I know, it’s a strange theme for a romance novelist to explore. Aren’t I supposed to be dedicated to the ideal of True Love? Don’t I believe that the only way to have a Happily Ever After is for the main couple to be together? Well, in books, sure. That’s all lovely. But in real life? I love being single, and I especially love being single at the holidays. The only time I appreciate singledom more is when I screw up. Like, when I do something totally stupid. A few years ago I ran into a post in a parking lot and tore the bumper off my three-month-old car. Absolutely no reason for it, totally careless, no way to blame anyone else and it was likely going to cost me a small fortune. Still, I smiled all the way to the auto dealership. Because I didn’t have to feel guilty. I didn’t have to confess my stupidity, didn’t have to defend myself if my partner went ballistic, didn’t have to feel grateful if he was good about it. I made a mess, and I took care of getting it fixed. That easy. And that’s why I love being single. Holidays…