I've loved him as long as I can remember. The gangly boy with big brown eyes and unruly hair who grew up into an intoxicating man. He wears scruff like he invented it and ambles with a swagger that makes panties drop. Killian Shepard. Shep. We grew up together. We played Ghost in the Graveyard. Had our own rock band. It didn't matter that he was five years older than me. It didn't matter that he looked at me as a kid sister even as I grew into woman.

When my husband died, he left my broken heart behind. He left another heart behind, too - his.
I know it's wrong. I shouldn't be contacting the recipient of my husband's heart. I don't even expect him to reply.... But there's a desperate, twisted part of me that hopes he will. No names. No personal details. Just a conversation. The only thing I have left of my husband is inside him.

There once was a girl with fireflies in her eyes and music in her soul. Remember her... she's important. She's the reason I panic-bought the little brick house on Maple Street, the one I lived next door to for eight magical years. Now that I'm back digging up floorboards and lost journals, I can't stop thinking about the two people who grew up here. You see, that girl was my best friend, and this house was once hers. She also had a big brother who was my everything before circumstances turned us into nothing more than memories.

The average song is three and a half minutes long; those three and a half minutes could lead to a slow blink, a glimpse of the past, or catapult the soul into heart-shattering nostalgia. At the height of my career, I had the life I wanted, the life I’d always envisioned. I’d found my tempo, my rhythm. Then I received a phone call that left me off key. You see, my favorite songs had a way of playing simultaneously. I was in love with one man’s beats and another’s lyrics. But when it came to the soundtrack of a life, how could anyone choose a favorite song?

Macon Davis. My best friend’s brother. My tormentor. My least favorite person. Pothead. Delinquent. A careless, directionless loser. That’s what I used to believe, but I didn’t really know him. And when I finally saw him, it was the best and worst thing to ever happen to me. We burned hot and fast. Passion. Anger. Love. Pain. We were reckless. Naive. We were doomed from the start. When I finally saw Macon Davis for who he was, we both went down in the flames.

The first letter arrived the day my husband was buried. It was postmarked from the state penitentiary, and contained a single sentence: I’ll wait forever if I have to. It was signed by Dante, a man I didn’t know. Out of simple curiosity, I wrote back to ask him what exactly he was waiting for. His reply? You.

I should have known I was in trouble when I backed my old, beat-up truck into the shiny Range Rover. The driver looked like a gorgeous fallen angel–one who’d been booted right out of paradise for being a giant prick. Good thing I’ll never have to see him again.

Faith Benson isn’t your emergency contact, she’s the party-girl friend you call for a good time. She's the gal-pal who loves mimosas at brunch and martinis at Happy Hour. But her carefree lifestyle threatens her job at a top Seattle ad agency; there’s no one better at landing big accounts (when she shows up). But now her boss demands she take a leave of absence to get her head on straight.

Damien Sinclair is a force of nature, the beauty of a sunset over the ocean while capable of devastating hurricane-strength winds. At one time, he’d held my heart in his hands. That was until the day I walked away. I didn’t leave him because I didn’t love him. It was that loving him was too much, an all-encompassing affair. In his presence, I failed to exist.

I never intended to fall in love. This girl had goals and guys were an unwelcome distraction. Until I met Garrick, my sophomore year of college, and he blasted through the walls I kept around my heart, tearing them down.

When I was a little girl, I dreamed a handsome knight would come and rescue me from my wretched mother. He'd ride up on his white steed and break the curse I've been fated to carry since the day I was born. Funny how things changed over time, how the fairytale twisted into something far more crooked—and darker—than I ever imagined. In reality, my knight is scarred and broken, living alone in a castle of bones that overlooks the sea. He isn’t searching for me. He never was.

I wasn’t supposed to be on that roof on Valentine’s Day. Neither was Kellan Marchetti, the school’s designated freak. We met on the verge of ending our lives. Somehow, the tattered strings of our tragedies tangled and tightened into an unlikely bond. We decided not to take the plunge and agreed to check on each other every Valentine’s Day until school ended. Same time. One roof. Two restless souls. We kept our promise for three years.

Shane Wilder: pro surfer, dream chaser, thief of my heart—and completely off-limits. It was infatuation at first sight. On our first date, he took me to watch the fireworks. It was a magical night of stolen kisses and whispered confessions under the stars. But it all came to a screeching halt when he asked the one question I’d been dreading: "How old are you, Remy?" Right guy, wrong time.

Author Olivia Rossi hasn’t been able to write a word since tragedy struck two years ago and ripped her world apart. Heartbroken and still haunted by the past, she accepts an offer to spend the summer at a friend’s apartment in Paris in search of healing and her lost muse. What she finds instead is James, an enigmatic stranger who ignites in her an unexpected and all-consuming passion. Agreeing to tell each other nothing more than their first names, Olivia and James embark on a torrid affair.

The world owes you nothing. It took losing the woman I loved, and facing the paralyzing task of moving on without her, for me to truly understand that. I’d resigned myself to a life of loneliness, until a survivor from the same plane crash that took my fiancée stormed into my life. Remi Grey was chaos and sunshine, fire and freedom. I began to believe that fate had other plans for me. But it seemed the only thing fated about our relationship was that I had been destined to lose her from the start. The world owes you nothing. But for Remi, I would risk it all. No matter the cost.

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

Five Years Earlier: Henry Dunne knows three things: that agreeing to host this raucous house party was a terrible idea, that he absolutely cannot show up to his nursing shift tomorrow with a hangover, and that the beautiful redhead in the corner will be sleeping in his bed tonight.

Ryder, Garrett, Kenzo, and Diesel - The Vipers. Their deals are as sordid as their business, and their reputation is enough to bring a grown man to his knees, forcing him to beg for mercy. They are not people you mess with, yet my dad did. The old man ran up a debt with them and then sold me to cover his losses. Yes, sold me. They own me now. I’m theirs in every sense of the word. But I’ve never been meek and compliant.

After watching my mother succumb to a mysterious illness, I promised myself two things. I'd find the cure for what ravaged her and leave the godforsaken city where she abandoned me. Four years later, I received an acceptance letter from Dracadia University, one of the oldest most prestigious schools in the country. Nestled on a secluded island off the coast of Maine, it's rumored to be haunted by the souls of the mental patients exiled there centuries before, those whose bones are said to make up the island's white sandy shores. And restless ghosts aren't even its most daunting peculiarity.

Obituary writer Nadine Barbault doesn’t mind being called “Lady Death”. It suits the ice queen persona she’s cultivated to survive the fast-paced Toronto Herald. So when Nadine learns that famous (and reclusive) author Dot Voline has died, she doesn’t hesitate to run the obituary…only to discover that Dot is very much alive. Nadine’s screw-up has brought Wesley Chen of the rival Spear no end of joy—she’s been a thorn in his extremely ambitious side for years. But the renewed interest in Dot also surfaced chatter about a mysterious past scandal.