A couple of years ago, I asked the collective IHGB community to share some of their favorite books. The response was exciting! Knowing that I was a sucker for a good love story, several participants suggested I read the Outlander series by Diana Gabaldon. I was immediately hooked by the epic love story of lead characters Jamie and Claire.

I remember calling my sister, imploring her to stop whatever she was doing at that moment so she could start reading Outlander immediately. She told me she had already read the book and I had to fight feelings of irritation that she didn’t think to share this news with her beloved sister, champion of all things involving epic romances.

My sister: “I didn’t think it was appropriate since you were in junior high when I read it.”

YOU MEAN TO TELL ME THIS BOOK HAS BEEN IN THE WORLD ALL THIS TIME AND I NEVER KNEW IT?

Then I took a silver lining approach. Most of you have been waiting forever for Diana Gabaldon to find someone who could bring her intriguing world and characters to life. It only took 20 years, but she finally found a writer and director to shepherd her baby along.

And I believe they did a phenomenal job. Ronald Moore took Gabaldon’s words and created a seamless script. Bear McCreary’s score is exquisite. And after only one episode, I have no doubt that Caitriona Balfe and Sam Heughan are going to effortlessly bring Claire and Jamie to life.

Some of you are already rolling your eyes, assuming that Jamie Fraser is going to be another Noah Calhoun in my life. To that inference, I will respond with a simple, “Yes. Yes he will.” Sure Sam Heughan is ridiculously good looking in a unbelievable sort of way and I actually debated last night if bloody Jamie was equally as hot as non-bloody Jamie, but that’s not my point.

Claire endears herself to Jamie within minutes of meeting him. She heals his wounds, she doesn’t cower before him, she tells him when he’s being a jack wagon and figuratively lifts him up without even trying. Jamie is fascinated.

In the actual world where I live, I don’t have a “Jamie” in my life. I like the idea that a man may one day find me captivating. I’ll do something he translates as extraordinary. I will think this is odd because the moment felt rather ordinary to me. There will be intrigue, trust, respect and he will make a vow to himself that I will be his priority from that day on.

Those who rolled your eyes are rolling them again, blessing my heart and my head which resides in the clouds. And that’s okay. I understand your concern for my rose-colored outlook on married life.

I’m not ready to say I’m okay if I never get married. That’s actually a rather ginormous falsehood and terribly inaccurate. I don’t think I’m alone when I confess that I sometimes fear that some other girl shoved Jamie’s dislocated shoulder back in its socket and he became transfixed with her instead of me because I stopped to tie my shoelace. But then I remind myself that there is no Plan B — there’s only Plan A.

If and when a Scottish man in a kilt looks me in the eye and thanks me for being me, I’ll be ready to go wherever the horse leads.

Unless it’s the 1740s. I’ll need a little bit more time to prepare myself for that.