Romance can be a little complicated when you get sucked into a wormhole. Just ask high school English teacher June Flint. One little solar flare happens and suddenly you find yourself 85 years in the future. Eighty-five years from your dream job. Your ailing mother whose only companion in this world is you. Your favorite stuffed-crust pizza from DeLucia’s on Sunday nights. But when June’s cell phone inexplicably picks up a signal, she’s able to call back to the present—more specifically, four weeks before she accidentally time traveled.

Eight years ago I fell into a secret summer fling with my best friend’s little sister before our lives went in different directions. Now, I’m the grumpy to Juliet’s sunshine on a popular dating podcast we host, and when a wealthy fan gives us a charming coastal cottage as the biggest thank you ever, we head to the town where I grew up to give it a makeover. And find the house has only one bed. Located under a mirrored ceiling.

Lowen Ashleigh is a struggling writer on the brink of financial ruin when she accepts the job offer of a lifetime. Jeremy Crawford, husband of best-selling author Verity Crawford, has hired Lowen to complete the remaining books in a successful series his injured wife is unable to finish. Lowen arrives at the Crawford home, ready to sort through years of Verity's notes and outlines, hoping to find enough material to get her started. What Lowen doesn't expect to uncover in the chaotic office is an unfinished autobiography Verity never intended for anyone to read.

Jane Austen fan Amelia Bennett sneaks away from a dull tour of an English country manor, only to run into a man more dashing than Mr. Darcy himself. About to lose his ancestral home to family debts, charming aristocrat Tom Calder invites his American guest to join him in drinking his way through the estate’s priceless wine collection. But when they wake in his bed the next morning, they’re convinced that in their drunken haze they witnessed a murder. Problem is, the body has vanished and no one believes them.

Iris Nightingale is more than okay. She has her life planned out to a perfect schedule. Work, run, sleep, repeat. She spends her quiet Friday nights sitting alone on a bench in the park, trying to push back the memories that no amount of running can help her escape. But one evening, there’s someone else on her bench - Hunter. Tall, wry and infuriating: everything about him gets under Iris’s skin. Little does she know that he's about to upset more than just her routines...

Hunter Hutchin's success is due to one thing, and one thing only: his unerring focus on Beaten Path, the outdoor recreation company he built from the ground up after his first business was an utter failure. When his dad gets sick, Hunter is forced to go back to his hometown and prove once and for all that his father's belief in him wasn't for nothing. With illness looming, distractions are unacceptable.

What happens when a Daddy's girl grows up to be crowned the first female underboss of the mafia? What an excellent question. Thank you so much for asking. No, seriously, I've been waiting twenty years to be able to answer this. Trust me, being hidden away in another country with a nanny, a groundskeeper, his son (my ex-best friend), and the wicked witch of the west—a.k.a. my stepmother. I'm dying to spill the tea.

Retired athlete. Lost love. And a whole new chance at happiness.

Being the sole survivor of the Van Helsing family was never a burden I wanted to carry. Yet here I am, an orphan with a score to settle against Dracula for orchestrating the near genocide of my bloodline. One small kink in that plan: I was turned into the blood-sucking creature I was born to destroy. Being admitted into the Dark Imaginarium Academy to hone my new skills as a vampire and to survive the blood lust is the first step towards achieving my revenge. No one is prepared for me to infiltrate their ranks, but I know they aren't going to let me get my revenge without a fight.

He won’t tell me his last name, and maybe that should throw up a thousand red flags, but when I’m all alone in a new city and struggling to make ends meet, his texts are the lifeline I’ve been desperate for. I never would have answered that text if I’d known that Lincoln Daniels—superstar hockey player extraordinaire—was the one sending it. He’s trying to sweep me off my feet now. He says he’s obsessed. He wants me to wear his number…permanently. But is he still the wrong number, or can this hockey god prove he’s Mr. Right?