Gracie Ruth Mitchell

Phoenix Park is the man I fantasize about...hitting with my car, that is. He's rich. He's sexy. He's the absolute worst. But after I fall prey to an internet scam and lose every last penny in my account (please don’t ask), it’s Phoenix who swoops in with an offer I can’t refuse. I’ll marry him for the summer so he can inherit the family company from his dying grandmother, and in return, he’ll drop a hefty sum of money into my bank account. Buy me a pair of sweatpants with GOLD DIGGER across the butt, because I’m just desperate enough to agree. Our arrangement is only supposed to be for a few months, until Phoenix’s poor grandmother passes. I can pretend for that long. I can stop insulting him long enough to force a few smiles and some lovey-dovey glances. But with every touch we share, with every kiss we fake, I find the walls around my heart beginning to crack—letting in feelings I'm not prepared for. And when Phoenix’s grandmother makes a miraculous recovery, leaving us stuck indefinitely in this charade of holy matrimony? That’s when I know I’m really in trouble.

Juniper Bean has big plans for her writing career. Swoony kisses, sigh-inducing happily ever afters—she’s going to write them all. There’s just one problem: she can’t seem to stop killing off her main characters. After accepting that a genre change is in order, Juniper sets out to do some research. What’s the best way to carry a dead body? How exactly does one pick a lock? Juniper is going to find out—with the unwilling help of her new roommate, Aiden. But Juniper’s plans go haywire when she stumbles across an actual, real-life dead body—and before she knows it, she and Aiden are thrust into the middle of a murder mystery that seems suspiciously tied to Juniper’s past. Who killed the girl in the woods? Can Juniper ever get the hang of mystery writing? And, perhaps the biggest question of all: Why the heck does Aiden look so good in a tweed jacket?

Things you bring on a desert island... 1) Sunscreen, obviously. Because these Irish freckles of mine will burn, baby, burn, and lobster red is not a great color on me. 2) An extra dose of my seizure meds, just in case. 3) A backpack full of snacks, including but not limited to a canteen of Dr. Pepper, a box of mini Christmas cookies, and granola bars—the gross crumbly kind, not the chocolate chip kind, because I'm trying to be healthy. 4) Sunglasses, so that when I inevitably wind up staring at my brother's best friend—who I haven't seen in years—no one will be able to tell. I've been in love with him forever, but it would never work out; he lives on a literal island, while I'm still in grad school. It can't hurt to look, though, right? 5) Also bug spray. My packing list is all well and good for a quick port excursion as part of my family’s Christmas cruise. But when the cruise ship leaves me behind, with only the contents of my bag and my brother’s best friend to keep me company? Well, I’ve got problems—especially since I'm going to run out of medicine soon. And I don’t think they make sunscreen strong enough to block the sparks that are growing between Beckett and me...

Samantha Quinn Baseball lover. Plant mama. Eternal friend zone dweller. I know exactly three things: 1) My heart will forever belong to my best friend, Carter. 2) Carter's heart will never belong to me. 3) I will therefore die alone, surrounded by my houseplants, probably old and grouchy like my eighty-two-year-old landlady, Winifred. But now Carter's cousin wants my help planning her wedding, while Carter wants my help stopping it. How am I supposed to both plan and sabotage a wedding at the same time? How do I talk to Carter about weddings all day without my heart fracturing? And how, how, how do I ditch this stupid friend zone once and for all? Carter Ellis P.E. teacher. Baseball coach. Also, attractive. Very, very attractive. I am not secretly in love with my best friend. I absolutely am not. That would be stupid and reckless and a terrible idea all around. I swore I would never fall in love, and that's not going to change now. Except...one tiny little kiss has all sorts of feelings rising in my chest. Feelings I was certain I buried a long time ago. But it doesn't matter; I refuse to give in. I will laugh with her, talk with her, and dry her tears, but I will not fall in love with Samantha Quinn.