Sweater Weather

The bad boy and the golden girl have traded places….I’m back in Harvest Hollow after ten years to prove a point and to even a few scores. I’ve opened a new bar, and anyone expecting the old sweet and shy Jolie McGraw to be running it is in for a shock. I’m not the only one who’s changed: when the sheriff comes to tell me I’m the prime suspect in the most ridiculous crime in town history, it’s none other than Lucas Cole, the former star of my teenage stress dreams, wearing the badge.

Owen Larrabee is not my soulmate. He wasn't when I confessed my love to him on his wedding day, and he isn't now. I should probably say that I wasn't the bride when that happened. I don't have the best timing. He's got a temper, he's moody, and he has a history of being misunderstood and making big mistakes. I, on the other hand, make pumpkin cupcakes, spend my Friday nights curled up with a beloved romance novel, and long to be kissed in the rain. Owen is my best friend's older, off-limits brother and the only boy I ever thought I loved.

My agent has this idea—an insanely bad idea—to reboot my Hollywood heartthrob status by having my long-lost love dump me… while I'm proposing to her on national TV. The theory? Women everywhere will swoon over poor Lincoln James, scrambling to repair his vulnerable, shattered heart. Trouble is, I don't have any kind of love—long, lost, or otherwise. To play my fake girlfriend, my agent enlists Hadley Morgan, my secret college crush. The one who dragged me to an audition that launched my career but left her in the dust.

My requirements for a man are simple. Must love books. Must NOT love hockey. Which is why I will never be interested in my neighbor, the aloof and mysterious Felix Jamison, no matter how many books I see him hauling into his apartment. Unless he loses his pro hockey skates, I’m out. But then he shows up at my symphony concert.

I live for happily ever afters. And I'm finally meeting my favorite romance author in person! Only, all this time, I thought author, Amelie De Pierre, was a woman. It turns out, Pierre Toussaint is the man behind the books that make me weak in the knees. He could be the consummate book boyfriend with his dreamy hazel eyes, strong jawline, and those black-rimmed glasses. Not to mention that accent. Oh, that French accent. When Pierre speaks, I feel like I’m curled in his arms on a riverbank being fed chocolate-dipped strawberries.