The only problem is, he isn't real. Mona's dream is about to come true. With the help of her best friend, Liza, she's transforming an old Victorian house in the lovely lakeside town of Deep Haven into the Footstep of Heaven Bookstore and Coffee Shop. If only she could swing a hammer.Luckily for Mona, Joe Michaels—a handsome, mysterious handyman—agrees to help in exchange for rent in the apartment above her garage. But when disaster threatens her dream, Mona turns to her handyman for more than just household solutions and finds that some fairy tales have surprise endings. . . .

    At least for now. When Nora landed an editorial assistant position at Parsons Press, it was her first step towards The Dream Job. Because, honestly, is there anything dreamier than making books for a living? But after five years of lunch orders, finicky authors, and per my last emails, Nora has come to one grand conclusion: Dream Jobs do not exist.With her life spiraling and the Parsons staff sinking, Nora gets hit with even worse news. Parsons is cutting her already unlivable salary. Unable to afford her rent and without even the novels she once loved as a comfort, Nora decides to moonlight for a rival publisher to make ends meet…and maybe poach some Parsons' authors along the way.But when Andrew Santos, a bestselling Parsons author no one can afford to lose is thrown into the mix, Nora has to decide where her loyalties lie. Her new Dream Job, ever-optimistic Andrew, or...herself and her future. Your next book club read touching on mental health, happiness, and the peaks and perils of being a young woman just trying to figure it all out. Nora Hughes is the perfect heroine for anyone looking to get past their own chapter twenty-something and build their storybook life.

    Texting throughout his recovery, they connect in ways neither anticipates. She agrees to help drive his classic muscle car home across-country at Thanksgiving. His hands-on method of teaching her to operate a manual transmission is the beginning of his challenges to her comfort zone. She responds by introducing him to the steamy world of South Dakota ice-fishing shacks, and they both learn to look beyond labels into each other’s hearts.

    But they did. Everyone they knew said they should break it off before they went too far. But they didn't. Even though everything about them was different...their pasts... their jobs... their worlds... and the color of their skin...

    She has no time for Blake Reynolds, the sexy billionaire who stands to inherit Cyclone Technology. But when he makes an off-hand comment about what it means to be poor, she loses her cool and tells him he couldn’t last a month living her life.To her shock, Blake offers her a trade: She’ll get his income, his house, his car. In exchange, he’ll work her hours and send money home to her family. No expectations; no future obligations.But before long, they’re trading not just lives, but secrets, kisses, and heated nights together. No expectations might break Tina’s heart...but Blake’s secrets could ruin her life.

    M&A mogul. Tortured billionaire. A hunk with glasses and dimples. Clark Kent as Superman. Dazzling silver eyes. My almost one-night-stand. I’m wound too tight. He’s just what I need to take the edge off. There’s just enough alcohol in my system to make this seem like a good idea. Then he bails. Before we even leave the bar. I don’t expect to see him again. But when I do… well, let’s just say the offer still stands. It’s just physical. No strings. No feelings. No falling in love. But Brendon’s a rule breaker and I’m a glutton for punishment. There’s no way this works. Believing there can be more is all kinds of wrong. Then Brendon slides his hands over my shoulder and presses his hard lips to mine. And all that wrong starts feeling right. I forget our rules. I forget I'm the lost, wounded woman who doesn’t deserve love. I kiss him back like I'll never get enough. I won't. But I can't risk losing my heart. Even if I’ve finally stumbled on the man who’ll take precious care of it.

    It was the first thing I noticed that day until he stood. His grey sweatpants hung off his hips and I didn’t want to look. I really didn’t. I’m a feminist. I don’t believe in objectifying men. I don’t catcall men. I don’t ogle the bodies of men. I don’t view men as objects of my affection rather than complex people with feelings, wants, and needs of their own. I don’t treat men the way society often treats women. I treat men the way I want to be treated as a woman—with respect! So, when Carlos ran into me while I was reviewing my interview questions in the park, it surprised me to see my photography classmate out of context. I was also surprised to see as much of him as I did.It wasn’t just that it caught my eye. It was the fact that it held my attention.It wasn’t just that it was large. It was the fact that it was visibly large.It wasn’t just that it was Carlos Richmond. It was the fact that I am Akila Bishara.And I am not seduced by anything other than intelligent conversation, witty rapport, and meaningful actions.I am not seduced by a dick print. I am not. Seriously, I’m not.