start to matter more as you get older. Do you want to get married? Do you want kids? Where do you want to settle down? Twenty-year-old Lucas definitely wasn’t thinking that far ahead when he started dating one of the hottest, smartest girls in our graduating class. Now, they’re stuck in a standoff. Margo’s here in Boston, Lucas is still in Raleigh, and neither one of them wants to be the person who gives up their life to make it work.

I’d be lying if I said I hope he doesn’t leave. I mean, for the sake of his relationship, I hope he does. But selfishly? I don’t want him to leave. We don’t talk about it much. Actually, we never talk about it. But I know the stagnation, the constant waiting and guessing and trying to make two opposing schedules work, weighs on him. Lucky for him, his graphic design job is fully remote, so he’s been splitting time between both cities. For now, that seems to work for them. I just wonder how long it’ll last.

The train screeches to a stop in front of us, and we board with the rest of the crowd. Lucas finds two empty seats near the back, and we settle in as the doors shut behind us. For a while, we ride in silence.

“I forgot how much I like the Northeast in the fall,” I say as I look at the city through the fogged-up window.

Lucas nudges me. “For someone who hates public transportation, you seem to love romanticizing it.”

I smirk. “It’s a coping mechanism.”

“Fair enough,” he says, stretching his legs out in front of him. “You’ve got a big night.”

“Yeah.”

He looks over at me. “How are you really feeling?”

“Off the record?” I ask, glancing at Lucas. He smiles in encouragement, our secret code landing between us.

We’ve had an unspoken rule for years: Off the record means no judgment, no follow- ups, and definitely no circling back.

It started freshman year, a few months into school, when I told Lucas that I thought the guy in our psych class was cute. Then almost immediately after that, I admitted I wasn’t sure I wanted to be with my high school boyfriend anymore. I felt awful saying it, but Lucas didn’t flinch. He just looked at me and said, “Off the record?”

Since then, it’s been our way of saying the things we’re not totally ready to deal with. The almost feelings. The half decisions. The stuff you don’t want to carry alone but aren’t quite ready to say out loud to anyone else.

I’m the one who uses it more, especially now. Lucas, even with me, has grown into a bit of a closed book. He will say something off the record here and there— things like Off the record, I’ve been think-ing about growing a beard or Off the record, I don’t think Taylor Swift’s Karma album exists. Once he even admitted, Off the record, I kind of like the taste of airplane coffee, and another time it was Off the record, I think socks are optional in sneakers. But definitely not as often as I do. He usually just waits things out, hoping someone else will fill the silence for him or work it out. Or forget there was a problem in the first place.

He nods. “Always.”

The post Read An Excerpt From ‘How To Find Love In The Cereal Aisle’ by Alissa Derogatis appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Alissa Derogatis’s Call It What You Want, which is out June 18th 2024.

Sloane Hart is a hopeless romantic who always believed her great love story was out there, until her parents’ divorce shattered that dream. She swears off dating and is determined to graduate college, become a writer and move to New York City. Until she meets Ethan. Ethan Brady is guarded and mysterious, unwilling to talk about his past or let anyone get too close.

As they start dating without labels, they both know it can’t last forever. Sloane imagines a future with Ethan but he can’t give her the commitment she needs. Will she be able to convince Ethan to take a chance on it? Or will she have to learn the hard way that some things just aren’t meant to be?

Sloane and Ethan’s story is a bittersweet tale of love and self-discovery that explores the complexities of relationships and the challenges of moving on.

Just like that, the first day of my senior year of college arrived.

I woke up with a flutter of excitement in my chest and eager anticipation for what the year would bring. I splashed water on my face, swiped on some mascara, and brushed through my naturally straight auburn hair. I didn’t typically wear much makeup, and for class, I always preferred the bare minimum. I threw on a large fraternity T- shirt, athletic shorts, and tennis shoes before grabbing my backpack and heading out of my room.

The apartment was quiet. My two roommates— braver souls than I— opted for 8 a.m. classes and had already left to start their day. I, however, was more of a 9:30 girl. I scanned the kitchen for a travel coffee mug and brewed myself a quick cup, checking my phone and tapping my foot as the Keurig took its precious time.

After finally getting out the door, I ran to the shuttle bus stop, my heart skipping a beat when I noticed the doors gliding shut. I hated being late to anything, and imagining myself walking into a lecture alone and tardy made my palms sweat.

“Hold the doors!” a voice yelled from behind me.

I turned to see a tall and (from what I could tell) attractive guy running toward the bus. He passed by me with a smile, charming enough to convince the driver to reopen the shuttle doors.

“After you,” he said from the step of the bus entrance, motioning for me to get on board.

Tall, dark, and handsome hardly did him justice. His wavy dark- brown hair framed a chiseled face with a strong jawline. His deep brown eyes held a certain charm that was impossible to ignore. He had an effortlessly cool and confident aura that made my heart race.

I brushed past him while my eyes quickly browsed the selection of seats until they landed on a small set of two in the back row. I knew exactly who I’d be sharing it with. I slid into the window seat and watched him walk the aisle purposefully. I tried not to stare until I noticed his T- shirt.

“Mind if I sit?” He approached the end of my row.

“It feels like the least I can do after you ensured the bus didn’t leave without us.” There’s an undertone of nervousness in my voice. “Are you from New York?”

He seemed surprised by the question.

“Your shirt.” I pointed to his worn- out gray T- shirt with the New York Yankees logo plastered across the front. Even though it looked like it had been through one too many loads of laundry, it still clung to his body in a flattering way.

“Oh, this.” He looked down to see what he was wearing. “No. My dad’s a fan. Are you?”

“A fan or from New York?”

“Either? Both?” He laughed.

“Neither. I’ve wanted to move there for as long as I could remember though.”

As he squeezed into the seat, his leg rested on mine, and my entire body lit up. How was it that I felt so attracted to someone whose name I didn’t know?

He introduced himself like he could read my mind. “I’m Ethan, by the way. Ethan Brady.”

“Sloane Hart.”

“Is this your first year living in Ascent?” he asked. “We just moved into one of the buildings near the pool.”

“My roommates and I live back there too! Apartment 3221. It’s our second year. We love it. We tried to get a house in Wrightsville but didn’t have much luck. Apparently, they get snatched up quickly,” I said.

His eyes widened. “I guess we’re neighbors— I live in the unit above you. Better not call the cops if our parties get too loud.”

“We’d never. Unless you don’t invite us…”

“Noted.” Ethan nodded. “What’s your major?”

As I answered, I couldn’t help but steal a sideways glance, noticing how his eyes crinkled when he smiled and the easy confidence in his posture. “Communications. I would’ve chosen journalism, but Wilmington College doesn’t offer it, so I had to settle for a minor instead. Let me guess…yours is finance or business?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t stereotype me like that, Hart.” The name rolled off his tongue like he’d been waiting his entire life to say it. “I’m a comm major too. I got kicked out of the business school after I failed precalc twice.”

“You don’t know how many times I’ve heard that. I’m horrible at math, so I couldn’t even imagine taking precalc once, let alone twice. I barely passed statistics.” I felt myself easily opening up to him.

“What class are you headed to now?” I liked how he asked a lot of questions. It made me feel important.

“Advanced Creative Writing. How about you?”

“Intro to Public Speaking.” He managed to get the words out without laughing.

“Isn’t that a freshman course?”

“I’ve been putting it off. I hate public speaking. Now I really wish I had just gotten it over with four years ago.”

“Look at it this way: you’ll probably be speaking to a room full of eighteen- year- olds who are way more intimidated by you than you are of them.”

“Good looking out, Hart.”

There it was again. The name that made my heart skip two beats. The shuttle screeched to a stop on the north side of campus. We waited for everyone else to get off the bus until we were the only ones left. Ethan led the way, and I followed suit, knowing we were headed to the same building, where most communications classes were held.

“Well, this is me.” I had to crane my neck to look up at him as we continued to walk. He had to be at least a few inches over six feet tall.

“Do you have class after this, or are you headed back to Ascent?” “I have another class, and then a meeting,”

“Guess I’ll be riding home alone. See you around, Hart?” He asked a question he already knew the answer to.

I got back to Ascent a little after 3 o’clock, and as I walked up the stairs to our apartment, I could hear my roommates blasting Drake. I wanted to slow time down. As excited as I was for the year ahead, I didn’t want college to end.

I met Lauren Ellis and Jordan Coleman by the luck of the draw when the university randomly assigned us to the worst freshman dorm, Moore Hall. It was the only high- rise on campus that hadn’t been torn down and rebuilt yet, and we were among the lucky few to live in it during its final year. I’d like to think the experience that we liked to call Moore Hell made us closer.

Lauren is my best friend. She’s strikingly beautiful, with long platinum-blond hair and the sweetest smile. Whenever something bad (or good) happens, Lauren is the first person I tell. She’s the kind of person who never lets you down. As an education major, Lauren has a passion for shaping young minds. She’s honest but gentle, always able to deliver tough truths with care. Lauren really is the most genuine person I’ve ever known. Jordan is the source of light and laughter in our group. She’s the most free- spirited and selfless of us all. Her go- with- the- flow attitude matches her dirty- blond beach waves and tan skin; just by looking at her, you can tell she’s a Wrightsville Beach native. The three of us are so different yet fit together so perfectly.

“Oh my god, finally, you’re home!” Lauren’s dramatics were one of my favorite things about her.

“Has she already started drinking?” I turned to Jordan.

“Not yet, but soon.” Jordan laughed.

“Very funny, very funny,” Lauren mocked us. “Can’t a girl just be excited? We just finished our second- to- last first day of class! It’s monumental. Also sad. But let’s try not to think about that. I don’t want anything to ruin our first night out of senior year!”

“Is it weird to go to Jerry’s on a Wednesday? I’m surprised the frats aren’t doing FDOC parties,” Jordan said.

“Guys.” Lauren threw herself onto the couch. “Seniors never go to the FDOC parties; they’re only for the underclassmen. We’re all finally twenty- one! That’s why Jerry’s is the move tonight. Get a grip.”

“That makes so much sense,” I replied while Jordan nodded in unison.

“We have about three hours until we need to start getting ready. What do you guys wanna do for dinner? I know we have a ton of groceries from our parents moving us in. Frozen pizza?” Lauren was definitely the planner of the group.

“Yeah, a frozen pizza is perfect,” Jordan agreed.

“Wait,” I interrupted. “I have to tell you about the guy I met on the Ascent shuttle.”

“Hold up. You’ve been home for an entire five minutes and have been keeping this from us?! Spill!” Lauren was giddy. She loves love and knows how hard it is for me to find it.

I moved around a lot growing up. My mom’s a surgeon; at the beginning of her career, she transferred hospitals every few years. That made it extremely hard for me to make friends, let alone find a boyfriend. The closest I’d gotten was Carter.

Carter was, in many ways, a breath of fresh air. Our dates were spontaneous, every night with him fueled by adrenaline as I could only guess what would come next— being with him made me excited and nervous at the same time. Even though our relationship was on the more casual side of things, he asked me to senior prom. He showed up at my house with his mom and a corsage that didn’t match my dress, but of course, I wore it anyway. We took pictures and piled into a limo with my friends, passing around wine coolers and mini bottles. I lost my virginity that night. I thought it would be so much different. I was expecting this grand romantic gesture, and instead, it was just a few minutes in a spare bedroom at my friend’s house that resulted in a broken condom.

A few weeks after high school graduation, my parents sat me down and told me they were getting a divorce. I was blindsided. Twenty years of marriage ended in the blink of an eye. Had I missed the warning signs? Sure, they bickered like any other married couple, but I didn’t think they’d ever take back their vows. As if the divorce wasn’t enough, the timing was less than convenient for me. I was months away from going to college, a few hours away from home, and now I didn’t feel like I knew what home was. My parents were so focused on dividing assets and selling the house that they didn’t have the time to support me during a transitional time when I really needed them to.

For the rest of the summer, I had sex with Carter whenever I could— while our parents were at work, in cars in parking lots, at parties, after parties— I was willing to do it whenever and wherever because I thought it would make him love me. I was desperate not to be alone. Spoiler alert: sex never makes someone love you. Even though we weren’t “together,” I would still see Carter when I’d go home on breaks, mainly to avoid being around my parents, who were already dating other people. I spent my freshman year of college hoping we’d become more than just a hookup, and the year after trying to find something that compared to the exhilarating feeling he gave me. Eventually, junior year rolled around, and I took a break from my love conquest. I chalked it up to the idea that the love of my life wasn’t in Wilmington. Maybe he was in a big city or on another coast. I’d find out one day. For the remaining two years of college, I was determined to focus on school and finding my dream postgrad job to get out of North Carolina. Life got so much better when I stopped looking for love in every guy I met.

“Well, thanks to our Keurig, I was running a few minutes behind. I swear it takes ten minutes to brew just one cup. We really should look into getting a new one.” I could sense myself rambling.

“Get on with it!” Jordan interjected.

I hurried to get to the heart of the story; the excitement bubbled up within me. “Anyway, I was walking toward the shuttle, and the doors started to close. I was sure I was going to miss it and be late for class until this guy ran up from behind me and got the driver to open the doors. There were two seats left next to each other, so we took them and talked the entire way to campus. He’s a senior, a communications major like me, and the best part is he lives directly above us.”

“No way.” Lauren’s eyes widened as she took in every word.

“I hope his roommates are hot!” Jordan chimed in.

“When I tell you he might be the most attractive guy I’ve ever laid my eyes on…” I gushed. “I’m not kidding. He has fluffy brown hair and a great smile, and I can just tell he works out at least five days a week.”

“Okay, so just like every other frat douche on campus.” Lauren rolled her eyes.

But Jordan was already sold on the fantasy, “He sounds hot to me!” “Did you ask bus boy if he’s going to Jerry’s tonight?” Lauren asked. “No. Shit, I should’ve!” I grabbed a throw pillow sitting next to me on the couch and shoved my face into it.

“I’m sure he’ll be there!” Jordan was always the optimistic one. “According to Laur, all seniors will be.”

“That’s right, and we need to look hot. So stop pouting. Let’s get ready!”

I followed Lauren’s lead as we went into our respective bedrooms and blasted our getting- ready playlists. I found myself smiling at the idea of running into Ethan twice in one day. Here’s to hoping.

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