Seashells and Daiquiris

I bought a cursed seashell and now it won’t stop telling the hot bartender my deepest secrets.
My name is Freddie, and I write love stories for a living.
Not that you’d know it lately. I haven’t published in a year, my agent sends me smiley-face texts that feel like threats, and the only thing I’ve written recently is a grocery list that made me cry. So, of course, I ran away to a beach for inspiration.

The plan did not include a cursed seashell.
It definitely did not include the broody, silver-haired bartender who hasn’t felt a single emotion in six years—because his ex (a sea witch, as he so casually mentions) literally ripped his heart out and sealed it in a shell.

A shell that I bought. From a shop. For six dollars.
Now it won’t leave my pocket. I’ve tried everything. Setting it down? Back in my pocket. Throwing it in the ocean? Back in my pocket. Wearing a dress with no pockets? The beautiful, damned thing appeared in my hand.

And it screams my thoughts out loud. Every unfiltered, mortifying, wildly inappropriate thought I have is broadcast at full volume. Even to the bartender that the shell informs I like the tattoos on his delicious forearms.
My name is Freddie. I write love stories for a living. I just never expected to find one inside a seashell.

A romantic comedy with swoony, beach vibes that explores learning to love after suffering a broken heart.
This summer, escape to the magical coastal town of Crescent Cove. This multi-author collection of beachy interconnected novellas is full of sun-soaked supernatural romance and sassy characters.