I kept smiling when I caught my fiancé coming down my sister’s chimney on Christmas Eve. I gave polite congratulations when they got engaged. And I even offered to help decorate for their Christmas wedding despite the fact that was supposed to be my dream wedding. But when my sister cuts up my great-grandmother’s one-hundred-year-old wedding dress and turns it into a skank show, even though that was the dress I was going to wear on my wedding day? Well, this elf is torching down the North Pole.

Christmas is bad enough without all the music, frantic shopping sprees, and holiday parties. So many parties… with people you couldn’t stand in high school and definitely can’t stand now. Top of the list? Patty Harrison. She made my teen years miserable and, now that we’re adults, she’s trying to get me banned from the Christmas market. Even so, I’m not going to commit literal murder.

In my perfect world, it would always be winter and never Christmas. I despise the holiday. I hate carols, shopping, and pretending to be a perfect family. I walked away from my family, or rather, they walked away from me. My heart is like ice. See it creeping up the walls. Oh, wait, no, that’s royal icing.

In truth, it probably didn’t help that I showed up dressed like an elf but that’s a story for another time. Our start was rocky at best which is why it’s so frustrating that I can’t stop thinking about his sexy British accent. Or the way his chest and arms fill out his suit. Or his perfect hair with that single streak of grey at the front.

Widower Alexander Cartwright has one thing on his mind—his kids. He plans on keeping it that way until his mother hires a sassy, free-spirited nanny to watch them during the holidays. Art teacher Phoebe Love needs a job and to take a secret time out from her long-term, not always nice boyfriend. She plans to focus on the two boys and figure her situation out, but their father isn’t making that easy on her.

I admit it was me who shouted, “Looking good, hot stuff!” at Mr. Richmond this morning, but I didn’t mean it like that. Yes, Mrs. HR Lady, I know how it looks. Believe me, I am totally anti-catcalling, but that’s not what that was. Honest. I was paying him a compliment! That’s kind of what I do: I’m a proud, small-town Floridian, and Manhattan is craving some Florida sunshine—nothing like a sincere compliment to turn those New York frowns upside down!

With the name Holliday, you’d think I’d be all about the Christmas season. Most years, I am, but this one not so much. Between my ex being a real Scrooge-in-the-backside, re-entering the workforce, wrangling my two children, and evading my eight-year-old’s questions about Santa’s existence, I’m struggling to believe in the magic myself.

He’s an Army Ranger. She’s a baker. He’s organized and ridged. She’s messy and carefree. He doesn’t do relationships. She’s following her heart. His family chat blows up his phone. She just buried her last living relative. The holiday season doesn’t seem so jolly, as they venture from one mode of transportation to the next.

The only thing we have in common is that we’re both tall. He wears bespoke suits; I wear flats with holes in them. He runs a big shot investment firm; I’m trying to start my own company with only bubble gum and circus peanuts. He likes to show up at my horrible dates and ruin them; I…pretended I hated when he did that but secretly was thrilled even though it was a little young adult fiction.

She’s going to drive me nuts. Nevertheless, her perky everything, endless legs, and innocent eyes will come in handy. It’ll stop my family from pushing every country girl turned wanna-be Dallas socialite on me.

I thought I was over him. That his good looks and British accent couldn’t affect me anymore. But the minute our eyes lock across the elevator, all those feelings come roaring back to life. Then I find out we’re competing for the same job. Next comes the realization that we have to spend a week together on a ski vacation because of some six-degree-of-separation nonsense. The real kicker is when I find out the two of us have to share a villa. A very small, very cozy villa.

Fake date a grumpy boss for Christmas. Enjoy some forced proximity with a flirtatious best friend for Valentine's Day. Wake up married to an Irishman in Vegas for St. Patrick's Day. Every day is a hot and hilarious holiday with this family.

Rules are meant to be broken. Except for one: Women can't get enough peonies. Even the girl in front of me in line is admiring the peonies in my hand. While I need these particular flowers for my latest plot, I'll still give Meghan the biggest, thickest bouquet I can find. It's flattering how much she wants my peonies. And I don't mind personally delivering.

When the townspeople of Harrogate almost riot over the Christmas décor thievery committed by the chair of the Elf on the Shelf Committee, I know I’m not going to survive the holiday season unless drastic action is taken. Biddy Jefferson turning up dead in my Christmas market stall is not exactly the type of drastic measure I had in mind. With no alibi and a town obsessed with pinning the murder on me, I have to clear my name. This is on top of planning the upcoming holiday ball, dealing with quirky stall owners in the Christmas market, and corralling confused tourists.

After a bad breakup, Nola wants nothing to do with Christmas, especially in her quaint hometown of Bright Harbor, Maine. Infuriatingly charming and cheery, Nola’s surroundings only worsen her sour mood. To make matters worse, Caleb, the boy who broke her heart years ago, is all grown up and still living in town. While doing her best to avoid him, Nola bumps into the local mailman, who gives her a mysterious letter. And when she finds that the writer is a fellow Scrooge, she can’t help but feel her spirit lifting.

I kept smiling when I caught my fiancé coming down my sister’s chimney on Christmas Eve. I gave polite congratulations when they got engaged. And I even offered to help decorate for their Christmas wedding despite the fact that was supposed to be my dream wedding. But when my sister cuts up my great-grandmother’s one-hundred-year-old wedding dress and turns it into a skank show, even though that was the dress I was going to wear on my wedding day? Well, this elf is torching down the North Pole.

Christmas is bad enough without all the music, frantic shopping sprees, and holiday parties. So many parties… with people you couldn’t stand in high school and definitely can’t stand now. Top of the list? Patty Harrison. She made my teen years miserable and, now that we’re adults, she’s trying to get me banned from the Christmas market. Even so, I’m not going to commit literal murder.

I admit it was me who shouted, “Looking good, hot stuff!” at Mr. Richmond this morning, but I didn’t mean it like that. Yes, Mrs. HR Lady, I know how it looks. Believe me, I am totally anti-catcalling, but that’s not what that was. Honest. I was paying him a compliment! That’s kind of what I do: I’m a proud, small-town Floridian, and Manhattan is craving some Florida sunshine—nothing like a sincere compliment to turn those New York frowns upside down!

In my perfect world, it would always be winter and never Christmas. I despise the holiday. I hate carols, shopping, and pretending to be a perfect family. I walked away from my family, or rather, they walked away from me. My heart is like ice. See it creeping up the walls. Oh, wait, no, that’s royal icing.

Armed with comfy pants, overpriced coffee, and a highly anxious emotional-support corgi, I prepare to face him. Corporate boss. Villain. Salinger Svensson. I step into his office. His perfect mouth twists into a sneer. There is no heart of gold beneath that suit, just a big black pit. He’s a shark in the frothy waters of high-stakes finance. He might be the archetypal-asshole CEO, causing all in his path to quake in fear, but he’s never had to face down a basic bitch in her thirties.

When the townspeople of Harrogate almost riot over the Christmas décor thievery committed by the chair of the Elf on the Shelf Committee, I know I’m not going to survive the holiday season unless drastic action is taken. Biddy Jefferson turning up dead in my Christmas market stall is not exactly the type of drastic measure I had in mind. With no alibi and a town obsessed with pinning the murder on me, I have to clear my name. This is on top of planning the upcoming holiday ball, dealing with quirky stall owners in the Christmas market, and corralling confused tourists.

When Bridger Cole sings, the women of America think he's singing to them. No one needs to know every lyric is inspired by his best friend's little sister, the woman who annoys him and makes him want to grow old in matching rocking chairs at the same time. But when the press catches wind of a new woman in his life, Bridger's management is quick to use the opportunity to repair his wicked rock star reputation with the public. Use his lifelong frenemy in a good-girl changes the bad-boy ploy? Easy. Watch her sing in his kitchen each morning and become besties with his dog? Harder.

Three standalone stranded over Christmas romances. Three grumpy, billionaires who are home for the holidays and must marry to claim their inheritance. One collection of festive love stories that are sure to sweep you off your feet.

With the name Holliday, you’d think I’d be all about the Christmas season. Most years, I am, but this one not so much. Between my ex being a real Scrooge-in-the-backside, re-entering the workforce, wrangling my two children, and evading my eight-year-old’s questions about Santa’s existence, I’m struggling to believe in the magic myself.

Welcome to life as a wedding planner for the rich and entitled of Manhattan. I’ve seen it all - from the nastiest bridezilla to the most overindulged billionaire. And Evan is the worst. Tall, dark, and handsome, he has a ridiculously ripped body under his formal suit and runs a massive hedgefund that’s actively making the world a worse place. I don’t even feel sorry for him when he walks away from the alter in a daze

Rules are meant to be broken. Except for one: Women can't get enough peonies. Even the girl in front of me in line is admiring the peonies in my hand. While I need these particular flowers for my latest plot, I'll still give Meghan the biggest, thickest bouquet I can find. It's flattering how much she wants my peonies. And I don't mind personally delivering.

An average romance author? Lately, the only romance action I’ve gotten is from my novels. A gorgeous cover model? He’s handsome and nice and way out of my league. A serious crush? I should know better, yet, I can’t help but fall for him. A chance I can make him mine? Only one way to find out. Put him on a book cover and ask him to a book signing.

Widower Alexander Cartwright has one thing on his mind—his kids. He plans on keeping it that way until his mother hires a sassy, free-spirited nanny to watch them during the holidays. Art teacher Phoebe Love needs a job and to take a secret time out from her long-term, not always nice boyfriend. She plans to focus on the two boys and figure her situation out, but their father isn’t making that easy on her.

He's baseball's biggest heartbreaker. I'm a recovering romantic...and his new trainer. Parker Knight is a smooth-talking pitcher with a smile for days and a roster of broken hearts behind him. Those are only a few reasons why a guy like him is never getting near my heart. After making a move to prove I deserve a place within my dad's baseball empire, the last thing on my mind is a playboy pitcher. I didn't know who he was when we randomly met off the field, and Parker certainly had no idea I'm the team owner's daughter. He thought I was going to be his next conquest.

A misunderstanding sparks an enemies-to-lovers romance between an outdoorsman and an aspiring writer in this funny and festive Christmas-themed novel.