As teen stars, their young love shattered under the spotlight of fame.
Twelve years later, their off-screen chemistry is still there…but are they ready for take two?

As second lead on cult hit Sawyer’s Cove, Jay Orlando achieved swoony teen heartthrob status and fell hopelessly in love with his co-star Camille Corsair. When their romance couldn’t survive the show’s cancellation, he traded stardom for the life of a humble bar owner, while Cami’s career shot into the stratosphere. Twelve years later, Cami walks into his bar and offers him the tantalizing chance to do it all again. A reboot of Sawyer’s Cove is in the works, but Jay has no intention of reprising his role—on the show or as Cami’s leading man.

For Cami, this revival is more than nostalgia—it’s her shot at proving herself as a producer. But convincing Jay to sign on means confronting the boy who broke her heart…and the man who still makes her pulse race. Back in the small town where it all began, bantering with Jay feels familiar in the best way possible, and every lingering glance reminds her why she fell in love with him in the first place.

Hollywood glam meets small-town heart in this steamy contemporary romance series perfect for fans of Dawson’s Creek and Gilmore Girls who sometimes wish their favorite characters made better decisions.

Sawyer’s Cove: The Reboot

Twelve years after being canceled, a beloved teen drama gets the green light for a reboot—and the show’s once and future stars upend lives in the small seaside town where it’s filmed.

Enjoy an excerpt from Take Two

Cami slipped her sunglasses off and thrust them into her bag. No point trying to stay under the radar, not if Jay was just walking around the Inn as if he owned the place. Maybe he did. She’d had no luck finding out what he was up to these days. Hence deciding to track him down in person. It was good practice, anyway. If they were going to be working together again, she’d have to be able to have a conversation with him face-to-face.

Now, seeing him in person for the first time in twelve years, she had to admit—to herself, if no one else—she’d missed that face.

He looked older, obviously. He was almost thirty-three—their birthdays were within a few days of each other at the end of summer. She was going to be thirty-one, and she felt it in every newly developing line on her face, in the way you could see it in the rings around her eyes if she didn’t get her seven hours a night and she’d have to spend an extra fifteen minutes in the makeup chair. Every day she spent in front of the camera was a reminder she was on borrowed time, as far as Hollywood was concerned. She’d aged out of teenage roles about five years earlier, and the transition to adult roles had been precarious.

But Jay’s adulthood looked good on him. At twenty, he had been an appealing mixture of boyish and masculine. With his bee-stung lips, liquid brown eyes, and eyelashes for days, he could have been called pretty, but with his lean, muscled torso, strong shoulders, signature close-cropped brown hair, and sharp white canines, he had a masculine edge. At thirty-two, his hair was still shorn close to his head, like a baby lamb after shearing, but he didn’t look particularly boyish anymore. Lines were around his eyes, still with an absolute plethora of eyelashes many a makeup artist had swooned over. Not to mention legions of other people.

It never mattered how long the Connecticut winters were, Jay’s skin was always a rich brown, and today, even though his famous arms were covered up by a long-sleeved T-shirt, the V-neck showed his complexion hadn’t changed.

“What are you doing here, Cami?” He sounded the same, too. For a second, she had a moment of vertigo, feeling sixteen again and hearing that warm baritone for the first time. The line could have been accusatory. It certainly wasn’t original. But he sounded too surprised to be angry.

“I’m here to see you, like I said.” She’d developed a careful list of talking points, of numbers and dates and reasons he wouldn’t be able to say no to her proposal. But in the face of him, the one and only Jay Orlando, she felt curiously ill-prepared. She straightened her spine in defiance. She wasn’t a nostalgic fangirl. She was Camille Corsair, goddamn it.

He smiled, slowly, as if he was catching on to a joke. “You came all the way to Misty Harbor to see me? What is that, three thousand miles?”

It would have been if she’d been coming from her place in L.A. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d been there for more than a couple of nights in a row.

“Five hundred, actually. I was in Toronto for a shoot.”

His smile dimmed at that. “And you never heard of a phone?”