Hailey Shore

Not My Prince Charming is a Cinderella retelling including one nasty stepmom, two clueless step-sisters, a godfather with gold eye shadow, a best friend lost and found, hot action on a boat, and a LOT of groveling....

He's grumpy, he's growly, he's a super-hot professional hockey player. He's also—after a crazy night in Vegas—my husband.

I was the Runaway Bride of Calico Cove—which, sure, wasn't my finest moment, but now I desperately need someone to rescue me from my conniving family. My unlikely hero? Roy Barnes, the grumpiest fisherman in town who recently became the guardian of his orphaned baby niece. We are a match made...

He's the billionaire Beast of Calico Cove, and I'm his sacrificial lamb…I mean, his new employee. Malcolm Bettencourt is a recluse with a nasty scar across his face and a bad attitude. He has a bone to pick with my family over a loan my dad can't pay back, so to save our lobster business, I...

Hockey players and ice skaters do not mix. Tell that to the new bane of my existence, Olivia Tyler-Branch, figure skater turned NHL skating coach. She knows her stuff, but I can't let her past my defenses.

How did I become the hot hockey player's nanny? I'm glad you asked. It started with a catsuit and a debt I could never pay off. My dad stole money from lots of athletes, and I've spent years trying to make things right. There's only one last name on the list. Hockey legend Liam Locke—who hates...

I can't forgive him… but I can't resist him, either.

What do you do when the dates are fake but the feelings are real? Hope for a Christmas Miracle....

I waited until my 18th birthday to tell my best friend, Nick, that I loved him. That I wanted him to be my first. Even though he was twelve years older than me, I knew he was my person. He'd always been my person. But when I showed up at his apartment, he was with… Sheila. Ugh. I thought we...

Celebrity chef Antony Renard has been banished to Calico Cove while his bad-boy reputation gets a makeover. Just because he's famous—and hotter than a french fry—doesn't mean he gets whatever he lays those ice-blue eyes on…namely, me.

There are two things you need to know about me. First, I am not cool. No, no, don't let my tuxedo shirt and anklet socks fool you. I'm twenty-six-year-old-virgin not cool. I'm carry-my cat-around-in-a-special-backpack not cool. Second, I'm cursed. Every Piedmont woman is.