MIllie Bonizio

Lucy Lang isn't looking for fireworks. She's looking for a nice, decent man. Someone who'll mow the lawn, flip chicken on the barbecue, teach their future children to play soccer. But most important: someone who won't inspire the slightest stirring in her heart - or anywhere else. A young widow, Lucy can't risk that kind of loss again. But sharing her life with a cat named Fat Mikey and the Black Widows at the family bakery isn't enough either.

Hazel Hart was a successful romance novelist until a breakup drives her straight into writer’s block. Having failed (and failed some more) to deliver her new manuscript, she’s hiding from the world behind a wall of old takeout containers until her publisher lays down the law. If she misses her next deadline it’s The End. Desperate for inspiration, Hazel impulse-buys a historic home online and flees Manhattan to tiny Story Lake, PA. Upon her dramatic arrival—involving an incident with a bald eagle—she discovers the charm of her new home may have been slightly exaggerated.

The first time I met Dawson Reed, we wound up in bed. The problem was, neither of us knew the other were there. When I woke up in the middle of the night and found a stranger next to me, instinct kicked in and I attacked the intruder. Only it turned out, the man wasn’t an intruder at all. Dawson had rented this cabin, too. Apparently, a system glitch allowed a duplicate booking. We’d soon find out we were in town for the same wedding, and Dawson was the groomsman I’d been warned about. He was as tall, dark and jaw-droppingly gorgeous as my best friend had described.

At first, I thought I’d hate spending the summer with Archie Remington—the conceited son of my parents’ friends. What I knew about Archie: He was gorgeous, pre-law, and had always treated me like I didn’t exist when we were younger. When our families bought a house together on an island in Maine, he and I were forced to share a bathroom.

Flat on my back is not how I imagined meeting my new boss and hot-as-sin rock star. But here I am . . .If I didn’t already have amnesia, I’d be wishing for it now. In my defense, Laird Faris was only wearing a shameless smirk and a towel wrapped around his chiseled abs when we met. Brooding. Devastatingly handsome. Utterly intolerable. Naturally, I’m instantly attracted to him.

When Grace Emerson's ex-fiancé starts dating her younger sister, extreme measures are called for. To keep everyone from obsessing about her love life, Grace announces that she's seeing someone. Someone wonderful. Someone handsome. Someone completely made up. Who is this Mr. Right? Someone - exactly unlike her renegade neighbor, Callahan O'Shea. Well, someone with his looks, maybe. His hot body. His knife-sharp sense of humor. His smarts and big heart.

I’m falling for the father of the baby I’m carrying. The problem is: it’s not my baby. And the broody widower is not looking for a long-term partner. As a surrogate, the deal was that I’d only be in England long enough to give birth. At first, the man seemed as pretentious as his name: Sigmund Benedictus. He and I butted heads. Sig challenged my intentions, accused me of just wanting to do this for the money. Gradually, he learned to trust me.

A kid walks into your bookstore and says to you, Guess what? I'm your son. The one you put up for adoption seventeen years ago. The one you never told anyone about. Surprise! His name is Matthew Walker, and he's come to spend the summer on the Cape with his parents. Why? Well, he wants to meet you before he heads off to college in the fall. Tiny detail—he didn't tell his adoptive parents about his plan. And while you hoped this day would come someday, you're so stunned, you actually faint.

Laurel Lake held the title America’s Friendliest Town for seventeen years running, and friendly was just what I needed right now. Unfortunately, friendly wasn’t the welcome I got when I arrived. Instead, I got Fox Cassidy. My tall, dark, and burly neighbor, who grunted at me instead of saying hello. Okay, so I might’ve had his mailbox in my hands the first time we met. And it might’ve been a little crushed after removing it from under my tire. And I might’ve needed his help breaking into the place I was staying in after the key broke off in the lock.

The beat. The cheers. The thrill of the unknown. I shouldn’t leave the safety of the music arena—my last name is McKallister, after all, and I’m intimately familiar with worst-case scenarios. But I’m drawn by the talent and the turmoil behind the weary eyes of the drummer on the streets. I’ve never seen anyone my age as wild and unrestrained, a lightning bolt of electricity that never hits the same spot on his bucket drums twice. He plays with such confidence, such rage. I have to know who he is and where he learned to bang out drum solos like he owns the night. I want to help him.