The Rewrite Beth Rinyu Publication date: January 29th 2026 Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Romance
How long would you hold a grudge?
If you’re Eloise Hendrickson, the answer is twenty-five years.
After being humiliated by her overseas pen pal in seventh grade, Eloise, now a successful writer, has never quite let go of that one mortifying moment. One bad breakup, a late night of drunken internet sleuthing, and a half-baked excuse to bust through writer’s block send her straight into the path of the boy she’s hated her whole life.
Her plan? Turn him into the villain of her next novel.
The plot twist? He’s not the jerk she remembers.
Instead, he’s a charming chocolatier, a devoted family man, and awkwardly, a huge fan of her books. But as Eloise reconnects with the past, it’s not him who captures her attention, it’s someone else entirely. Someone unexpected. He’s rude, infuriating, and gets under her skin like no one else. He’s the exact opposite of the heroes she creates and the men she dates.
With new friends, a fresh perspective, and possibly the beginnings of something romantic—Eloise must decide if she’s finally ready to let go of the perfection she’s always demanded from herself as well as everyone around her, and embrace the unpredictable, wonderfully flawed life waiting for her.
Maybe her next bestseller won’t be about righting the past after all.
Maybe it will be about rewriting the future instead.
Warning: This book may contain chocolate and possibly a happily ever after.
Author Bio:
I’ve always had a passion for Creative Writing. There’s something special about being able to travel to a different place or become a different person with just the stroke of a pen—or in today’s world, a tap of the keyboard. Maybe it all started with the soap opera-level drama I used to script for my Barbie dolls. Plot twists, emotional arcs, surprise twins… it was basically a writer’s room before I even knew what one was. Whatever the spark, storytelling quickly became my favorite creative outlet. I craft stories that keep me on my toes and constantly push me beyond my comfort zone. Deep characters you either root for or love to hate are the ones I’m most drawn to.
Exploring new places helps me uncover fresh and exciting settings for my books, but there’s nothing quite like a quiet walk in the woods or sitting by the ocean close to home. Turns out, plot twists and inspiration arrive just as easily with a sea breeze—or a few curious squirrels.
The Skeleton Faerie A.P. Mobley (Children of the Death Gods, #1) Publication date: November 8th 2025 Genres: Adult, Dark Fantasy, Fantasy, Mythology
Faerie folklore meets a nuclear postapocalypse in this dark mythological fantasy woven with secrets, treachery, and star-crossed love.
Ninety-nine years after the Nuclear War of 1989, twenty-one-year-old Gus Brandon should only be interested in the survival of humanity and the expansion of his compound. But he’s obsessed with legends from the distant past, superstitions of an expired people.
While searching forbidden ruins for the scraps of stories lost to time, he stumbles upon a mysterious young woman covered in scars. Her name is Saoirse, and their meeting sets off a bloody chain of events—one in which Gus discovers that the folklore he loves just might be real, and that it’s tied to mankind in ways he could have never imagined.
Soon the lines between myth and reality blur, as do the lines between realms.
Gus will have to rely on his knowledge—and Saoirse—to survive the horrors awaiting him… in this world and the next.
When Gus and his teammates were a mere mile from the compound, the sun had almost finished setting, and the temperature had dropped significantly. A breeze grazed the back of his bare neck and arms, sending chills through his body. In every direction, all that was visible were trees, the only noises those of his and his companions’ boots and their animals’ hooves crunching against shriveled grass and fallen leaves. Occasionally, crows—some of them genetically altered, their feathers stained a pinkish color—flapped from branch to branch, their harsh caws piercing the quiet.
Maybe it was because of the extensive amount of folklore he’d been reading, but these days, the dark played tricks on Gus’s eyes, making him see monsters when nothing was there.
Nothing could be there, after all, as the stories he so loved weren’t real.
And even if there was a chance that they were real (and he knew there wasn’t), his compound was on the western side of a mountain range called the Black Hills, located within the fallen United States of America—far, far away from the places those magical tales took place.
Yet he still found himself imagining all manner of malevolent faeries prowling the woods at night. He saw them skulking in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
In masses of collapsed cottonwoods, he imagined there were redcaps hiding, plotting to slaughter any stray travelers passing by.
In murders of crows, he imagined there were sluagh flying, scouring the forest floor for the next unlucky fellow whose soul they might devour.
In fast-moving streams, he imagined there were kelpies biding their time, anticipating the moment a person came close enough to drown and eat.
Thankfully, the logical side of his brain knew he had nothing to worry about—even as far as nonfictional threats went. The worst anyone on scavenge-duty had encountered in the last year was a couple of mountain lions and some rattlesnakes, and although he and his teammates had never run into anything like that, they knew how to take care of it as easily as the other people of the compound had: with bullets.
No one left the compound without a loaded gun and extra ammo.
Gus and his team were safe.
The sun dipped below the horizon, and if it weren’t for the smog blanketing the sky (a lingering effect of the Nuclear War, which the elders said should clear up any decade now), the moon and stars might have lit up the night. The temperature fell even further, clouds of breath filling the air in front of Gus’s face and fogging up his glasses.
“Guess we should have packed our coats,” Nancy remarked as she walked in front of Gus, guiding her pig along. She began to shiver. “I hate when the weather gets like this. Hot during the day, cold at night.”
Twigs cracked to the left. Hand flying to his holster, Gus looked that way, his goat bleating, Nancy’s pig squealing.
A flash of movement in the trees, there and gone in an instant.
“What the . . . ?” Oliver tossed his bundle of birds over his shoulder and retrieved his flashlight, his teeth chattering. He and Adam stood several feet to Gus’s right. “Did you guys see that?”
Adam drew his handgun. “Probably a mountain lion. We’re almost home, so just keep your eyes peeled and your weapons ready.”
“Maybe speed it up a little too,” Gus added, and he and Nancy pulled out their handguns. The team continued toward the compound.
Not five minutes had passed before more branches snapped behind them. Again, the goat bleated, and the pig squealed.
Everyone swung around, preparing to shoot. Oliver shined his flashlight into the trees.
The glow revealed a creature that made Gus’s skin prickle with goose bumps.
Author Bio:
A. P. Mobley is the Halloween-loving, rock-music-obsessed author of dark fantasy inspired by mythology. She doesn’t only write about her favorite myths, folktales, and fairy tales in books, though; she discusses them on her podcast, Myths (& Folktales & Fairy tales), as well as on her blog and newsletter. She grew up in Wyoming and Nebraska and currently lives in South Dakota, and when she’s not up to her elbows in research for her next project, she can be found consuming dangerous amounts of coffee, reading speculative fiction, or rewatching The Good Place.
Never miss an update from A. P. by signing up for her newsletter. Full list of books and Content Warnings on her website.
Reclamation Kristen Zimmer (Dark Horse Series, #1) Publication date: December 9th 2025 Genres: Adult, Dystopian, New Adult, Science Fiction
Kristen Zimmer, author of The Gravity Between Us, When Sparks Fly, and Forbidden Girl takes readers on an adrenaline-fueled dystopian journey into the future where a scrappy band of rebels rise up to bring down an unequal and unrelenting government.
This is your future.
The United States of America has been gone for over a century.
In its place, The Unified American Territories—a nation divided, the impoverished and the wealthy are separated by a looming steel wall. In the Northern Territories—The Vault, as it is known by its inhabitants—the government rules with an iron fist: All citizens are tested for intelligence and aptitude, thrust into compulsory higher education and saddled with insurmountable debt. All student loans are granted and controlled by a branch of the regime called The Federal Bureau of Education. Failure to repay their debt consigns borrowers to the Knowledge Reclamation Process, a mysterious government-sanctioned brainwashing program that strips them of their education with dire mental and physical side effects.
Fletcher Daniels is a recent college graduate struggling to stay ahead of her arrears. After a visit from Reclamation Agents, she knows her life is about to change for the worse. Enter Youth Opposed to Reclamation, a scrappy band of rebels who try in their own small way to bring some relief to the people of The Vault by smuggling as many potential Reclaimees to safety as possible. When Fletcher meets and falls for fellow female YOR member, Sparrow, her world is twisted away from the one she once knew even more radically. The group offers Fletcher a chance to escape her fate, but through them, she sees the promise of bringing real change to The Vault. History has taught her that even the smallest rebellions can trigger revolutions. It’s time for history to repeat itself.
FLETCHER HAD BEEN ENJOYING the luxury of her sole day off work, reading The Scarlet Letter. Happily. Quietly. Until some unknowable thing, a strange tug in her chest, made her look up. She shut down her antiquated digireader with a tap of the cracked screen and watched from her bedroom window as a sleek, silver sedan pulled to a stop at the curb outside of her dilapidated row house. Agents.
She couldn’t see them through the car’s blacked-out windows, but it was obvious. The simple fact that the vehicle had the shine of something new was enough to give the Agents away. Being from The Vault, or The Northern Territories, as Fletcher’s part of the country was known officially, she rarely saw any cars on the road at all; cars in such impeccable condition were all but complete anomalies. Why do they even bother plastering the Department of Reclamation’s seal on the doors? She wondered.
That hideous seal. Words failed to capture how much Fletcher both loathed and feared it. The great red and black per bend crest, showcasing a scroll of parchment in one half and a tasseled mortarboard in the other, had always been reviled by citizens of The Vault. It meant that someone hadn’t paid their dues, and The Department of Reclamation had come to collect.
The Department of Reclamation employed the Agents who did the strong-arming for The Federal Bureau of Education. While the BOE housed the bookkeepers, The Department of Reclamation’s Agents handled the unseemlier work… and their work was generally quite unseemly. The Governing Council of The Unified American Territories had long ago authorized Reclamation Agents to use brute force “in the event of necessity.” More often than not, visits from Agents did end in violence—if not on their first visit, when a potential Reclaimee received their Notification of Violation, then most definitely on their second visit, when the Agents returned to take the Reclaimee into custody. Reclaimees seldom initiated said violence, of course; Fletcher had heard that most cried or begged for just a few more moments with their loved ones. They would be flogged once or twice and give up or otherwise be knocked out with narcotics. Occasionally, a Reclaimee would try to escape. Those individuals had it much worse. Fletcher closed her eyes and, although it pained her to do it, allowed herself to envision the brutality Agents inflicted upon braver people: Arms twisted so violently that shoulders snapped out their sockets, fingers bent backward with such force that the metacarpals fractured, skulls cracked against living room floors. She shuddered as if her skin had been kissed by an icy wind.
Reclamation Agents were no strangers to The Vault, considering it was the part of the country reserved for the impoverished, the destitute and the disillusioned—those who needed “excessive assistance” from the Government. Those like Fletcher. She would need at least ten more fingers to be able to count the number of times she had seen Agents in her neighborhood in the last week alone. Watching these two men march toward her home, she couldn’t help but wonder if they had come for her this time.
“Fletcher,” her father’s voice boomed through the dimness of her room. “Can you come out here, please?”
“I’ll be right there.”
She peered into the tarnished mirror atop her bedside table. Using the remnants of daylight to aid her vision, she pulled her long blonde hair up into a ponytail. “Alright,” she sighed to herself, her sharp jawline clenching and her hazel eyes burning with angst. “If they are here for you, you’ll find out soon enough.”
Author Bio:
Kristen Zimmer is the author of The Gravity Between Us, which spent 12 weeks as the number one best-seller in both the Lesbian Fiction and Lesbian Romance genres on Amazon. It was listed as one of USA Today’s “10 Best books to read for Pride 2018” and in December 2021 was named one of Reader’s Digest ’50 Best Romance Novels of All Time’
That same year, her follow-up novel, When Sparks Fly, debuted as the best-seller in Lesbian Fiction and Lesbian romance, and clung to the spot for four weeks.
Her latest novel, Forbidden Girl, a dark mafia sapphic romance, is available now.
Kristen lives in Salem, Massachusetts— yes, where the witches were.
A Sabre in the Hemlock Dorothy Dreyer (Blade Bound Saga, #2) Publication date: November 18th 2025 Genres: Adult, Fantasy, Romance
With enemies closing in and magic slipping from her control, Celeste draws closer to unraveling a prophecy that could cost her the man she loves—as well as her soul.
In the wake of the carnoraxis attack on Ivystone Citadel, Celeste Westergaard’s battle for her future has only just begun. Trapped under the king’s watchful eye and hiding the magic awakening within her, Celeste must play the role expected of her, all the while uncovering secrets buried throughout Terre Ferique.
As the royal court embarks on a tour to solidify Dante’s claim to legitimacy, whispers of war and treachery follow their every step. The Shadow Tsar’s reach is growing, and the prophecy that fuels his reign foretells the rise of a power that will bring his downfall—one tied to the blood of the fae.
From glittering courts to bloodstained battlefields, Celeste must walk a knife’s edge between duty and desire, deception and truth. Because if the tsar discovers who she really is, he won’t just come for her magic, he’ll come for her soul.
A Sabre in the Hemlock is the thrilling sequel to the award-winning A Dagger in the Ivy, weaving romance, danger, and dark intrigue into an unforgettable tale of power and sacrifice.
“You promised you wouldn’t,” he says, voice quiet but taut, threaded with frustration. “You said you’d wait. You said you’d let Ezra figure it out.”
“I never promised,” I snap back, chin lifting. “You asked me not to, but I never agreed.”
“You bled, Celeste.” He leans closer, his voice low, heated. “I could tell something was wrong, even from the water. And what I couldn’t see, Nadya filled me in on.”
Of course she did.
“I had to help you.” The words come out louder than I intend, sharp with the emotion I’ve been burying all day. “They sent armed soldiers after you. You were bleeding underwater. You could have been pummeled by a f***ing tsunami. You don’t get to ask me to sit and watch you die.”
His hands flex, fists clenching just beneath the surface. “And what if helping me had killed you instead?”
I stare at him, my breath shallow. I don’t have an answer—not one that would make him feel better.
He paces a few steps through the water, raking a hand through his hair until it curls wild and damp around his temples. “Gods, you’re so damn stubborn.”
“And you’re so damn arrogant if you think you can tell me when and how I’m allowed to use a power that’s mine.”
He turns sharply, water sluicing off his chest, his gaze fierce enough to stop me in place. He crosses the space between us with quick, sure strides—and suddenly, he’s there, his hands finding me beneath the water, one arm locking around my waist, the other curling so that his hand is tugging the hair at the nape of my neck.
The heat of him burns through the chill. My breath stutters.
“Of course you’d fight me,” he mutters, his voice hoarse against my cheek. “Even when I’m trying to protect you.”
“And of course you’d push me,” I breathe back, “even when I’m trying to save you.”
The air thrums between us, thick with something neither of us is willing to yield. My pulse hammers as his thumb grazes the side of my throat, slow and reverent, like he’s trying to memorize the beat of my heart.
“I told you,” he says, his forehead almost brushing mine, “you bleed for no one.”
“And I told you,” I whisper, “you don’t get to decide that.”
His jaw tightens—and then, in one breath, his lips are on mine.
Author Bio:
Dorothy Dreyer is a Philippine-born American living in Germany with her family. She is an award-winning, USA Today Bestselling Author of fantasy, romance, and horror books that usually have some element of magic or the supernatural in them. Aside from reading, she enjoys movies, binge-watching series, chocolate, take-out, traveling, and having fun with friends and family. She tends to sing sometimes, too, so keep her away from your Karaoke bars.
Small town. Big dreams. One renovation that changes everything.
After three years of climbing the corporate ladder, Carl can practically taste the corner office with his name on the door. However, caring for his injured grandmother takes precedence, forcing his return to Keeney. But not to stay. Career-wise, the small town is a dead end, and others have their eye on that corner office.
Trading boardroom strategy for work boots and hard hats, Carl rejoins Keeney Building Supply to work as a general contractor—temporarily. He’s made that clear to everyone, including Sylvie.
Years ago, they parted ways before their mutual attraction could ignite, and Sylvie moved on, partnering with a charming developer who shared her excitement for flipping houses. However, charm can be deceiving—the developer wanted only her money, not her heart, leaving her plans in ruins.
Carl steps in, offering friendship, ice cream, and a new opportunity for her own home renovation business. Sylvie’s spark returns, and their attraction kindles, but Carl keeps his distance.
With his grandmother well on her way to recovery, there’s nothing to keep him in the small town. His future is waiting, and it’s not in Keeney.
Or is it?
A workplace romance, Fabulously Flawed is a story of the messy beauty of falling for someone who challenges everything you thought you wanted: a would-be house flipper who clashes and connects with the driven project manager determined to escape the confines of small-town life.
Hoping Carl would indeed wind up at her place, Sylvie had spent the morning in a cleaning frenzy, and her kitchen shone. There were fresh, fluffy towels in the sparkling bathroom, vacuum tracks on the carpet, and most importantly, clean sheets on the bed. Afterward, she’d collapsed on the couch.
But then she didn’t like the placement of the living room furniture, so she’d arranged and rearranged it to look cozier, and placed candles artfully around the room. To say she was nervous was an understatement. Images of Carl naked and hovering over her had haunted her dreams. She had no doubt the reality would be even better.
Part of her dream came true about twenty minutes later.
Having told Carl to get comfortable, she’d gone into the kitchen to assemble a late-night snack. From the fridge, she pulled the cheeseboard she’d assembled that morning and the wine. And not her usual box of Okanagan Porchbanger. For this momentous night—at least she hoped it would be—she’d splurged on a higher-end bottle. On a waiting tray, she arranged the cheeseboard, plates, napkins, and two glasses of wine.
Carl sat on the couch, one arm draped along the back of the cushions. She’d been right about the candles because the soft light made his dark eyes shine. Transfixed by the invitation in his smile, she walked into the living room and promptly tripped.
Moving quickly, Carl leaped from the couch to catch the falling glasses, but not before the contents splashed across his face, to drip down his chest. Cheese, crackers, cornichons, and cured meats were scattered across the coffee table that Sylvie had relocated earlier that day. Holding the two glasses, Carl blinked drops of wine from his lashes.
Sylvie’s mouth hung open as she stared at him in dismay. “Oh my God! I am so, so sorry!”
“It’s okay,” he said, smacking his lips. “I like a good rosé.” He set the glasses on the tray and took it from Sylvie’s hands. “Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?”
Pain radiated from where her knee had connected with the stupid coffee table. It wasn’t bleeding, but she’d have a lovely bruise tomorrow. “No,” she replied, bending her knee experimentally. “I’m fine, but your shirt isn’t.” Soaked through in spots, the fabric was rapidly turning pink.
He took the tray into the kitchen and returned, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it from the waistband of his trousers. “It’ll wash. But do you have a towel? I’d like to clean up a bit.”
After guiding him to the bathroom and handing him a towel, Sylvie went to clean up the mess. The good news was that nothing had broken, and only Carl had gotten wet. The bad news was…she sucked at seduction. He probably had an Uber on the way, ready to make his escape. She scooped the remains of her carefully planned evening off the coffee table and got down on her knees to retrieve tiny pickles from under the couch.
She turned to look when Carl returned, and her mouth hung open again. Hands shoved into his trouser pockets, and shirtless, he was a sight to behold. A smattering of hair covered his pectoral muscles and arrowed down his taut belly. The slopes and dips that defined the muscles of his arms and chest called to her, and she rose from the floor, knowing she was staring and not caring a bit.
Author Bio:
Lynne Hancock Pearson writes fun, flirty, feel-good fiction that simmers at low heat. Set in the Pacific Northwest, they are stories of people finding their way, even if it takes a while to get there.
She lives near Seattle with two and a half finicky felines and one long-suffering husband. She is a left-handed middle child who grew up in the Great White North and is a proud member of the Métis Nation of Canada.
The holiday spirit is the last thing on my mind, and he’s focused on his new beginning. But one mistletoe moment might change everything.
Callie
Spending the holidays alone for the first time in four years wasn’t exactly on my wish list. But with a major shake-up at work and more changes than I ever saw coming, embracing my new reality seems like the only option.
And then there’s Travis—charming, handsome, and a Texas drawl that could make any woman weak in the knees. But is it too soon to start something new? I’ve been out of the dating game for a while, and maybe this season is meant for family, friends, and finding joy in my new season.
One thing’s for sure—I’m in no hurry for Christmas to arrive.
Travis
Christmas in the Northeast? In the freezing cold? Yeah, not exactly my idea of home. But turning down this job offer wasn’t an option—it’s the kind of opportunity that doesn’t come around every day.
Still, spending the holidays away from everything and everyone I love is tougher than I expected. And then there’s Callie. I never planned to meet someone like her, let alone work so closely with her.
Now I’m left wondering… is taking this risk worth everything I’ve worked for?
Have you read the award-winning UnLucky Christmas? Don’t miss the chance to catch up with your favorite characters in Can’t Hurry Christmas from USA Today Bestselling Author Melissa Baldwin.
“Callie, I know this isn’t a typical holiday season for you. I can’t imagine how you are feeling now that…things are different without …”
“You can say his name, Hannah.”
“Joey,” she says softly. “I’m sorry. I know this is a difficult time.”
I shake my head. “Don’t be sorry. I asked him to set a wedding date, and he said he wasn’t ready and didn’t know when he would be. That pretty much told me everything I needed to know. Our goals were not exactly as aligned as I thought they were.”
She places a hand on my shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. “I’m really proud of you.”
“Proud? For getting dumped?”
“No. For not settling,” she explains. “And for letting me drag you into crazy holiday chaos instead of spending the night alone, binge-watching TV shows you’ve seen a hundred times.”
I laugh under my breath. “You’re not wrong. This is good for me—I always do better when I’m busy.”
“You might even enjoy yourself at the festive family night,” she says, tying another bow in less than two seconds.
“Oh, I’m sure it’ll be a blast,” I say flatly. “Hundreds of children, awkward small talk, and tacky decor. I’m all in.”
She giggles. “By the way, Anna’s new friend is coming with us. Her name’s Mia. She’s such a sweetheart.”
“Cool,” I say, biting my lip as I attempt another bow.
“And her dad’s meeting us there.”
I glance up. “Okay?”
“He’s a very nice guy…”
I narrow my eyes at her. “That’s great. Is there a reason you’re telling me this?”
She conveniently avoids making eye contact with me.
“Hannah…”
“Yes?”
“What are you up to?”
“I’m not up to anything,” she says, innocently. “I just thought it might be nice for you to meet a new friend.”
I stare at her. I should’ve known she was up to something. She was very insistent that I go to the festive family night.
She shrugs. “Anyway, he’s single. And nice. He has a good job. And he’s very—”
“Stop right there,” I interrupt. “No setups. You promised.”
“I didn’t set you up,” she says. “I merely mentioned that a single, employed man who also happens to be a devoted father will be in the same vicinity as you.”
“Oh, well in that case,” I say, rolling my eyes again.
She smirks and reaches over to take the mangled ribbon from my hands. “Here, let me help. You’re not exactly grasping the bow tying process here.”
“I didn’t get Mom’s crafty gene like you,” I mutter.
She laughs. “No. But you certainly inherited the moody gene from her.”
“I’m not the only one,” I tell her.
She holds up a perfectly wrapped box, complete with an elaborate gold bow. “See? We make a good team.”
“Always,” I say. “You do the work, and I’m here for moral support.”
Author Bio:
USA Today bestselling author Melissa Baldwin always dreamed of sharing her stories with the world. She brought this vision to life, becoming an award-winning, bestselling author of over thirty romantic comedies and cozy mysteries. Melissa is also a wife, mother, new empty-nester, and travel advisor.
Her books feature charming, ambitious, and real women, whom she considers part of her tribe. Although she rarely takes a day off, when she’s not writing, she enjoys quality time with her family, traveling, attempting yoga poses, and booking Disney vacations. Melissa still uses a paper planner, and her guilty pleasures include Beverly Hills 90210 reruns and General Hospital.
Visit authormelissabaldwin .com to sign up for her newsletter.
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Have You Seen Him Kimberly Lee Publication date: July 1st 2025 Genres: Adult, Mystery, Suspense, Thriller
What if everything you believed about yourself was totally wrong?
For David Byrdsong, life is a series of daily obligations. An attorney, he lacks both ambition and the ability to commit to a long-term relationship with his girlfriend, Gayle. Abandoned by his family at an airport when he was eleven, he learned to blunt his feelings, despite his subsequent adoption by a loving couple.
Until one day, when David discovers his own face in a missing child ad. Suddenly driven to uncover the truth about his past, he is forced to tap into his inner strength as he encounters corporate conspiracies, murdered bystanders, and distressing suspicions about the only family he’s ever really trusted. David enlists Gayle’s help—and the help of an unlikely stranger with secrets of his own—as he attempts to find his true family, whoever they are.
Thrilling, exploratory, and propulsive, Have You Seen Him is a story of lost identity, dangerous secrets, and a deeply personal pursuit of the truth.
David looked around his apartment for a chore, a task, something to keep himself from thinking about facing his coworkers the next day. It was a tall order; he was a minimalist, freakishly neat. Everything was “in its place.” Sifting through junk mail was the thing he resented the most, so David forced himself to do it as penance for his milquetoast behavior in court.
Even though he knew recycling was the right thing to do—for the melting polar ice caps, the coral reef, all that—he hated the monotony of sorting through everything. He suppressed the urge to chuck it all into the same bin. Trash, like pretty much everything else these days, was unnecessarily complicated. Who knew for sure if the carefully categorized items ever even made it to the place where things could be salvaged and revived and turned into handbags made of candy wrappers, seatbelts, and pull-tabs. A documentary he’d watched had uncovered the fact that in at least one town, and probably many others, every single throwaway went to the landfill, whether the bin was blue, black, or green.
But he felt guilty when he didn’t do it, and he had enough things to feel guilty about. The incident at work, his useless behavior. Not picking Gayle up from the airport. He’d wanted to see her, especially after the upsetting day. On the brief phone call before her flight took off, he’d promised to meet her at LAX. But he knew he’d conjure up a reason not to be there. Airports were overripe with too much—too many people, too much movement, too many unknowns.
He rifled through the papers and envelopes. Deals on mattresses, Lay-Z-Boy recliners, chimney cleaning, and towards the bottom of one of the leaflets, the words “¿Me Has Visto?” He had taken Spanish from the voluptuous Mrs. Boyette in 10th grade, so the translation was easy. “Have You Seen Me?”
The pictures accompanying the plea were obscured by something from the Red Cross. He crushed all of the pages into a pointy, misshapen ball, then felt shame for not even glancing at the photo of the poor lost child. He opened the bundle back up and laid the paper on the table, smoothing the crinkled paper with his hands.
David focused in on the ad and saw his own face gazing back at him. He shook his head as if to shake the foolishness out.
“What the—?” His eyes locked on the image. “This. Can’t be real.” He leaned
further in and squinted. The technology had somehow managed to match his exact shade of brown. Although the nose in the picture was a bit too narrow, it was close enough. David had a full, close-cropped beard; the man in the picture barely had a mustache. Regardless, it was him, in a “computer-generated image of subject at thirty-six years old,” as stated by the printed words below the man’s, well, his, picture.
What the hell?
The photo on the left was a picture he’d never actually seen, but it was how he remembered himself at eleven years old, refusing to smile for the goofy school photographer. “Wuss happnen,” the photographer had said as David approached the stool, centered in front of a faded blue background. David frowned. The only people who spoke like that were characters on the old reruns his parents watched. But the photographer had kind eyes. After the photo, David smiled and held out his hand as he exited the bandroom-turned-photo studio. “Gimme five,” he offered, the way he’d seen it done on TV. It made the man’s day; he’d slapped David’s hand with enthusiasm. David was glad he had done it, this grand gesture. The photographer was married to Mrs. Dalton, the hard-faced 3rd grade teacher. He deserved a break.
But David was at a new school, living with his new family, by the time the batch of photos were developed and sent home in cellophane envelopes with his classmates. He’d never seen the pictures.
Until now.
Author Bio:
Kimberly Lee, JD, is a writer, workshop facilitator, and editor with a passion for nurturing the imaginative spirit and helping others reveal their creative gifts. She holds degrees from Stanford University and UC Davis School of Law. Kimberly lives in Southern California with her husband and three children.
That Boy Briar Black (The Cheshire Set, #3) Publication date: November 6th 2025 Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Holiday, Romance, Suspense
Building an impossible tea farm in the Cheshire countryside was Sofia’s second chance. A way to prove herself. A fresh start. She knew it would be graft. She anticipated a degree of isolation. But with Christmas imminent and the farm failing, her thoughts have grown darker. She’s searching for something — an ineffable force to make this year the magical wonderland she always craves and never finds.
Yet with the farm failing there’s no time to fix her ailing social life. Sofia resigns herself to another lonely holiday.
Enter Matt.
Delaware Grange’s twenty-one-year-old assistant gamekeeper. Nice enough, a bit dopey.
As she hunkers down for winter, Sofia thinks she’s prepared for everything. Nothing could prepare her for Matt. For the abrupt awareness of him. For the way he’s far more capable than he seems. Thoughtful. Considerate. Quietly intelligent.
Way sexier than he appears.
Suddenly impossible to ignore.
But Matt isn’t what he seems. A darkness runs beneath Delaware Grange — insidious, creeping, buried deep.
Sofia was little more than a challenge, a box for Matt to check, an assignment to complete. Until he fell.
Hard.
Now all he sees is her. All he wants is her. And all he knows is she has no idea who he truly is. While Sofia fights her feelings in the face of forbidden fruit, and Matt wrestles with the reality of his true purpose on the estate, the pair fall into an intoxicating, passionate, volatile romance.
As winter deepens and Christmas closes in, two lonely souls struggle to find peace in each other, and trust becomes the most dangerous choice on the estate.
Falling for Matt threatens everything Sofia has worked so hard to build. Falling for Sofia might just be the making of Matt.
That Boy is a high-heat, secret-identity romance where desire, deception, and devotion collide in a snowy small-town Christmas.
While not required, it is highly suggested to read Nightshade before That Boy.
Author’s Note: Each novel in The Cheshire Set can be read as a standalone, but the following order avoids spoiling the reading experience of earlier books.
Recommended Reading Order for The Cheshire Set:
Bane
Nightshade
That Boy
Eve Was Framed, a prequel novella to Bane, isn’t strictly part of The Cheshire Set but is available for free download on the author’s website.
A quiet, introspective moment between Matt and Sofia after a near-disaster. As they talk about “The Gloaming”—that melancholy space between Halloween and Christmas—their chemistry deepens and the novel’s central themes of loneliness, yearning, and rediscovery of light emerge.
“What’s the Gloaming?”
“Oh. Right.” I shifted, trying to find a way to lean that didn’t hurt my shoulder. It was useless. Until someone could pop it back in, I was doomed to dull agony. “It’s that feeling that threatens to drown you…” I paused, swallowing hard and staring out the window.
The world nearly drowned me tonight.
“This time every year.” I finally managed. “You know?”
Keep talking. Stay conscious. Don’t toss your cookies into his lap.
“That…overwhelming urge to…cover everything in cheer. But…” I took a little more water. “…the more you try, the less cheerful you feel. So you just keep…adding more.”
He chuckled.
“Hoping the cheer finds you before you’re…” Another tiny sip of water. “…crushed by baubles and fake fir garlands.”
He stared at me.
Great. Now he thinks I’m a total weirdo.
“I get it.” A slow smile spread across his face. “You’re staring at all the decorations. Watching the snow fall. And somewhere inside you’re sure you love Christmas. But you never quite seem to feel it.”
“Yes!” I sat up, and momentarily thought I’d blackout from the effort.
He eased me back into the sofa.
“Nailed it.” I swallowed. Talking was so much effort. Thinking was weirdly worse. “It’s a coping mechanism, I guess.”
He nodded, but when I didn’t continue, he made a winding motion with his hands.
“Every year this…fog descends. When Halloween’s over. This looming sense of…dread.”
“And it’s right when everyone else is getting excited.”
I nodded. “Exactly. Not me.” The wind howled savagely by, rattling the window and making us both jump. I turned my face away from the glass, not wanting to think about the carnage outside. “I’m sat there like a…miserly Scrooge.”
“Scrooge was never that pretty.”
I shook my head. “Don’t flirt with me.”
“Keep talking then.”
I didn’t want to. I just wanted to sleep.
My eyes drifted, and he nudged my knee with his. “Sof?”
With gargantuan effort, I rallied. “Welcome to Gloamas!” I wheezed. “Not quite Christmas. Not quite apathy. Some…twisted netherworld.”
He permitted me another tiny sip of water for my effort.
I swallowed it and continued, “You’re stuck for weeks. Longing to be…joyful and merry. But…that ineffable light is…absent.”
Matt pursed his lips. “So…it’s not gloomy, it’s gloamy. You’re in the twilight. Daylight’s gone. You know it will be back at some point, but in the interim, you’re left with a hollow echo—”
“How you…loved Christmas…as a kid,” I managed. “Desperately wish to…feel it all.”
He grinned. “But for now, the light’s faded. Until the sun rises, you’re left wisting after a feeling.”
I stared at him. “And someone to share it with.”
Matty shifted a little closer. He was still soaking wet from the rain. Must have been freezing. Yet he hadn’t complained. Hadn’t even seemed to notice. I leant into him and shivered. More at the thought of how cold he must be than anything else. But he stripped off my blankets (now soaked) and wrapped me in two new dry ones.
The phone rang, and he shot up to grab it.
“She’s okay, I think. Conscious, talking, the bleeding’s stopped. Her shoulder’s bad, but—”
A pause as whoever was on the other end of the line spoke.
“Are you sure it’s safe?” He peered out of the window. “The rain’s still coming down hard.”
Another pause.
“Okay. We’ll be here.”
He hung up. “Sounds like the storm’s passing. It’s lightening up at the house, and the rain’s almost stopped down there. They’re on their way up. By the time they get here, it should have cleared.”
“The track will be murder.” I tried to sit up.
He moved and blocked me, forcing me to stay still. “Easy.”
“Give me the phone.”
“They’ve already left, Sof.”
I struggled some more.
“Stop!”
Calm. But firm. Commanding.
I’ve never heard him speak like that before.
“Stop.”
Softer. Eyes searching mine.
My heart fluttered.
“We’d all gladly risk a bit of fucking mud to get you safe. You must know that?”
My breath caught. My chest constricted painfully. His jaw was locked. The look in his eyes was…feral.
And so fucking hot.
There’s really something wrong with me.
Satisfied I wasn’t about to bolt for the door, he sat back down. Glanced around.
“Is that why all your decorations are so…weirdly depressing?”
“They’re not.” I sniffed.
“They really are, Sof. Like…they’re full of the festive spirit but don’t quite hit the mark.”
He glanced at my forlorn little tree. Which, in fairness, was at least standing vertically now. I’d come in one day to find him scrambling around on the floor, fiddling with the screws on the base to get it standing straight.
He was right. The baubles were desolate.
I loved them.
“I like them.” Matt wrapped the blankets tighter around me. “They’re comfortingly depressing. How Christmas should be. It always just…kind of reminds you of all you’re missing in life.”
Author Bio:
Briar has been a professional copywriter for many years (far more than she cares to admit). She began her career working for large companies and agencies before realising she could do it all for herself. Now, she happily writes for businesses and entrepreneurs she’s passionate about and dreams of the day her fiction becomes popular enough for her to retreat into fictional worlds full-time. Growing up in Cheshire and falling in love with its countryside, small towns, and villages, she’s enjoyed creating a fictional world that reflects her own.
The Mist and the Flame Coral-Li St. Helen (The New Bardiverse, #1) Publication date: September 15th 2025 Genres: Fantasy, Historical, Young Adult
What’s really behind the story of star-crossed lovers Romeo and Juliet?
Let’s start with the truth about Rosaline—Romeo’s actual first love. Rosaline scorns romance and instead craves magic. To free herself from Romeo’s amorous attention as well as her dull life in Verona, she uses her limited sorcery skills to bring him and Juliet together. Renaming herself Foschia Luminosa, she then gleefully runs off to join a school of magic.
Just when Lumi’s dreams are about to come true, disaster Syra, the intimidating witch who runs the school, denies her entry and demands she return to Verona. She must repair the damage done by her spell or the young couple is doomed and Lumi will be outcast forever.
As tragedy looms ever nearer, Lumi reluctantly teams up with a mysterious, sullen girl calling herself Fiamma Fredda, an orphan of unknown parentage. Freddi is an astonishingly skilled fighter, but who is she, and does she really want to help—or is she using Lumi for her own purposes?
Join Lumi and Freddi in their thrilling quest to save Romeo and Juliet, learn of Freddi’s origins, and grapple with Syra’s own dark past. They—and you—are in for a great many surprises along the way…
On the particular day that started it all, our tutor, Grigio, gave me something to translate which turned out to be an old recipe for a potion to be used for suppressing painful memories. It called for various common herbs which I knew Friar Lawrence grew in his garden, so I ran to him the first chance I got to ask for the ingredients. That, I found out later, was how the school at La Fortezza became interested in me. Friar Lawrence and, incredibly, my tutor both looked out for potential candidates to recruit for this secret school. Most of the tutor’s pupils, my cousin Juliet included, merely did the translation (perfectly, in her case). The very few with the curiosity to see if it would work, those were the ones that interested them.
But I knew none of that at the time; I was only interested in making the potion work. Initially, it didn’t, and I figured out there had been an ingredient omitted—possibly deliberately, so Grigio’s students wouldn’t have the complete formula. That was laughable—and insulting. I immediately began experimenting on my own, trying to figure out the missing item. (This extra step, apparently, made La Fortezza very interested in me.) My creations, placed discretely in various rooms, made me sneeze (not magical), made the cook giggle (possibly magical, since she generally had a dour disposition), and made my parents look at each other in a way I hadn’t seen in years (which was uncomfortable to witness but also possibly magical). I noted these combinations of ingredients down and, not satisfied, kept trying.
When I couldn’t quite come up with the perfect formula on my own, I sought the friar again. If Grigio was a young man who seemed like an old one, Friar Lawrence was, if not old, then middle-aged at least, but cheerful, jovial, and youthful in every aspect of his demeanor. To put it another way, he was possibly the only priest that people my age actually liked, someone who talked to you like a person and not just a sinner. In his little garden behind the church he welcomed me with delight, a dirt-crusted trowel in one hand and some mysterious wrinkled root in the other, immediately asking how my potion had gone.
“Not well, thank you. It didn’t work, but I think I know how I can fix it—with your help, if you would.”
“I would be most delighted to help,” he said, eager curiosity shining in his eyes. He put down the trowel and root, dusted his cassock off (though his hands were dirty too and he really only ended up shifting the soiling of the garment to different sections), and gestured me toward a bench where we both sat. “Now, how did you know it didn’t work?”
“I tried. A lot. The closest I got was when I tried it on Bruno, but even then it still wasn’t right.”
“Bruno?”
“The old dog I found wandering around outside our gate. I named him Bruno. Poor thing. He had been treated very badly, we think by a man or several of them—he is afraid of men. I wanted to see if I could help him forget his suffering. He seemed to be calmer when I sprinkled one particular herbal powder mix around him, but he still growls and shrinks away when a man goes by, so he hasn’t completely forgotten.”
The friar smiled. “That was kind of you to try, though a human subject might have been more able to communicate what they were experiencing.”
I shrugged. I wanted to try it on the dog because I wanted to alleviate his suffering. His big brown eyes were deep with sorrow. How could I do otherwise? I went on impatiently, “I know why it didn’t work—there’s an ingredient missing, isn’t there?”
Friar Lawrence tilted his head. “Yes and no. Well, yes and yes, I suppose. The recipe as you received it is in fact missing an ingredient, but that ingredient alone—stridolo petals, I believe—will not make this work. The real missing ingredient is you. Bruno calmed down because you were calm. Bruno cannot forget whatever suffering he went through, no matter what herbs you use, because you can’t forget it—because you never remembered it in the first place.”
“Of course not. I wasn’t there.” Now I frowned. Did I, too, have to be beaten and starved by cruel men for both of us to forget? Wasn’t there an easier way to help my poor sad-eyed friend? There was a limit to what even I wished to experience. “How can I make these things work without, well, going through terrible things?”
“It is a long and difficult journey to take, Rosaline. But I can try to show you the first steps.” He shifted a little on the bench so that he was facing me. “Think of a happy memory from your childhood, but don’t tell me about it.”
His simple request startled me. Was he going to read my mind?
Author Bio:
Coral-Li St. Helen is the pen name of a writer who lived all over the United States before settling down roughly in the middle. She loves reading and writing, hiking and napping, coffee, noodles, her spouse and her dog.
The Boutique Hotel Melissa D. MacKinnon Publication date: July 29th 2025 Genres: Adult, Mystery
“The Boutique Hotel is a richly absorbing novel. From the opening pages, MacKinnon weaves multiple narrative threads…with nuance, compelling the reader ever forward through its layered and engaging plot.”
—The Seaboard Review of Books
What happened in the days leading to murder at a glamorous destination wedding?
The story is set against the sophisticated backdrop of Nice, France. Evie Hansen, a travel agent determined to prove her worth, attends a destination wedding at the luxurious Negresco Hotel while staying at The Boutique Hotel au Coeur de Nice. She has sworn off dating, having suddenly been dropped by her boyfriend. Enter lawyer Jacob Liszt who is recovering from a stormy relationship and reluctant to start a new one.
Evie’s professional goals are upended by her discovery of a body on the hotel’s terrace. The search for answers leads her to partner with Jacob. Their investigation into the murder reveals disturbing truths about The Boutique Hotel, drawing them into a dangerous web of secrets and lies. They dig deeper, facing mounting peril, while navigating their growing feelings for each other.
Evie is forced to confront not only the dark realities of the case but her own life choices and aspirations.
The book delivers a series of fast-paced twists, culminating in a dramatic resolution.
With its vivid setting, complex characters, and timely themes, the book offers a compelling exploration of justice, self-discovery, and the pursuit of truth in the face of adversity.
As I’m taking photos of the art on the walls of the huge Reception Room, as per Pinkie’s request, vases of exquisite flowers on pedestals draw my attention. The arrangements of lilies, hydrangeas, white roses and other blossoms beckon. I take in the fresh, sweet, bouquet, redolent of spring days under our magnolia tree. If only I could have taken that tree with me when I sold the house.
Jacob walks toward me. When our eyes meet, he curls his lip in that irresistible way of his. I smile back.
“You’re so lovely. A flower in full bloom. Can I take your picture?” “Yes, please,” I say. I position myself in front of the arrangements.
“I’ll send it to you.”
An older man nearby stops. “I’ll take your picture, if you like.”
Author Bio:
Melissa loves reading, writing and travelling. She holds bachelor’s degrees in English and Education. Her first book, The Remarkable Meadow Andrews, was published in 2024. Melissa lives with her husband in Ontario, Canada.
