Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Good For Her by Tylor Paige, which releases on April 28th 2026.

Hollywood loves a comeback. Too bad Evie Reyes didn’t come back to play nice.

Five years ago, she watched her mother—an iconic Final Girl—die on the set of Simon Says. Now, she’s back on the same studio lot, cast as the lead in the reboot no one asked for. But Evie’s not here for fame. She’s here for revenge—and she’s got six names on her list.

Sebastian Shaw is Hollywood’s golden boy, a walking six-pack with just enough charm to disguise the fact that he’s a professional liar. He also happens to be Evie’s ex. When he finds out why she’s really back, he doesn’t try to stop her. He offers a deal: he’ll get her access to each of the men she wants to confront—in exchange for six chances to sleep with her.

No feelings. No strings. Definitely no dates.

As bodies pile up and the on-set accidents get harder to explain away, Evie walks a razor-thin line between staying alive and getting justice. And Sebastian? He might be the only person who sees her clearly—and the one person she can’t afford to trust.

This Final Girl isn’t just surviving—she’s stealing the whole damn show.

Chapter 1

 Evie

The Cold Open

“Beep beep, Ritchie.” I turned toward the craft services table and picked up a bag of chips, pretending to intensely read the label. Sebastian, my best friend, stood beside me and turned his head and swore as his agent stormed across set to berate him for some imagined infraction.

“I heard that.” The tall brunette woman—wearing hot-pink heels and a matching pantsuit—stepped between us, her back to me. She crossed her arms over her enhanced chest. With the heels, she loomed over us both. All around, members of the cast and crew passed by either snickering in amusement or shaking their heads at Sebastian. He was always getting into trouble with Heather. “I know your guys’ little code. What are you eating?”

“Nothing, I was just walking with Evie,” he lied.

I rolled my eyes from behind her and stepped farther down to the popcorn machine. I grabbed a paper bag and filled it, tossing a scoop of M&M’s in between layers of popcorn. I closed the bag and shook it noisily while Sebastian continued to get yelled at for eating.

“I want you to do another workout tonight before you go to bed.”

“I was up at three this morning working out. Come on,” he protested. “One bagel isn’t going to kill me.” He reached for the table, but she slapped his hand away.

“Say that in ten years. If we want a lifelong career, which we do, you need to learn smart eating now. You eat that bagel, and I’ll haul a treadmill into your trailer to run it off between scenes.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would.”

Popcorn in hand, I stepped back and shifted to the side to watch the shitshow unfold. I’d warned him if he tried to sneak craft services, he’d get caught. Sebastian was Heather’s meal ticket. There was no way she’d risk her paycheck being short because he gained an ounce of weight.

His green eyes flicked to me, and he scowled. I popped a piece of popcorn into my mouth, and Sebastian stared at my hand as I mouthed, It puts the lotion in the basket.

We had lots of codes to talk to each other, all of them movie lines. What started off as a silly game on set of the first Simon Says movie turned into a secret language that helped us communicate around the adults. We were now on Simon Says Three, and the code was ever-expanding.

“Are you listening to me?” Heather snapped.

Sebastian turned his attention back to his agent.

“I got you a private screen test with the producers of that apocalypse movie. If you’re bloated, you won’t even make the shortlist.”

“It does this whenever it’s told,” I quipped.

Heather turned her head and shot me a dirty look. She knew better than to say anything to me. My mom would have her ass dragged off the studio lot and out of Hollywood by sundown.

Sebastian huffed loudly. “Yes, I get it. I’ll go drink some water and continue to starve. Go find someone else to bitch at.”

Heather stormed off, leaving us alone.

“Come on. I want to relax,” Sebastian muttered.

I refilled my popcorn bag, and together we headed to the trailer lot. Instead of heading to the one labeled Sebastian Shaw, we walked over to the one that said Lita Reyes—my mother’s. I climbed up the stairs and hurried inside, plopping down on the red velvet couch.

I didn’t have the same restrictions as Sebastian or Lita. I wasn’t an actress, just the child of one. However, I’d grown up on set and seen how badly Sebastian was treated. I often wondered, was it really worth the fame? But then he’d light up every time someone recognized him, or he saw his face on a billboard, so maybe it was. I wouldn’t know. No one ever paid attention to me.

“Did you hear that bullshit? A treadmill in my trailer!” He collapsed beside me, and I offered him the popcorn. He scarfed it down. “Ooh, M&M’s.” He smiled, leaned across the couch, and gave me a quick peck on the lips. “I was watching The Exorcist…”

Butterflies fluttered around my belly “It got me thinking about you.” It was our way of saying I love you. We’d yet to say the actual words, but the movie lines felt just as powerful. They were special and only ours.

Sebastian set the empty bag down and turned back to me, kissing me again. His smile, salty and butter-flavored, curled against my lips as our mouths met again. This time, our tongues touched, and in a flash, the mood shifted from playful to something else. He pushed me down onto the couch, his hands roaming under my shirt. A groan rose from his throat.

“I can’t wait for—”

The door flew open, and light poured in, causing us to bolt upright.

“Sebastian Shaw, I know you aren’t making a mess in my trailer.” My mother came in, hand on hip. She was in costume, a matronly fuchsia dress. Her black hair, normally soft and smooth, was curled and teased to resemble a woman from the eighties. Fake blood had been splattered all over her dress, face, and arms. She kicked off her thick pumps and huffed. “Don’t you have something better to do than make out with my daughter and get popcorn all over my expensive furniture?”

I blushed and glanced over—Sebastian was grinning ear to ear.

“Actually, I don’t, ma’am. My scenes aren’t for another hour.”

“Lita,” she corrected. She wagged a finger at us. “Just because you two are dating doesn’t mean I’m an old lady. And I got done early, so they’ll be calling for you soon, I bet.”

Her costume suggested otherwise, but I wasn’t going to be the one to tell her. She was turning forty-nine this year, but in Hollywood, that was basically thirty.

I patted Sebastian’s knee and looked up at him, taking in just how cute he was. I was so lucky. I was living every teenage girl’s dream. I was dating Sebastian Shaw, the Hollywood bad boy. He was on the cover of magazines, movie posters, and had already won awards, at just sixteen. With his long, jet-black hair, green eyes, and chiseled jawline, he was easily the most handsome boy I’d ever seen. Even before he’d started getting tall and working out, I’d had a crush on him.

And he was in love with me.

“We have such sights to show you,” I said—our secret way of telling him to go with it because it would be worth it after. Which, in this situation meant prepare to shoot a scene. I squeezed his hand. “I’ll come see you after your scenes,” I promised. Now that my mom was done with hers, Sebastian would be called to set shortly, which meant, if we were lucky, he’d get out early. Reluctantly, he left, giving me one last lingering kiss before running out.

“You two are too cute,” my mom sighed as she peeled off her costume and headed to the shower. “Remember, I’m going to dinner tonight. I won’t be home.”

Oh, I knew.

“These are very important men, and I suspect I may be out all night, so you’ll need to catch a ride with Sebastian in the morning. I presume he’ll have snuck in to keep you company.” She shot me a look that was equal parts motherly warning and sisterly amusement. I cringed. She’d given me the sex talk the day before, and it was just as awkward as one could expect. Made worse by how pro-sex she was. I would have rather had the “stern-purity-bullshit” speech over the “lubrication-is-your-friend” one.

“Maybe.”

Despite being far too interested in my pending sex life, I loved the relationship between us. Lita Reyes had spent almost twenty years in the spotlight before deciding to have me. She claimed she wanted a best friend who, in her words, “was more beautiful than she could ever be, but just as smart.” While I wasn’t so sure about the whole “more beautiful” part, I appreciated the sentiment. My mother was a Latina bombshell. I could only be so lucky to look like her.

Maybe then I could star in movies.

From day one, I tagged along with her to movie sets. The cast and crews always treated me warmly, and many of them, as we continued on with the Simon Says franchise, came to feel like family. They played games with me in between their scenes, and I’d help them run lines. I came to the premieres, and they came to my birthday parties.

It was how Sebastian and I met. My mother introduced us on the first day, despite Heather arguing that the talent shouldn’t be distracted. We were the only kids on set for Simon Says, so the production company set up a trailer for us to attend school in. In between classes and filming, we kept each other company in our trailers, watching movies, pretending we were part of those worlds, and for a little bit—pausing the world we actually lived in. We bonded over existing in a world meant for adults. I’d never hung out with a kid my age before him, so he was special to me. And later, as we grew up on set… I became special to him as well.

Later that night, as my mother was heading out the door in a gorgeous red, skintight cocktail dress, she paused to kiss me goodbye and to remind me to lean on Sebastian.

“Hollywood is an awful yet magical place. If, for some reason, I’m not there, you two need to stick together.”

Her eyes bore into me for a beat longer than comfortable. I cocked my head, curious.

“Who are you doing dinner with again?”

She inhaled deeply and looked away.

“Six men who don’t deserve the privilege.”

I didn’t understand. Lita Reyes was like that sometimes. Blunt when she needed to be, cryptic when she wanted to be. I suppose it didn’t matter who these men were. Her tone and grim expression told me I should be so lucky to never meet them.

She hugged me one more time and left without another word.

I watched from the window as she walked down the long drive and stepped into a limousine. Then, I called Sebastian.

***

“Whoa.”

Sebastian rolled off me and collapsed onto the mattress. Our bare chests rose and fell in matching rhythm. My skin was slick with sweat, and my heart was beating so fast, like I was the Final Girl in one of the movies we loved so much. My body was reacting as if I’d just sprinted through the woods, only to be caught by the handsome serial killer, and I wasn’t mad about it. I’d be Sebastian’s final girl any day.

“Was it good for you?” He turned and propped his head up in his hand.

I rolled to face him. “I mean, yeah. It hurt, kind of. It hurt a lot when you first started, but after a while, I forgot about the pain.”

“They say that’s normal,” he offered, running a finger down the middle of my chest, between my breasts. “I love you so much, Evie. I’ve never loved someone as much as I love you.”

“I—uh…” Panic fluttered in my belly. We’d never said those words before. “I was watching The Exorcist,” I said lamely, too scared to use the real words. It almost felt like a jinx. If I confessed that I loved him, he’d for sure meet some beautiful actress, fall madly in love, and forget about me.

“Groovy,” he sighed, quoting Ash from Evil Dead, clearly disappointed. After a beat, he finished the phrase from The Exorcist. “It got me thinking about you.”

We fell asleep, his workout alarm rousing us. I joined him, as my mom had directed, noting that she had, in fact, not come home last night. We went to the gym, did our workouts, and then headed to the lot. He dragged me through the large bare sound stage, over to set. The only lights were the security lights above various exits, creating shadows across the already creepy set. I glanced around. We were in Sebastian’s character’s bedroom. He paused near his bed, tilting his head toward it and smiling wickedly at me.

“Movie fact—this is a real bed.”

I bit back a snarky comment but couldn’t contain the eye roll and excited butterflies in my belly.

“We’re early, but that just means we can sneak in round two. They say it hurts less and less each—” Suddenly, he stopped midsentence, and his eyes widened.

“Beep beep, Ritchie,” he whispered.

The use of our code, alone in the dark, made me freeze. Goose bumps rose on my arms as he reached for my hand, squeezing it tight. Something was wrong—very wrong. I turned slowly, fear sliding up my spine as I tried to keep my steps quiet. When I was fully facing the rest of the room, my blood ran cold. I snapped my mouth shut as I saw a shadow running away, pushing open the emergency door and fleeing.

“Evie, don’t look!” Sebastian shouted and tried to turn me away, but it was too late. I saw the body swaying from the scaffolding right where the man had just been. My entire mind went blank as I stared at the familiar dress and high heels.

And then, I screamed.

The post Read An Excerpt From ‘Good For Her’ by Tylor Paige appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

Lane O’Neill is a big man on campus at Sycamore Heights University. After launching the Campus Drivers rideshare app with his three best friends—Adam, Donovan, and Lewis—life is good. Lane is making plenty of money and attracting the attention of every girl on campus, while driving students around in his beloved 1969 Camaro SS. He even has a side hustle writing scripts with another friend, Carter, in his downtime.

Lois Hogan’s freshman year isn’t off to such a great start, though. After following her high school boyfriend, Kirk, to Sycamore Heights, Lois is shocked when he dumps her just days before classes start. It’s definitely not the way she planned to kick off her college career. Lois and Kirk have been together since age fourteen and she’s moulded her life around his in so many ways—perhaps too many. They even moved in together in an off-campus apartment, but now that Kirk says he “needs space” to have the full college experience, where is Lois supposed to live? And what is she supposed to do with her life after supporting his basketball dreams for so long?

As you might guess, it doesn’t take long for Lane and Lois’s very different paths to intersect. When Lane finds Lois crying in the hallway of his apartment building, he takes pity on her situation. For reasons he doesn’t fully understand, Lane offers up his couch as a temporary solution to Lois’s housing problem. However, when they learn the campus dorms are full for the foreseeable future, this temporary stay turns into much more than either of them bargained for.

Fast Lane has been tagged for fans of Hannah Grace and Elle Kennedy, and these comparisons are spot on. Much like Grace’s Maple Hills series and Kennedy’s Off-Campus series, Quill builds a college community full of characters the reader wants to know—then gives each of these characters their own book to shine. (Keep your eyes peeled throughout 2026 for books two and three, featuring Donovan and Lewis!)

Lane and Lois kick off the Campus Drivers series with a bang, hooking readers quickly. Quill weaves a compelling story of strangers who begin as quasi-enemies—the bickering and bantering is top notch!—but then slowly become friends and, of course, ultimately fall for each other. The tropes are well-executed and numerous. Forced proximity? Check. Lack of communication? Check. Bad boy falling for the good girl? Check. Fast Lane really has all the hallmarks of  a great romance novel.

Beyond the tropes, though, Quill also delivers with depth in her characters. Lane must face the ghosts of his past in order to have a chance at finding happiness in his future. Similarly, Lois has a great character arc from the beginning of the book to the end. She is forced by her circumstances to take space and learn more about herself, building confidence in who she wants to be and what she wants her life to look like going forward.

For those who like to know up front what level of spice they’ll find in their romance reads, know this: Fast Lane is an open-door romance, but it’s used in moderation. The majority of the book is full of tension and build-up, with a few well-placed spicy scenes—a good balance, no matter which way your preferences lie.

Fans of new adult romance will inhale Fast Lane and immediately be begging for the next book in the series. (It’s me, I’m a fans of new adult romance.) So sit back, buckle up, and get ready to speed through this new series … It’s a really fun ride!

Fast Lane is available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Bookshop.org, and other good book retailers, like your local bookstore, as of April 28th 2026.

Will you be picking up Fast Lane? Tell us in the comments below!

Synopsis

He’s the campus bad boy. She’s his neighbor’s ex. Who thought becoming roommates was a good idea?

Lane O’Neill is living the dream his senior year of college, running Campus Drivers, the ride-share app that he launched with his best friends. The concept is simple: play taxi driver for students behind the wheel of vintage cars. The girls love it, and the four drivers are deeply committed to never disappointing their clientele.

Lane has just one rule: no attachments. Ever. After everything he’s lost, keeping his emotions locked up is the only way he knows how to move forward—seeking solace in late-night drives and the rare quiet of his apartment off-campus.

So how the hell did he end up with his neighbor’s ex, Lois Hogan, crashing at his place? She’s everything he doesn’t want—clingy, directionless, and annoyingly optimistic. The type who follows her basketball-star boyfriend to college and picks a sports therapy major just to stay close to him—then acts surprised when it all blows up in her face. Lane can’t resist calling her out on it, yet despite the constant bickering, he keeps letting her stay.

Lois thought she had her life figured out, but after a messy breakup, she’s going through a full-blown identity crisis. To top it all off, she now has to deal with an infuriatingly hot, emotionally distant roommate who seems to have a knack for driving her crazy. But Lois is done playing the good girl. If Lane wants to push her around, she’s more than prepared to push right back.

The post Review: Fast Lane by C.S. Quill appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

Happy Ending is a “friends to lovers” and opposites attract slowburn romance featuring themes and topics like family, divorce, mental health and therapy, self worth, parental neglect, custody and co-parenting, friendship, love and heartbreak, loneliness, secrets and lies, and revenge. This is is perfect for fans of romance books like Happy Place by Emily Henry, Just for the Summer by Abby Jimenez, Give Me Butterflies by Jillian Meadows, First-Time Caller by B.K. Borison, and The Match by Sarah Adams.

Firstly, the plot of the story with strangers bonding as a result of their exes getting together felt really unique and memorable. I loved how the main character, Thea, is a book lover who works at a bookstore; she even runs her own book club and tends to narrate her life as if she is the main character in her own story. I always find that I connect well with bookish characters like Thea and think that fellow readers will love Thea as well. There were also some amazing bookish quotes that fellow bookworms will enjoy; I highlighted quite a few that will definitely make their way into my reading journal in the near future.

On the downside, Happy Ending was a “friends to lovers” story, which isn’t my favourite trope. I was also disappointed that the book seemed slower to start, with Thea and Alex not even arriving at their beach vacation until the halfway point in the book. Lastly,  all of the flashback chapters were too lengthy and frequent for my liking; I always feel like flashbacks interrupt my reading experience and the flow of the story.

Even though Happy Ending wasn’t my favourite from Chloe Liese, I still really enjoyed this swoony “friends to lovers” story and I think that other romance readers will too. 

Happy Ending is available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Bookshop.org, and other good book retailers, like your local bookstore.

Will you be picking up Happy Ending? Tell us in the comments below!

Synopsis

From USA TODAY bestselling author Chloe Liese, a clever and heartwarming rom-com that is perfect for fans of Christina Lauren and Annabel Monaghan about two best friends who must fake a relationship for their exes.

Thea and Alex have three things in common—they love food, they hate where they live, and they’re both divorced. Otherwise, they couldn’t be more different.

Thea’s never cooked a day in her life. Alex is a world-class chef. Alex resents feeling stuck in his hometown. Thea resents the town for not feeling more like home. Thea and her ex are in a contentious custody battle for their dog. Alex and his ex amicably coparent their daughter. Beyond a few friends in common, a couple small-world connections (welcome to life in a mid-size city), their lives look nothing alike. Fast forward two years, and they’re truly the best of friends. No one would ever know their friendship began as a lie…

Two years ago, their exes got together immediately following their divorces, and somehow, Thea and Alex found themselves spinning a spite-fueled story about being old friends and first loves. Two years later, what began as a ruse has grown into real friendship—just friendship, despite what friends and family seem to think. But when their exes invite them on a two-week, “two family” beach vacation—daughter and dog included—Alex and Thea start to wonder if this story they’ve spun might have gotten away from them, and if it’s led them to the last place they ever thought it could: a happy ending.

The post Review: Happy Ending by Chloe Liese appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Love Overboard by Kandi Steiner, which releases on April 21st 2026.

Ember Reed is finally living her dream: chief stew on a Mediterranean superyacht, sun-kissed days at sea, and the star of Close Quarters, the hottest new reality TV show. But just as she finds her stride, the producers throw her a curveball—by hiring the one man who nearly sank her.

Finn Pearson was the one that got away. The boy who kissed her like they had forever, then left without a word. But now he’s the chef in her new crew, and the cameras are watching their every move, innocent, or not.

Even on a superyacht, there’s nowhere to hide from the past. Every stolen glance, every whispered argument, every lingering memory threatens to ignite what never fully burned out. And as the tension spills into their day jobs, even the dinner service is spiralling into disaster.

They’ve crashed before… but could eight weeks at sea be their second chance to get it right? Or will it be the storm that finally sinks them for good?

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

Hello, reader, and welcome to the drama-filled and scandalous world of Love Overboard! 

I have always been intrigued by yacht life — specifically, by those who work below deck. As a long time fan of the reality TV show with the same title, I’ve often found myself wondering what kind of love stories unraveled when the cameras weren’t rolling. 

When I went on a second date with my now-husband, he casually told me he used to work on yachts in south florida. I then proceeded to beg him for details for two hours, and I told him that whether we worked out or not — I would be taking everything he told me and writing a book one day. Well, that day has come, and I couldn’t be more thrilled to present my fictional world of tension, chemistry, and drama. 

Love Overboard is everything I love about writing and reading romance. It’s angsty and messy, but also hilarious and action-packed. The pre-chapter confessionals build the tension while each member of the crew keeps you falling in love. Ember and Finn are a slow burn, second-chance, forbidden masterpiece that brought me immense joy. I hope you’ll love their story, too. 

Here is the prologue and first chapter to entice you…

xoxo,

Kandi

EXCERPT

LOVE OVERBOARD Copyright © Kandi Steiner 2026 Published by Arndell, an imprint of Keeperton in 2026 1527 New Hampshire Ave. NW Washington, D.C. 20036

Prologue

He loved lying with me almost as much as he loved lying to me.

It was a harsh truth, one that pierced like a knife between the ribs as I walked the empty shoreline of Kontokali Beach, a half-empty bottle of white wine in hand and mascara- stained tears drying on my cheeks.

Less than twenty-four hours ago, I couldn’t imagine a life without him.

Now, I had no choice.

I collapsed onto the beach, flopping down in a heap without a care in the world that the water was now soaking my lower half with each wave that washed upon the shoreline. My ribs tightened around my already struggling lungs as I stared at my feet in the sand. I dug my toes in deep after each wave only to have the water wash away any attempt at hiding them.

All the promises we made in the hours where night kisses morning were broken now, the shattered pieces blowing away with every rush of the salty breeze.

“I want you,” he’d whispered against my neck that first time we touched, both of us shaking, panting, yearning.

“I need you,” he’d groaned into my mouth the night he told me about his dreams, the night he let me see what drove him and realized I wasn’t laughing.

“I love you,” he’d confessed, unwillingly, his forehead against mine on this very beach, brows furrowed like the words pained him as much as they freed him.

Now, all those words were being washed away like the grains of sand around my toes, replaced by the truth that always existed beneath them.

We’re nothing. We never were. We never could be. Four months.

That’s how long it took for me to fall in love with him. Four minutes.

That’s how long it took for him to wreck my whole world.

* * *

Chapter 1

TWO YEARS LATER

POST-PRODUCTION CONFESSIONAL

CLOSE QUARTERS

SEASON 4

EMBER REED: CHIEF STEW

PRODUCER: Alright, Ember. Ready to get started?

EMBER: As ready as I’ll be.

PRODUCER: You can relax. We promise — nothing to be nervous about. Ember laughs softly.

EMBER: If you say so.

PRODUCER: We have the talking heads footage we captured on the boat, but now that you don’t have guests to tend to, we hope to dig a little deeper. We’re just going to go through and remind you of some of the things that happened this season, get your reaction and thoughts. These interviews will help tell the audience what you were feeling in that moment. You can start over as many times as you need to, and we just ask that you answer the question in a complete statement. For example, “I was upset when the guests didn’t tip us well, considering the hell they put us through.” Make sense?

Ember gives a thumbs up.

PRODUCER: Great. To start, we’ll just have you tell us who you are, your experience in yachting, and what you wanted when you agreed to this season — any goals you had. And just look at us when you answer, not the camera.

EMBER: I’m Ember Reed. I—

PRODUCER: Big smile! Remember, this is going to be the viewers’ first impression of you.

Ember pauses, drinks water, resettles in with a beaming smile.

EMBER: I’m Ember Reed. I’m twenty-six years old and I’m from Fort Lauderdale, Florida. I’ve been a yacht stewardess for four years now and this is my first time as chief stew.

PRODUCER: Why don’t you elaborate on that, tell us how excited you are.

Ember’s smile wanes. She drinks water, exhales, smiles again.

EMBER: Being chief stew has been my dream for years. This is the opportunity I have been waiting for; so, when Captain Gary called me up and offered me the gig, I was over the moon. I’m so excited to finally show I have what it takes to run an interior team.

PRODUCER:  And what’s the main role of chief stew? Why are you so excited to have this opportunity?

EMBER: Working as a second and third stew for years now, I know everything it takes to make the interior team sparkle. It’s not just serving the guests; though, that is the number one priority. It’s laundry and cabins; it’s table décor and pulling off perfectly themed parties; it’s booking local dancers for entertainment. There’s so much that goes into every second a guest is on board. The goal is to make them feel like it’s a six-star experience without them even noticing how hard we have to work to make that happen. As for why I want this opportunity…

Ember shrugs.

EMBER: This is my chance to prove myself and open doors to the career I’ve always wanted.

PRODUCER: Prove yourself to who… your father, perhaps?

Ember pauses, nods.

EMBER: Sure, that’s always been a goal of mine. But it’s about proving to myself that I can do this, too. When you’re chief stew, you’re the boss. I want to manage a team. I want to create the best guest experiences this show has ever seen. And, in the end, I want to use this experience to get me where I want to be — a purser on a private yacht.

PRODUCER: Wonderful, Ember. Okay… let’s jump into the first episode.

EMBER: Let’s do it.

PRODUCER: What were you feeling as you walked up to Sinking Sun for the first time?

EMBER: When I see Sinking Sun for the first time, all I can think is how excited I am. There’s something so exhilarating about the start of a new season — all fresh with possibilities. The sun is shining, the breeze is cool and pleasant, and I have eight weeks of fun to look forward to. I mean… we’re in freaking Italy. It’s gorgeous here. I know it’ll be hard work, sure — but yachting is a blast. It’s why I chose it as my career. Well, that and the money, of course.

PRODUCER: How did it feel to be reconnected with Captain Gary?

EMBER: Walking onto the boat and finding Captain Gary in the bridge makes my heart soar. He’s by far my favorite captain I’ve worked with. He’s just so goofy and fun while also being stern enough to run a tight ship. I’m ecstatic to show him my chops as chief stew. This is my opportunity to solidify my new role, and I’m ready to take it.

PRODUCER: And how did you feel when Finn showed up?

Ember swallows, drinks water, smiles weakly.

EMBER: I don’t suppose there’s a next question option.

PRODUCER: Take your time.

EMBER: I never thought I’d see Finn Pearson again.

Long pause. Ember shifts in her chair, stares at shoes, lifts gaze back to producer.

EMBER: And I think we all know how I felt about it, don’t you?

* * *

It was the worst-timed wedgie of my life.

Not only was it as hot as Satan’s armpit, making sweat slide down my spine and into that lovely place where my underwear had decided to get real cozy with my backside, but I was also surrounded by cameras.

Therefore, there was no picking of this wedgie. I had no choice but to plaster on a smile and endure it.

One camera captured my profile at a distance, the man holding the behemoth of equipment following my every step. Another was down the dock at the foot of the gangway that led to the yacht I’d call home for the next eight weeks. Even though that lens was twenty yards away at the moment, I knew it was zoomed in, knew it was likely capturing every bead of sweat collecting at my hairline.

This was Close Quarters, after all — a reality TV show about the people just crazy enough to work the long, manic hours required to run charter yachts.

I’d heard of the show before they asked me to be on it, but I’d never watched a single episode — partly because I didn’t really have time to watch television, and partly because I had a feeling it would piss me off at the way it misrepresented my career. But before I would agree to their offer, I knew I needed to watch at least one season of the show.

And that was all it took for me to know I was right.

The yachting seasons they showed on Close Quarters were shorter than what a crew would usually work, and each member was hand-picked by producers with the intention of stirring the pot once everyone was on board. It was common for the stars of the show to have worked together in the past, to have some previous drama from other seasons, or to be the complete opposite of one another in a way that would drive them mad. There were stewardesses with zero experience, green deck hands who did more damage than assisting when docking, and chefs with tempers and a short fuse.

These people typically had three things in common: they were young, hot, and willing to play right into the hands of whatever producer was pulling their puppet strings.                                                     

It was all drama, from the guests who came on board to the crew nights out — which, I knew now that I’d signed a contract, were a requirement. You had to go out if you agreed to be on this show, whether you wanted to or not. The only exception was if you were ill.                                            

So, yeah — I knew that lens was zoomed in on me.                                               

And I swore I felt the breeze whispering to me that I’d made a mistake.                             

I smiled wide despite that feeling, shaking it off and squinting even through the dark frames of my sunglasses as I took in the impossibly blue water of the Gulf of Naples. There was nothing like this feeling, the possibility and excitement of a new season in a beautiful part of the world most were never lucky enough to see in real life. Even with the unfamiliarity of the show aspect, I was still thrilled.

Nine charters of hard work lay ahead of me — but those weeks would also be the kind of chaotic fun that only comes with living the life of a yachtie.

We worked around the clock, catering to charter guests who paid six figures for just a few days on our boat. From the moment they stepped on board, we tended to their every need, giving them a luxury vacation experience while also keeping the boat pristine and functional.

The days were long, the nights never-ending, and yet we still found the energy to party whenever we had a day off.

I was born for it.

My father would hate to hear me say that. He was never afraid to let me know when he hated a choice I’d made, either. I knew all those years he pushed me to perfection, he imagined me becoming a doctor or engineer or lawyer or hedge fund manager.

The last thing he expected was for me to long to travel the world, to work in hospitality, to wait on other people the way we always had people waiting on our family when we vacationed.

He didn’t understand this lifestyle I’d chosen. I knew he wasn’t proud.

But this felt like my chance to show him why he should be.

I wondered if my mother had talked to him at all, if she’d tried to make him see the value in my career choice. I’d wager not, if I were a betting woman. My mom was kind and loving, the kind of nurturer any kid would be lucky to grow up with.

But she was also passive and agreeable to any and everything my father said.

At least, at the end of the day, I knew I could count on her to be waiting with a hug and some words of encouragement instead of a lecture.

I walked along a line of beautiful boats until I was looking up at the Sinking Sun — fifty-five meters of floating luxury.

And the first superyacht I’d be running as chief stew.

Excitement fluttered through me like a thousand freshly hatched butterflies, and I did my best to do as the producers had told me and ignore the cameras — and my wedgie — as I kicked off my sandals and carefully carried my suitcase across the passerelle.

It felt like coming home each time my bare feet hit the teak wood of a superyacht. And yet, as familiar as it was, this season was entirely different.

It was much shorter, for one — just a mere two months as opposed to the typical three-to-four months I’d worked on other yachts. I was also back in the Med after spending the last two years in the Bahamas, which was much more laid-back. Plus, the clients coming aboard were more high profile than I was used to, the kind of people I knew would put us through hell just for fun.

The biggest difference, obviously, was that every second of it was being filmed.

It was hard to forget that fact with the cameras surrounding me as I made my way past the main salon and down the stairs until I hit the crew quarters. The producers told me I’d be the first on board, the first to be introduced on the show after our captain, but it still felt strange. I was so used to arriving for the season with the chief stew already there and waiting for me, room assignment and plan of attack in hand.

This time, it would be me assigning the rooms and making the plans.

A smile bloomed on my lips at the thought as I took a quick peek around the crew quarters. As usual, they were cramped but functional — a space designed for necessity, not comfort. The small, galley-style kitchen was tucked into one corner, its stainless-steel counters gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lighting. A compact fridge hummed quietly beside a microwave that had likely reheated more instant noodles and late-night leftovers than actual meals.

A couple of well-worn tables filled the center of the room, surrounded by cushioned benches that had been patched up with duct tape. This was where the crew would shove our faces with whatever scraps the chef left for us, usually eaten in passing — quick bites grabbed between shifts, conversations cut short by radio calls crackling in our earpieces.

But these tables weren’t just for rushed meals. They were the heart of our off-hours, the place where we gathered after long days, kicking back with stolen bottles of beer, trading war stories, and dissolving into fits of laughter that we tried to keep quiet enough not to wake the captain.

The crew mess was typically, like its namesake, messy — but it was ours.

I squeezed past a cameraman to assess the cabins next, noting that there were also cameras fixed in every corner of every room. They weren’t kidding around when they said everything would be filmed.

The cabins were actually quite nice for a yacht this size, with built-in storage and just enough space to move without feeling completely claustrophobic. But the beds were still small, the mattresses thin enough to remind you this wasn’t exactly luxury living, and the top bunk far too close to the ceiling. I knew from experience how easy it was to forget that fact and bang your head in the middle of the night or roll over too fast and nearly fling yourself off the side.

I dropped my luggage in the cabin I decided would be mine — claiming the bottom bunk, of course — before I bounded up the stairs and made my way to the bridge. It usually took me a few days to get the layout of a new boat, but the producers had provided all of us with a floor plan of Sinking Sun, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t study it like it was the key to the biggest test of my life.

From the hot tub on the sundeck to the crew mess in the bowels of the boat, I knew Sinking Sun like I’d already spent a full season aboard. The sundeck boasted loungers, a bar, and the all-important Jacuzzi for late-night drunk confessions and mid- day sunbathing. Below that, the bridge deck held the sky lounge and alfresco dining area — perfect for sunset cocktails. The main deck was all luxury, from the formal salon and dining room to the primary guest cabins, and of course, the galley. Beneath that, on the lower deck, were more guest cabins, storage, the laundry room, and crew quarters — where privacy was a luxury, and bunks were barely wide enough to turn over in. And all the way at the bottom, accessible only through a near-secret set of stairs, was the tender garage that doubled as a beach club, complete with a fold-down swim platform and lockers stocked with snorkels, floaties, and the dreaded gargantuan inflatable slide.

I had every inch mapped in my head before I stepped foot on board.

If this was my one and only shot to prove I was meant for this role, for this career? I was going to grab every opportunity to go above and beyond my duties.

“Trouble aboard,” I called out with a rap of my knuckles on the open bridge door, smiling at the familiar bald head of our captain, Gary Parks. He whipped around, beaming at me with that toothy grin of his that was now framed by a neatly trimmed white beard. The man had tan, weathered skin from his earlobes to his toes, proof of his many years in the sun.

“Uh-oh, sound the alarm,” he teased in his thick Australian accent, and then his arms were open for a hug that felt like the one a father would give his daughter.

Not that I’d know. My dad didn’t do hugs — or feelings of any kind, for that matter. He was a man of few words, divvying out praise only when I did something to deserve it.

Which wasn’t often.

“It’s good to see you, Cap,” I said when he released me. “Great to see you, Ember.” I always smiled at how my name sounded when he said it, the R disappearing altogether. Em-bah. “Ready for your first season as chief stew?”

“Come on, now. You know I’ve been ready for years.”

He chuckled. “I do, indeed. This has been a long time coming. I’m keen to see you smash it.” He glanced at his watch. “The rest of the crew should be trickling in soon. Why don’t you go sort the crew mess and get started on provisions? We’ll have a team chat once everyone’s aboard.”

I saluted him with a smirk. “On it, Cap.”

“And Ember?”

“Mm?”

“Maybe don’t order all the lobster in Italy this time around, yeah?”

Biting back a smile at the memory of our first charter together years ago when I’d accidentally ordered twenty cases of lobster instead of two, I gave him a thumbs up. Those closest to me knew a thumbs up was my version of flipping the bird, and the gesture earned me a hearty laugh that followed me all the way back down the stairs to the crew quarters.

After that, I fell into a steady rhythm, a familiar one that left me smiling and singing to myself as I ticked through my mental checklist. Sure, this was my first time officially working as chief stew, but I’d had enough experience that it felt like the job had been mine for years. From stepping up when other chiefs got sick to flying five hours to finish a season after one got let go, I had been thrown into the fire plenty of times.

And like a phoenix, I thrived in those flames. I rose from the ashes even better than before.

It was a product of my upbringing, the way this career suited me so well. Busy was my natural state of being. By the time I was five, my parents had thrown me into everything from swim lessons and soccer to piano lessons and Spanish as a second language. The praise my father gave me for achieving only encouraged me to continue to pack my schedule all the way through college. If I wasn’t juggling at least a half-dozen clubs, extracurricular activities, sports and a job — I was bored.

I didn’t know how to sit still for longer than what was absolutely necessary to get a decent amount of sleep to keep going.

And when it came to hard work, not only was I not afraid of it — I craved it. Nothing lit me up like kicking my own ass for days and hearing an atta girl at the end of it all.

It was how my father raised me to be. Nothing in life comes easy, he always told me. You have to work hard for what you want. With him, there was never a consolation prize. You were either the best or you had better keep trying. That was just one of the reasons I wanted to excel in this first season as chief stew. This was the highest position of the interior on a boat this size. That meant to be chief, you had to be the best. This was my chance to prove to him that what I did mattered, that it was a hard job with reward and recognition you had to earn.

What I lacked in affection for my father, I made up for with respect.

The man had always provided for me. He may not have been there when I had my heart broken or when I was crying in bed after a hard day, but he was a constant reminder that life kept going, that the effort I put into it was the one thing I could control.

And control I did.

In that moment of my life, standing in the crew quarters of a new boat at the start of a new season, I felt a monumental shift. On camera, all a viewer would see was me on the phone with the provisioner barking out a list of everything we needed for the first charter. They’d see my golden hair pulled up into a loose ponytail, one hand scribbling in my notebook while the other checked items off on the laptop. They’d see a young, smiling, ambitious girl eager to start in a new role.

But on the inside, a storm brewed.

Lightning sizzled in every nerve, thunder crackling down my spine with every checkmark I made. I catalogued those sensations as excitement, as opportunity, as a new beginning. In my heart of hearts, I believed it was one of those moments that tattooed itself onto your very soul when it happened, the kind you always knew you’d reflect on as that time when everything changed.

Now, looking back, I know better.

I know it had nothing to do with the season or the cameras or my new role at all.

It was just my body reacting before my brain could at the proximity of him — like it always had.

“Well now… would you look who it is.”

The voice splintered my joy like a bolt of lightning to a frail, unsteady tree. I stopped mid-sentence where I was planning the schedules for my stews, pen hovering above the page in a hand that felt foreign, a hand that was already shaking.

I swallowed, looking up even when it took all my effort to do so, my heart kicking back to life from where it had halted in my chest.

And there he was. Finn Fucking Pearson. “Hello, Firefly.”

The post Read An Excerpt From ‘Love Overboard’ by Kandi Steiner appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from More Than Friends by Denise Hunter, which releases on April 14th 2026.

Jenna Greene just ended things with her boyfriend . . . which also ended her career. (That’s the risk a girl takes when her boyfriend doubles as her boss.) With no income and no job prospects in sight, Jenna is forced to return to her mother’s house on Chincoteague Island, Virginia, to figure out what’s next. And the timing couldn’t be more perfect. Jenna’s widowed mother has just returned from a cruise–with a brand-new boyfriend in tow. But there’s something off about the guy. His story doesn’t quite add up, and he keeps sneaking off to make suspicious phone calls and borrowing money from her too-trusting mother.

In search of some investigative help, Jenna turns to her childhood BFF, Tyson Parker, who lives and works in town. Still reeling from his wife’s infidelity, Tyson is doing his best to heal from the pain of divorce. He’s made a name for himself on the island as a volunteer firefighter and one of the much-admired saltwater cowboys who looks after Chincoteague’s wild ponies. Oh, and he turned out to be more than a tiny bit attractive–besides being almost-too-good-to-be-true sweet and caring.

Growing up, the uber-competitive Jenna was always accepted as one of the guys. But things have changed between her and Tyson, and he’s now looking at her through new eyes. Jenna suddenly feels like a leading lady on a movie set–only with way less composure.

But Jenna also has old wounds that make these new feelings seem fraught with peril. Is she willing to open her heart and see where love might lead? Or will she let her hesitant heart hold her back?

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Chasing the Fire is a spicy smalltown cowboy romance featuring the accidental pregnancy, morally grey, and forced proximity tropes. It is the final book in the Silver Pines Ranch series of interconnected standalones, and I would recommend reading the series in order for an optimal reading experience. This book explores themes and topics like secrets and lies, crime and punishment, pregnancy, loss of loved ones, adoption, family and found family, facing past trauma, fires, and appearance versus reality. It would be perfect for fans of Heartless by Elsie Silver, No More Secrets by Lucy Score, Breathe with Me by Becka Mack, Wild and Wrangled by Lyla Sage, and Lizzie Blake’s Best Mistake by Mazey Eddings.

Asher and Olivia’s spicy chemistry has been hinted at throughout the series, especially in the last book, Freeing the Wild, so I was very excited to finally read their story. Chasing the Fire was different from other cowboy romances that I’ve read, which was refreshing, plus Asher’s morally grey past and redemption arc were definitely unique and memorable. I loved how, even though he’s quieter and has trouble expressing his feelings, Asher shows his love and appreciation for Olivia through acts of service and handmade gifts—I thought that this was super swoony, and I think that other readers will too. Lastly, even though there was a lot of “will they, won’t they” vibes in Olivia and Asher’s story, there wasn’t a big third act break-up, which I really appreciated.

On the flip side, I didn’t really like that the pregnancy took up such a big portion of the book; accidental pregnancy isn’t my favourite trope, and whilst life-changing, I wasn’t expecting it to be the main focus of Olivia and Asher’s story. Also, Chasing the Fire included some more serious or darker topics than the other books in the series, such as crime families, loss of parents and adoption, and deadly fires, which I wasn’t expecting and could be triggering for some readers.

Overall, I loved this series and would highly recommend it to fans of spicy interconnected cowboy romances!

Chasing The Fire is available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Bookshop.org, and other good book retailers, like your local bookstore, as of April 14th 2026.

Will you be picking up Chasing The Fire? Tell us in the comments below!

Synopsis

Laurel Creek’s fire chief is good at putting out fires and keeping secrets, but the town sweetheart is determined to burn through his defenses in the blazing-hot finale to the Silver Pines Ranch series.

She’s as wild as fire. He’s ready to burn for her.

The owner of a popular boutique, Olivia Sutton is the darling of Laurel Creek. While Olivia may be as sweet as the baked treats she loves to create, beneath her good girl exterior, she harbors a secret desire: a man who can take control.

Enter Asher Reed, the town’s fire chief. Asher keeps everything in his life carefully controlled . . . except when it comes to Olivia, the copper-haired beauty who has captured his attention in ways he can’t ignore.

When a moment of weakness leads to two pink lines, Olivia and Asher agree to spend more time together, determined to be friends.

But when Olivia realizes the smoldering firefighter might be the key to the future she’s always dreamed of, will their spark ignite—or be extinguished by the weight of his secrets?

The post Review: Chasing the Fire by Paisley Hope appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Dog Person by Camille Pagán, which releases on April 7th 2026.

Harold may be an aging mutt—but Amelia May, the romance novelist who adopted him, taught him a thing or two about the human heart before she died. And she left Harold with a final task: to help her partner, Miguel, find love again.

Trouble is, the grief-ridden recluse rarely goes out, not even to the bookstore he and Amelia owned together. Now it’s in danger of going under, and when a renowned author doesn’t show up for his event, it pushes the store’s already precarious finances into the red. In a final attempt to save the bookstore, Miguel and Harold set out to find the no-show and insist he fulfill his obligation. But instead they’re greeted by Fiona, his sunny yet secretive sister.

Fiona is intent on protecting her brother’s privacy—and to Harold’s horror, she doesn’t like dogs. But her precocious eleven-year-old daughter, who’s also named Amelia, immediately befriends Harold . . . and he can’t help but wonder if his Amelia was right when she said there are no coincidences in life.

Harold is quickly running out of time to accomplish his mission, but if he can just convince his infuriatingly stubborn person to let Fiona in, he’s certain Miguel will find something far more important than a missing author: his own happy ending.

Uplifting, smartly observed, and hilariously insightful, Dog Person is as undeniably charming as its beloved narrator, Harold, and offers a much-needed reminder that while not all love is unconditional, it is still always worthwhile.

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This blew every last expectation I had out of the water. Elle McNicoll is a force to be reckoned with. Having achieved stellar success in the world of Middle Grade and Young Adult fiction, this marks her adult fiction debut and she smashes it out of the park yet again. This is the type of book that brings a smile to your face and that warm fuzzy feeling to your heart. It is dramatic and all-consuming with a love story for the ages.

With McNicoll’s previous work, you know the characterisation will always be strong. Her characters are so well-drawn and three-dimensional, jumping off the page and straight into your heart. Raina and Tom continue that trend as they are phenomenal protagonists. Raina is the bold, fierce woman who will be such a hero for so many readers. She is wholly herself and refuses to let the world try and shrink her. That level of empowerment is heart-warming and awe-inspiring. However, McNicoll works to show the vulnerability and the sheer effort it takes for Raina to push against the constant ableism and grinding down of herself by the world. She is loud and dramatic and deeply caring. Tom, on the other hand, is more reserved and cynical in a different way. His work reflects his perceptiveness and drive to pursue the truth at all costs. That has earned him a fearsome reputation and possibly altered his outlook on the world.

Also, the chemistry and tension were palpable, ebbing and flowing excellently. The dialogue crackled with that intangible quality that just works. As a reader, it felt exciting and believable as their dynamic shifts and evolves. It is just funny and sweet, but also sexy and full of passion. For me, it was a truly great love story because I rooted for these characters so strongly. It is a book that sets your heart aflame.

There are big thematic topics explored within the story in considered and nuanced ways. For example, McNicoll explores grief in such a layered and beautiful way in this book. It sinks under your skin and does truly change who you are in some respects, as you do suddenly have to navigate a world that has been reshaped. Both of these characters are so believable because they are authentic and given space to be messy and complicated and flawed. They make mistakes and face the consequences as they come. Also, I loved the grumpy versus sunshine trope and how it comes into play here, with nuance and layers and exploration into class, disability and gender. There is a keen consideration of how people’s existence is not defined solely by one aspect but one aspect can often be all that is seen of them.

A crucial component of this story is the neurodivergent representation. Raina is autistic and that massively feeds into the way people perceive her and the way she navigates the world. By inviting Tom into her story, she teaches him about the ableism integrated into every part of our society. He struggles with something she has had to deal with every day. That aspect of their dynamic adds texture to the book and is an impactful storyline that will land with readers. McNicoll’s work has always strived for unapologetic representation and actually unpicking that language is key. Neurodivergent people should not have to apologise for existing and asking the world to provide basic accommodations for those who navigate in a different way. Raina’s podcast is a shining light because it spotlights disabled people and celebrates them that is rarely seen in society. That continues off the page and is partially why this book is so groundbreaking. It is sad that this representation is still rare and accolades like groundbreaking get used, but it still brings joy and brilliance to have more writers in this space that offer it.

Unapologetic Love Story is the type of book that makes you believe in love again.

Unapologetic Love Story is available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Bookshop.org, Waterstones, and other good book retailers, as of April 2nd in the UK and  October 13th in the US.

Will you be picking up Unapologetic Love Story? Tell us in the comments below!

Synopsis

Raina Lewis is dazzling London with her smash-hit podcast The Disability Track, which celebrates neurodiverse women.

Tom Branimir, a cynical investigative journalist known as the ‘King of Cancel Culture’, is seeking his next story.

When a chance encounter brings them together, Tom is fascinated by Raina’s wit and intelligence and she reluctantly agrees to let him profile her for his next book. Though if he betrays her or her community, she warns, she’ll end his career – with a smile.

What starts as a professional arrangement soon blurs into a sizzling romance. But when Tom’s work comes under scrutiny, he faces a decision: should he save his sought-after career, or the unapologetic love he never thought he’d find?

Big-hearted, bold, and full of bite, Unapologetic Love Story is the dazzling debut adult romance novel from bestselling author, Elle McNicoll. For fans of Emily Henry’s Book Lovers and Talia Hibbert’s Get a Life, Chloe Brown.

The post Review: Unapologetic Love Story by Elle McNicoll appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Set Point by Meg Jones, which releases on April 7th 2026.

Nothing fades faster than a former prodigy—and Inés Costa is dangerously close to disappearing.

Once queen of the court, Inés is limping through qualifiers. And after losing her biggest sponsor to Chloe Murphy, the sport’s fiery new favorite, she and her bank account are running on fumes.

Chloe, known as much for her talent as her temper, is a top seed for the upcoming US Open. But thanks to broken rackets, code violations, and the inability to play well with others, her “favorite” status is slipping away.

However, when they are forced to share the same side of the court, and the world surprisingly doesn’t implode, Chloe makes an offer: she’ll fund Inés’s journey to the US Open, but only if Inés agrees to be her hitting partner and teach her to keep a level head.

It’s strictly business, but somewhere between practice drills and tour stops, the line between rival and something more begins to blur.

As the summer burns toward Flushing Meadows, their sizzling tension catches fire. With a trophy in sight and emotions running high, will their romance double fault at set point?

Chapter 1/Inés
PLAYLIST: My Kink Is Karma—Chappell Roan

Sinclair vs Murphy
Final—Centre Court, Wimbledon

A lifetime of running myself into the ground for this sport had led me here. Centre Court. Seated in the hushed crowd, watching two other players battle for the trophy I should have had a shot at.

My place was down there, racket in hand. I’d worked the majority of my twenty-five years towards this goal. Instead, every sharp pop of the ball dragged up another memory of how it all went wrong.

Henrik’s low voice broke through the silence. “Watch.” He leaned in towards me, his eyes glued to the action. “You’re missing the match.”

“Anda ya,” I huffed in Spanish, my eyes still lowered to my wrapped wrist. It wasn’t an injury, only some tenderness, so the wrap was precautionary. Still, the rough fabric made my stomach turn, a reminder of the problems that had plagued my career. “You forced me to come.”

“It’s the Wimbledon final, you couldn’t miss this,” he added as we sat burning under the English afternoon sun. “Besides, it’s not like you were busy.”

His words stung with truth. But it was all a reminder of how I should be the one down on court.

I’d practically grown up on the tennis court in Spain and finally, two years ago, I’d claimed my first and only Grand Slam trophy on the French clay court of Roland Garros. It had been a tough match. The iconic red surface lowered the game pace, forcing patience, endurance and precision. I’d gone the distance with a baseline rally, keeping players on their toes with chess-like tactics.

I’d been the champion. But my victory was short lived, and only a few weeks after, I’d started getting a sharp pain in my wrists, making even swinging a racket painful. I’d barely survived the opening rounds of tournaments, giving away precious points as I fell down in the rankings.

Eventually, I had no other choice but to take time away from the court and get surgery. In the end, I spent almost a year watching the women’s singles competition from the sidelines.

Even eighteen months after the surgery, I was still struggling to bounce back. And now, the woman the press had pitted against me, the strawberry blonde down on the court, bouncing a tennis ball against the grass, was playing in a final I could only dream of reaching.

Long legs, slim body, Chloe Murphy was only twenty-two and in her third Grand Slam final in less than a year. She’d stormed into my life, winning our matches in brutal fashion.

Two weeks ago, I’d been standing opposite her on the court. A decidedly horrible match-up in the first round of Wimbledon that had seen me crash out.

Throughout my comeback, Chloe Murphy had haunted me, becoming my major competitor since rejoining the tour. Back in January, she had done the same, beating me in the first round of the Australian Open. Chloe played like she had nothing to lose and no one to answer to. Delaying tactics. Intimidating net rushes. A smile after every shanked shot, like she’d planned it.

Finally, in May, she turned my favorite court in Paris against me in the second round. And she’d used every trick in the book, like pacing just long enough between serves to fray nerves.

She didn’t play with people. She played through them.

The press had wasted no time pitting us against each other. A rivalry between the former star, now fallen, and the next big thing.

Every time I thought I had bounced back, that my body was ready for the brutal two weeks a Slam brought, she had been there, a cruel reminder of my limits.

Chloe’s serve cut through the air like a blade, sharp, effortless, dangerous. Her opponent and my friend, Scottie Sinclair, lunged, her footwork quick and deliberate, no flicker of hesitation in the hometown favorite. But Chloe hit the ball with such power, it made it near impossible for Scottie to return.

The crowd erupted. Point Murphy.

Chloe lifted her chin, a faint, familiar smirk pulling at her lips that I had seen too many times, but the first was still seared into my memory. New York. An after party. I’d spotted her across the room.

I hadn’t taken Chloe seriously at first. She’d entered Wimbledon last year on a wild card. She’d done better in a couple of the smaller competitions in the run-up to the US Open, making it as far as the semis. Apparently, all it took to become a tennis star was a wild card and a miracle. Then, she started making finals. First in China, then Melbourne, then again in Paris in May, where she’d finally won.

Watching her raise that trophy, the one that had been mine, hurt more than all the physio it had taken to return to the court. And now all the history between us felt mocking.

A grunt from the court snapped me back, signaling the start of another point.

Scottie Sinclair stormed forward, every muscle sharp with intent, lobbing the ball over the net, and over her opponent. Chloe Murphy stood too close to the net as the ball flew over, giving her no chance to claim the point.

The score was announced, with Scottie in the lead. 40–30.

They were down to the third set; each player having claimed their win. Chloe first, unsurprising given the year she’d been having.

“She’s got to keep up that speed,” Henrik said amongst the soft noise of the crowd. “If she loses that, Scottie will have her on the ropes.”

I turned, my jaw slackened. “Since when do you root against Scottie?”

Henrik had been a lifeline after my surgery, even pairing up with me in the mixed doubles to help me get back on my feet. He’d grown closer to my friends, like Scottie, as well.

His head tilted towards me, brows raised. “I’m not rooting against her,” he said, softer now. “But I’m supporting Chloe.”

“Traitor.” I guess I shouldn’t blame him. They’d been seeing each other since autumn last year. Our once-close friendship had frayed since, and I couldn’t deny, I’d been the one pulling back. Seeing them together was harder than I’d expected.

I couldn’t decide what was worse, looking at him or Chloe, down on the court. His relationship with Chloe left me unsure of where I stood with him. As they played on, I stared down at the floor, aware of the swaying of the silent crowd, sitting in that tight anticipation a good final brought.

I should be down there. I should be playing.

“You know,” he said cautiously, “She isn’t so bad once you get to know her. I think you could be friends.”

I looked him dead on. “You’re joking, right?”

In the short time that her progress had held my attention, I’d watched her ruin careers like it was nothing. Girls with potential, rattled and ruined after a match with her.

He raised his shoulders in a shrug when Chloe’s American accent cut through the silence.

“This is a disgrace.” I looked up, playing catch-up to the unfolding drama. “It’s like you aren’t even watching her. If she was anyone else, you’d be making these calls.”

The umpire placed her hand over her microphone, her response cut off by the murmur of the audience. Scottie waited on the baseline, inspecting her manicure as she waited for the Hawk-Eye replay on the screen to settle the point.

A slow, building clap began to echo around the stadium as the footage played, revealing the point in Scottie’s favor.

“Are you done yet?” Scottie shouted. “Or are you ready to play?” And that really set Chloe off, shouting back at her opposition, anger flaring as the crowd grew restless, a chorus of boos rising in the air.

“This isn’t good,” Henrik said, his hands pressing into his thighs as he watched his girlfriend lose it on court.

“No,” I said, my tone just as serious. “It’s not.”

I’d heard stories of players unraveling on court, we’d all seen the videos. But watching it in real time was something different. The energy around the court turned tense, the argument continuing, the crowd booing.

“Code violation, verbal abuse, warning Chloe Murphy.” A loud cheer from the crowd broke out at the umpire’s announcement, the young American shaking her head as she walked back to the returning position.

“What is she doing?” Henrik muttered as the match progressed, Scottie taking the last point in the game, and the serve changing to Chloe. She took her time, bouncing the ball, tossing it to the side, waiting out the clock.

I struggled to suffocate a laugh. “She’s doing what she does best.” His gaze tore away from the match, his eyebrows furrowed. “She’s being a drama queen,” I said. “Chloe does this every time.”

Henrik looked back at the match as she finally served. Scottie started to move, but hesitated, reading the direction of the ball to perfection.

“Out.” The linesman thrust their hand in the air. The crowd released a breath, watching Chloe as she took her second serve, Scottie getting back into position.

Again, she took her time, running down the clock.

“She always does this when it isn’t going her way,” I said, watching as she threw the ball up in the air, and the point continued.

It had happened during the final at Melbourne, when she’d harassed the umpire, telling everyone that her opponent was milking an injury for more rest time. And again, in the quarter finals at Paris. And now. I wasn’t sure if she was just a hothead, or if this was the pressure getting to her, but as her competitor it was thrilling to watch. To know she had a weakness.

If I could get into shape, get off the bench and make it past the opening rounds, maybe I could use that short fuse against her.

The match continued, the pressure in the air crushing. This was Scottie Sinclair, a Brit at a home match, so the crowd were supportive of her from the start. But after Chloe’s outburst, they grew louder, more energized. It got worse, especially when Scottie took control of the third set, leading 5–2.

Chloe hurled her racket towards the sideline, earning another warning for unsportsmanlike conduct and racket abuse. All the drama added up to a completely avoidable point penalty.

She was vulnerable. A crack in the polished veneer. For months, she had seemed untouchable, but now, as her composure splintered under the weight of the match, I could see that Chloe Murphy wasn’t invincible. If this was what it took to beat her, I wasn’t above stepping into the shadows.

If she was allowed to play mind games, then so could I.

We were only a couple of months out from the US Open. Chloe’s home turf. And if she could beat me on what I considered mine, then I could do the same on hers. She might have youth and speed, but I had experience and spite.

If my body didn’t fail me, if I stayed in control of my injury, then I could do this. I refused to back down, to be at the mercy of Chloe Murphy’s backhand.

As I watched Scottie Sinclair take the final set, I jumped to my feet, cheering as loudly as I could for one of my closest friends. But my eyes were on Chloe the entire time, as she met Scottie at the net for the handshake, as she was presented with her runner-up award, as she clapped as Scottie received her winner’s trophy, a scowl pressed to her lips the entire time.

If the press had thought we had the most exciting rivalry in tennis, then they’d better not count me out.

Inés Costa was coming back for another round.

Excerpted from SET POINT by Meg Jones, published by Avon Books, April 7, 2026. © 2026 by Meg Jones. Reprinted courtesy of HarperCollinsPublishers.

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Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Meet Me in Italy by Brenda Novak, which releases on April 7th 2026.

In the wake of her debut novel’s breakout success—and a very painful public divorce—Charlotte Williams-Jackson has something to prove. With her second novel overdue, she’s scrambling to hold it together. But her focus is rocked when she discovers that her childhood wasn’t as it seemed—and she has a tween half-sister who’s been orphaned in Italy.

Alongside her best friend, Sloane, and Sloane’s charming brother, Julian, Charlotte ventures to the Amalfi Coast to meet her sister. She would never turn her back on family, especially since this girl doesn’t have anyone else, but between her looming deadline and her entire identity being flipped upside down, it’s a lot. Determined to rebuild her life, Charlotte must confront the relationships she’s held dear—and the loss of those she thought she had but didn’t—forcing her to question everything she understood about herself and the bonds that shape a family.

Charlotte had packed a suitcase and moved back in with her parents, who lived in Newport Beach, while Cliff was gone. She wasn’t going to stay where she wasn’t wanted; it’d been his money that’d bought the house in the first place.

But even after living an entire week in her old bedroom, whenever she opened her eyes and took in her surroundings, she felt strange, as if she’d stepped into a time capsule. Her parents hadn’t changed a thing since she’d graduated from high school and left home. Her yearbooks were stacked in the closet, the cluttered bulletin board above her desk held, among other things, a picture of her and Doug Green at senior prom, along with the dried-out corsage he’d given her, various notes from the friends she’d been closest to at the time, her SAT results, her acceptance to Stanford and her old book lists, which were extensive because she knew, in order to become a writer, she needed to be well-read. That she’d been able to achieve her dream of getting published by a major publisher and hitting The New York Times bestseller list so easily and early in her career certainly wasn’t typical. But she hadn’t marveled at the anomaly too much. For her, nothing had seemed off-limits. As far back as she could remember, the world had bowed at her feet. She’d always felt loved, valued, capable, happy.

Until now. Now the world had, without warning, become completely hostile. The press was having a field day with her divorce (“Clifford Jackson Kicks out Queen of the ‘Sports Romance’ ”; “NBA Star Leaves ‘Queen of Sports Romance’”; “ ‘Sports Romance’ Author Unable to Create Her Own Happily-Ever-After”; “Clifford Jackson Giving up on ‘Storybook’Romance”), so she wasn’t just brokenhearted; she felt like a laughingstock. It didn’t help that the friends she’d made since marrying Cliff had become unresponsive to her; apparently, they’d decided they’d rather remain friends with him. She didn’t even know if she’d have the emotional wherewithal to finish the second book on her contract, so her career might go the same way as her marriage. The manuscript was due in just three short months, and because she’d been so intimidated by the success of her first book, so scared she wouldn’t be able to top it, she’d started five different stories only to abandon them all.

Now the fear was worse than ever—overwhelming, paralyzing, suffocating. The fact that Cliff was responsible for so much of the word of mouth she’d received when Playing for Keeps was released made her feel like an imposter, as if she hadn’t deserved what she’d received in the first place, and her second book would reveal just how inept a writer she really was.

She pulled the blankets over her head to block out the light. Her mother had come in an hour or so earlier and put up the shades. Penny was making lunch—or dinner; Charlotte couldn’t keep track. She just knew that her mother wanted her to come down to eat.

But she had no desire for food. She’d been in bed since she came home and still couldn’t summon the strength to get up. Everything she’d built since she’d left this room eleven years ago had been leveled—or soon would be.

She heard someone at the door but didn’t pull the blankets down so she could see who it was. Her father, a hedge fund manager, didn’t usually get home until six, and it was somewhere in the middle of the afternoon, somewhere in the middle of the week, so she was fairly certain he was still gone. It had to be her mother, who’d been a tennis instructor at the local club before her health had started to deteriorate. The longer Charlotte stayed in bed, the more Penny began to hover. She said encouraging things, offered to take Charlotte shopping or to lunch. She’d even mentioned getting her a good therapist. Her family was wealthy, so they could afford that kind of help. But right now, even those baby steps seemed too daunting.

“You’re not coming?” her mother said.

“I’m not hungry,” she replied.

The bed dipped as Penny sat beside her and tugged the covers down. “That can’t be true,” she said as she smoothed the hair out of Charlotte’s face. “You’ve hardly eaten for days.”

“I’d rather sleep.”

Her mother’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s all you’ve been doing!”

“I must be catching up,” she muttered.

Penny’s cool, gentle hand cupped her face. “What about your book, honey?”

Just the mention of her book caused fear to burn like acid in Charlotte’s stomach. “What about it?”

“Isn’t it due soon? Don’t you need to write?”

“I’ve got time,” she lied.

Her mother studied her with concern. “I’m so worried about you.”

Charlotte curved her lips into as close an approximation of a smile as she could manage. “I’ll be okay.”

“I can’t believe Clifford would do this to you,” she responded.

“You . . . you haven’t heard from him, have you?”

The first few days after she’d moved back in with her parents, Charlotte had checked her phone religiously. She couldn’t help hoping Cliff would change his mind, feel some regret. She hadn’t done anything wrong; she’d been a loving, devoted wife. Surely, he’d realize he was tossing away someone who was important to him, someone he missed and needed in his life.

But no . . . She winced as she remembered how torturous it’d become as the days passed and she received no calls from him—no messages, either. The Lakers had managed to beat the Knicks, and he’d scored over thirty points. She’d been hoping he’d do well because that usually made him eager to celebrate with her. But he still didn’t call.

Then she’d made the mistake of googling his name to see what was going on in his life—or what the press was reporting about it, anyway—and came across a headline that’d nearly made her throw up: “Clifford Jackson Seen in Vegas with Model Marija Vidmar.” There’d been a picture to corroborate the brief sighting—of her husband holding hands with the tallest, most beautiful woman she’d ever seen—and she hadn’t picked up her phone since. For all she knew, the battery was as dead as her marriage.

“I haven’t heard from him,” she mumbled.

“Then you need to let him go.”

“I know that.” Instant annoyance had caused her to speak too sharply, but if it was that easy to get over Cliff, she would’ve done it already.

“Time heals all wounds,” her mother said, attempting to soothe her, but it was difficult to believe anything could help. Charlotte could barely open her eyes they were so red and swollen from the crying jags that would hit her out of nowhere.

Her mother stood, then bent over to gather the balls of tissue that’d avalanched onto the carpet from the nightstand. “You have to keep up your strength. Come on down and at least try to eat something.”

Charlotte allowed her heavy eyelids to close. “Not tonight.”

“But I have a surprise for you.” Penny was clearly disappointed. “Something guaranteed to cheer you up.”

She forced her eyes open again. Unless her mother could put her marriage back together, nothing would cheer her up. “Mac and cheese won’t do it this time, Mom,” she said. “But Iappreciate the effort.”

“It’s Julian,” Penny said.

Charlotte shoved herself into a sitting position. “Davis?”

Lines of confusion creased her mother’s forehead. “Do you know another Julian?”

She didn’t, but she hadn’t heard from her best friend’s twin brother in years. He’d hung out with them a lot in high school. But when they graduated, they all went off to different colleges. He’d gone to a school on the East Coast to play lacrosse, found a girlfriend and gotten busy. She’d only remained in contact with Sloane. The last she’d heard about Julian, which was a couple of years ago, he’d become a landscape photographer who traveled extensively for work but was now based out of Moab, Utah, where he’d opened his own gallery, and he’d become engaged to some woman who worked for one of the travel magazines that featured his photographs. She probably would’ve heard more about him, but Cliff hadn’t liked Sloane, and Sloane hadn’t liked Cliff, so even her relationship with Julian’s sister had been mostly nonexistent in recent years, especially once Sloane got married and moved to Seattle just after telling Charlotte about Julian’s engagement. “What does he want?” she asked her mother.

“Didn’t say. He just came to the door to see if you were home, and I invited him to join us for dinner.”

She groaned. “You didn’t . . .”

“Why wouldn’t I?” her mother replied. “You’ve always loved Julian. I’ve always loved Julian. I was happy to see him, especially because I thought . . . Well, I thought he might be able to help me pull you out of this . . . funk.”

Her sinuses were plugged, making her voice sound nasal. “I’m going through a divorce. It’s not a funk. Anyway, look at me.” She grabbed a tissue and held it up before blowing her nose, which she’d wiped so often in the past week she could’ve played Rudolph in a Christmas show. “I haven’t showered for three days. I don’t want him or anyone else to see me like this.”

“Then take a few minutes to clean up,” she said. “You’ll find us in the kitchen when you’re done.”

“I can’t face getting ready! Tell him I don’t feel well,” she said to her mother’s retreating form and flopped back down on the pillows.

Penny turned at the door. “Charlotte, please. Staying in bed isn’t doing you any good.”

It was better than allowing others to witness the depth of her devastation. That was probably what Julian had come to see; it was what everyone on the internet was speculating about. Millions of strangers were talking about her online, probably dying to catch a glimpse of her. If someone happened to take a snapshot and post it on the internet, she could only imagine the number of views it would get . . .

The world was no longer safe. “I’ll eat later,” she said.

“You’ve been putting me off for days.” Her mother gestured at the rumpled bed. “I can’t see you like this anymore. If you won’t come down, I’ll call him up.”

Panic gripped Charlotte, causing her to bolt back into a sitting position. “No!”

Her mother didn’t even hesitate. “Come on up, Julian!” she yelled in a fatalistic voice.

The sudden movement had made Charlotte’s head swim. She put a hand to her right temple. “Mom!” she said, her voice a harsh whisper.

Penny winced as she glanced back, but she was far more determined than Charlotte had expected. When Julian came, she merely turned to the side to make room for him to get past her in the doorway before she left.

“You look good,” he said sarcastically.

All too aware of her greasy hair, swollen eyes, red nose and blotchy face, Charlotte sniffed. “That’s the first thing you’re going to say to me?”

“Pretty hard to ignore the obvious.”

Unfortunately, he looked incredible. Of course that would be the case. These days, everything seemed to be engineered to make her feel bad. No longer the scrawny late bloomer he’d been in high school, with terrible acne and braces on his teeth, he had a clear, unblemished complexion, broad shoulders and well-defined biceps. And the white cotton of his T-shirt contrasted nicely with his dark tan and cornflower-blue eyes. Those long, golden eyelashes matched the lighter streaks in his hair and had always been attractive, but now they were positively dreamy.

She preferred the tall, lanky physique of her husband—soon-to-be-ex-husband—she told herself. She’d always liked basketball players. But she could see how some women would find Julian’s stockier frame appealing. He looked incredibly strong.

“You don’t feel even the least bit sorry for me?” she said.

“Looks like you’ve got that covered.” A crooked smile coupled with a wink softened his words, but she took exception to them all the same.

“My husband just . . . My husband dropped me without any warning and hasn’t looked back since, Jules,” she said, easily and automatically falling back on the nickname his closest friends and family had always used. “This was the man I was hoping to have a family with—the man I was hoping to grow old with.”

His muscular shoulders lifted in a shrug. “He’s also the man who doesn’t deserve you. Good riddance to Clifford Jackson—that’s what I say.”

“Because he’s a professional athlete?”

“Because he’s a selfish bastard.”

She stiffened in surprise. “How would you know?”

“It’s obvious from the way he plays ball.” He opened the doors to her closet and stepped inside.

“What are you doing?” It looked like he was rifling through her suitcase, which was lying open on the floor. She hadn’t bothered to unpack. Why would she? She’d been hoping Cliff would invite her back to the gorgeous Malibu mansion she used to call home.

“Finding something for you to wear,” he replied.

“I’m not coming down to dinner,” she reiterated.

“I know.” There was a plop as he tossed some of her clothes to the side. “We’re going out.”

“What?”

His voice drifted to her, once again, from inside the closet. “You heard me.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she argued.

He took a moment to poke his head out. “It might look weird if I’m carrying you over my shoulder, but I guess that’s up to you.”

She felt her jaw drop. “You’re saying you’ll haul me out of here if you have to?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re not going to let Clifford Jackson get the best of you—that’s why.”

She considered his response, found it somewhat empowering and, therefore, appealing. “How do you propose we stop him?”

“We’re going to be seen around LA, make sure we’re photographed together and leak those pictures to every online source that might be interested.”

That would be a long list. For the news outlets, it’d be almost like receiving shots of Hailey Bieber hanging out with another man if she ever split with Justin. “You want to make him think we’re seeing each other? That I’ve already moved on?”

“He can think whatever he wants as long as he knows you’re not sitting in your room—” he poked his head out again “—crying over him.”

“What about the evidence?” she grumbled. “You don’t think my swollen eyes and red face will give me away?”

“That’s what makeup and sunglasses are for.”

She nibbled on her bottom lip as the nasty online comments she’d read about herself floated through her mind. It wouldn’t help her broken heart, but maybe it would feel good to salvage a portion of her pride . . . “You really believe we can sell it?”

“Why not? Any woman would want to be seen with me. After all, I’m a hell of a good-looking guy.”

That made her laugh out loud in spite of everything. “You’re definitely not bad.”

Excerpted from Meet Me In Italy by Brenda Novak. © 2026 by Brenda Novak, used with permission from MIRA, an imprint of HarperCollins.

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