It’s hard to believe that Cosmo Reads is close to celebrating its first anniversary, which means it’s the perfect time to look ahead and see what we have coming up next. With 2027 on the horizon, there’s a lot to look forward to, including a brand-new novel from author Kristin Wollett, who is jumping into the imprint with a fun read that is the ultimate mashup of all the things we love: a unique romance, fake-dating, and even a murder mystery. Ready to see how it all comes together for the ultimate vacation read?
A Killer’s Guide to Falling, which will be released on February 9, 2027, follows Eve, a mystery writer who doesn’t know a thing about romance. Thankfully, her writing partner has all that covered when it comes to their megahit series. Except when her other half gets left at the altar, Eve must tap into a different side of herself or else they won’t meet their deadline. Thankfully, there’s a dead bride at the resort where they’re staying and a very charming guy who catches her eye. Can Eve solve the case and also find out the key to love in one go?
Here’s your official first look at A Killer’s Guide to Falling, including a cover reveal and exclusive excerpt.
The Unhoneymooners meets The White Lotus in this Hawai’i-set romantic comedy from Cosmopolitan’s Cosmo Reads imprint, where a cynical mystery writer fake-dates a resort heir for research after her romance-writing co-author is left at the altar, only to find herself pulled into an investigation ripped from her own book and a romance she never saw coming.
Eve writes the murders. Harper writes the romance. Together, they’re the bestselling duo behind Love, Lies & Alibis. But just weeks before their big-deal manuscript is due to the publisher, Harper gets left at the altar. And their manuscript falls apart with her.
Eve’s solution? Turn Harper’s nonrefundable honeymoon into a two-week Hawaiian writing retreat. One problem: Harper's too heartbroken to write a single swoony word. And Eve—the murder half of the team—doesn't believe in love anyway.
Then a bride goes missing at the resort, and Eve crosses paths with Miles Overton: gorgeous, charming, and annoyingly good at reading her. He's also her only ticket into the couples-only activities she needs for "research."
So, they strike a deal: fake-date their way through paradise. She gets the romance scenes, he gets help finding the missing bride, and they both pretend not to fall for each other.
But when a plot twist straight out of one of Eve’s books blows everything up, she'll have to decide: play it safe and walk away or rewrite her ending and bet big on real love.
Murder, margaritas, missing brides, and a love story no one saw coming—except maybe their readers.
The case is now open and your next big clue is your first look at Eve and Miles. Check out the official cover below that brings the vacation vibes thanks to cover art and design by Sandra Chiu.
Check out an exclusive excerpt of chapter 1 below! Just remember to preorder A Killer’s Guide to Falling so you don’t miss your next amazing getaway.
Chapter 1
Assess your surroundings.
Eve
It’s been twenty-four hours and my best friend Harper is still stuffed in her wedding dress. Which in addition to dirty orange handprints from her second mini bag of Cheetos, now has a tear across the bottom thanks to a run-in with the plane’s gangway.
Even the plush first-class seats, full of glorious-smelling spa products and fancy headphones, didn’t seem to lessen the pain. Neither have the seven glasses of champagne our flight attendant has generously served her over the last four hours of our flight to Hawaii.
The man across the aisle, who I’m pretty sure is Chris Hemsworth’s brother (the not- famous one) keeps looking over, but boomerangs his view the other way every time I catch him.
I can’t blame him. It’s not every day you witness the fallout of a bride being left at the altar. I mean, that only happens in movies.
Harper always fell fast for everything and everyone. But the difference was, this time, the wreckage caught up with her. Which is exactly why, despite being Harper’s (former?) maid of honor and human support beam, I don’t believe in love.
“Ms. Parker, do you think she’d like another?” Our very sweet, very uncomfortable flight attendant Tammi with an i whispers in my ear as she holds not one, but two more glasses. Despite her hushed tone, Harper looks over and perks up.
“It turned pink!” she cries as she reaches out for the bubbling champagne with a blush tint.
“I pulled from our secret stash.” Tammi winks.
Harper gives her a you-shouldn’t-have-but-thank-God-you-did look and downs it in two sips.
“I really love the color of your lipstick,” Harper says as she hiccups. “It goes great with your outfit and your complexion.” Her voice cracks on the last syllable as she presses her lips together and smiles through a fresh pool of tears. Tammi takes the full glass she was holding for me and hands it to Harper instead.
Typical Harper. Glass half full. Silver lining. Still handing out compliments through the ruin.
Which is exactly why she’s a romance writer.
I, on the other hand, have killed Chadwick a hundred different ways in my head. Which is fitting, since I write the thriller parts of our self-published mystery romance series, Love, Lies and Alibis.
Five minutes later, Harper starts to snore, thank God. I don’t think she’s slept in almost two days. Her head is against the window. Her mouth is open. There’s a dried tear streak on the window, and she’s clutching her grandma’s lace hankie.
The dress is starting to smell.
She stirs and turns her head, the makeshift veil pillow moving slightly to reveal a faint tulle imprint across her forehead. Well—half her veil shifts. The other half is still jammed in the X-ray machine’s rotor back at security. Judging by the oil stain, it went for a joy ride through its pulley system.
Oh, Chadwick.
There weren’t any red flags leading up the wedding, per se. Chadwick’s the type who wears a pink popped-collar polo shirt and whose cologne always enters the room before he does, but he isn’t the type to cheat. Well, wasn’t the type to cheat, until he fell head over heels for a Brazilian model who looks like a distant cousin of Gisele.
I get cheating. But what I don’t understand is how he did it to her, in all her color-coded to-do list glory.
My therapist tells me I don’t believe that love exists because of my parents. But I know this. I am self-aware. I see a therapist. A very expensive one.
So, while Harper does swoon-worthy moments, meet-cutes, and lingering gazes, I know the exact measurement of cyanide to put into someone’s drink based on body weight to take them to never-never land.
I call it funneling my angst into something I love. My therapist calls it progress.
Then Harper and I stitch the story up together beautifully and send it out into the world under our pen name, Harper Eve—Harper Green (her) and Eve Parker (me).
A year ago, we received the biggest news of our careers from Blackbird Press, the fifth largest publisher in the world: They offered us a deal for a new book. And our deadline is in exactly one month. We (well, I) have a draft finished, but it’s all plot. It’s missing the heartbeat.
So now, instead of my best friend sitting next to her new husband on their way to a fancy-schmancy Hawaiian resort, I’m sitting next to her after convincing her to repurpose their two-week nonrefundable honeymoon into a writing retreat to get us over the finish line.
My head falls back against the most expensive airplane seat I’ve ever been in, and I take a deep breath just as I hear sniffles come out from the blanket-burrito she’s rolled herself into next to me.
“Harper?” I slowly lift the blanket to find her huddled with her phone, fancy headphones on. I pull them gently away from her ears and lower my voice like I’m talking to a baby bunny about to bolt into a shredder.
“Honey, are we listening to it again?”
Her face falls. She manages to eke out a no before she dissolves. Chadwick. Bastard.
And really, who breaks off an engagement in a voice note?
I slowly peel the phone out of her hand.
“As soon as we get to the resort, you’ll feel better. We’ll get you out of this dress— ”
“I’m not taking off the dress.”
“Maybe just long enough so I can try and get the oil stain off the bottom. And maybe you could splash some water on your face, okay?”
She blinks and nods.
I already scoped out our destination online. Luxury practically drips from The Overton’s website—an entire island promising carefully selected moments: parasailing excursions, private tours through natural wonders, and the world’s largest private wine collection.
There’ll be plenty to distract her once we’re there. If they handed out merit badges for honeymoon activities, not-left-at-the-altar-yet Harper would have had her sash filled by the end of the first day. But the verdict’s out on what the next few days are going to look like.
“I’ll even go on the helicopter tour of the volcano with you,” I offer. “You hate heights.”
“I know.” My throat sticks a little as I swallow. I’ll be fine.
I don’t handle heights well. And I don’t like being hot. I also don’t do emotions well, especially when they come from other people.
I don’t do crying. I don’t do big feelings. But for her, I’d do anything.
She blinks, and tears flood her eyes again. The moment is going to hit her over and over, just like it did me when my parents said we’re getting divorced. She’ll hear the phrase again and again in her head until one day, it won’t suck the air out of her lungs.
“He didn’t show up,” she whispers.
“I know.” I grab her hand. “We’ll get something in your belly other than radioactive chemical cheese fingers and get you a nap.”
People think heartbreak makes you stronger. I know better. It just rewires you. Trust me— two parents, six divorces, one childhood. I’ve seen it done professionally.
She gives me her best wrecked smile as I start brainstorming ways to kill Chadwick with a coconut.
Two hours later, our flight attendant walks by as we touch down onto a runway flanked by the bluest water I’ve ever seen. She looks at me and hesitates. “I hope your stay in paradise is unforgettable,” she says apologetically.
It’s part of her job. I get it.
Harper wails and asks her if she can get a mini bag of Cheetos to go.
Unforgettable it will be. For better or worse.
Excerpted from A Killer's Guide to Falling by Kristin Wollett. Copyright © 2027 by Kristin Wollett. Used with permission of the publisher, Cosmo Reads, an imprint of Sourcebooks, LLC.
A Killer’s Guide to Falling, by Kristin Wollett, will be released on February 9, 2027, from Cosmo Reads. To preorder the book, click on the retailer of your choice:
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