Lauren Blakley’s It Seemed Like a Good Ideamade it to the USA Today bestseller list in its first week, which means we’re celebrating in Cosmo Reads as we get excited for a big return to Darling Springs. With so many sparks in the air, you better believe that we’re just getting started with these stunning love stories! If you haven’t read the first book just yet, now is you chance to jump in before we introduce you to the next book in the series that follow two major fan favorites that will no doubt leave you swooning as they figure out what is really going on between them.
Cosmopolitan has an exclusive first look at I’ve Got a Crush on You by Lauren Blakely, which is set to be released on August 4, 2026. This time it’s Chloe’s turn to learn a little lesson on love when her one night stand becomes not only her co-worker, but her dance partner for an upcoming town fundraiser. Let’s just say that they’re having the time of their life as they spend some time together and try to navigate their obvious connection to one another. Check out the official description and book cover below!
Welcome to Darling Springs, where gossip travels faster than a greyhound.
Dog trainer Chloe Rivers knows that recent impulsive one night stand was a mistake—especially now that the sexy stranger in question, Sawyer Dumont, turns out to be her new landlord at the town's newly opened doggy daycare. He's all tailored suits and tight schedules; she's sunshine, donuts, and sit stay swoon. They agree to pretend nothing happened. Their chemistry refuses.
Chloe's dog training business is gaining celebrity clients daily, and Sawyer's doggy daycare becomes the hot spot for a new TV show, forcing the two to work together more and more closely. And then there's the night that Chloe discovers Sawyer's secret alter ego, complete with a fandom.
When Chloe gets roped into a charity dance number, she blackmails Mr. Serious into being her partner. Cue closed door rehearsals, burning hot touches, and Dirty Dancing energy that's impossible to fake—on or off the dance floor. But working together means all kinds of complications, in spite of which Chloe can't deny it: she's crushing hard…and she's not the only one.
So pack your bags and pre-order your copy of I’ve Got a Crush on You, because you definitely don’t want to miss your next visit to Darling Springs! You can even check out an exclusive excerpt below!
Chapter 1
What Goes Up Must Come Down
Chloe
I can’t believe I’m being fired for a balloon explosion.
I’m making my case one last time to my boss at the event planning agency. “I don’t even like balloons.” But the look Phineas Fitzburger deals me from across his desk is not confidence inspiring. Fitzburger Events has been a bit of a laughingstock since the town square balloon bursting at the annual spring festival went viral.
Turns out there was a big problem—the see-through balloons got a little too excited in the heat, spewing a glittery stream all over the town square. Like burst…condoms.
But even though Phineas wants heads to roll for the embarrassment (and the associated memes about the balloons’, ahem, release), that doesn’t mean I’m to blame for the sparkling of the town square. I certainly didn’t order the monstrosities. I sure as hell know who did though, and I hope, I truly hope, dear daddy can put two and two together soon and realize it equals…his son. My ex.
It’s not that I like this job working for my ex’s father; it’s that my bank account requires my paycheck. I bite my tongue to stop myself from saying, August wanted them. This fiasco was your son’s fault.
Phineas blows out a long sigh. “Here we are with a very unhappy client and a town square full of hot-pink glitter to clean up. This is a mess.”
He shakes his head, and I know what’s coming. Prickles of fear race up my spine. My side hustle as a dog trainer is nowhere near profitable enough for me to live on, even with the celebrity client who hired me recently. One high-profile client does not a business make. I need this event planning job desperately to make ends meet.
Story of my freaking life.
I glance at the glass wall behind me and the silhouette of my ex happily plinking away at his keyboard in a cubicle beyond.
I hate being a tattletale. But desperate times and all.
I hold up my chin high as I go full narc. “August did it. He ordered the see-through balloons from a paintball friend, and they wanted the event to go viral. That was the plan. Fill the balloons and watch them fly high in the air. But the material was super cheap, and it was an unusually hot spring day, so they exploded in the heat,” I blurt out.
Phineas simply shakes his head some more, takes a minute or two, then sighs deeply. “Chloe, I was sure we could set the past behind us with the way you broke my sweet August’s heart once upon a time, but to suggest he’d use my company to pull off a viral stunt? I think it’s best we let you go.”
I grab the edge of his desk to hold on. My world tips upside down. “I didn’t do it, sir. I can show you the version history from the presentation,” I say, going for a Hail Mary to prove my innocence by showing him the receipts, but I hate the tremble in my voice, the way it reveals that a tear is coming. My throat tightens annoyingly and my eyes sting.
Don’t let your enemies see you cry, my mother always says. Unless you’re onstage—then let it all out.
“The version history? Really? I think it’s best we move on. I’ll let HR know you’ll be cleaning out your cube today,” he adds, then offers a sympathetic grin. “But do say hi to Captain. We enjoyed having that handsome boy here from time to time.”
Are you kidding me? “I will not tell my dog you said hi,” I say, then grab my backpack, fling it on my shoulder dramatically, and storm out.
Because really, you should also make a grand exit when you’ve been canned. Leave your mark, my mother says.
I beeline for my cube, snag my dying succulent—because of course I can’t even keep a succulent alive—along with my We Ride at Dawn mug that my BFF Bridget made for me last year, then go. As I pass August, I clench my jaw.
Don’t give him the satisfaction. Really, Chloe, just don’t. Resist the urge to open your mouth.
With a grin worthy of a supervillain, my devil of an ex-husband smiles and waves goodbye. “Bummer it didn’t work out, Chlo-Chlo,” he says.
He has the audacity to use that affectionate nickname on me? The name he gave me during our failed marriage that lasted all of six months. So much for keeping my mouth shut. “Yeah, bet it was a real surprise too,” I snap, then narrow my eyes and whisper, “I know what you did.”
But he leans back in his chair, crosses his arms, and smiles. “You still haven’t gotten over me,” he says.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. I can’t believe I took this job against my better judgment a few months ago. I can’t believe I’d thought enough time had passed and that he’d moved on.
Like an adult.
His high school–level sabotage is a perfect reminder that you should never ever work with someone you’ve been involved with. It always ends badly—the romance, or the job. Or even both.
But there is one silver lining. While I’m the one who just got canned, he’s the one who has to clean up the town square mess. “Good luck removing glitter until the end of time,” I say, wishing it were punishment enough. And just in case it’s not, I lob in one more zinger. “Also, my dog’s smarter than you.”
I march out, head held high, walking straight to Roxie, my car with the broken handle on the driver’s side door.
I wrestle open the passenger side door using one hand and my butt. After I set the plant, backpack, and mug down on the floor, I hop into the passenger seat, then scoot across the console to the driver’s side.
Hey, it’s how I get my push-ups in. My arms will be rock hard someday soon.
I turn on Roxie and pull out of the lot, wishing she would squeal as I peel off, but she wheezes instead, since she’s stitched together by spark plugs, a persnickety turn signal, and hope.
Once I’m a block away and out of sight, my eyes flood, and I jerk the car toward the curb, cutting the engine before my vision goes blurry. Dropping my head on the steering wheel, I let the stupid tears fall.
For once, I’d just like something to work out in the work department.
As I’m staring into the freezer weighing whether salted caramel tiramisu ice cream or super-chunk brownie goes better with boxed wine for my pity party of one, a notification chirps at me from my phone. I glance listlessly down at the screen on my kitchen counter.
Florence Faye’s Fete.
That’s tonight? I’d forgotten all about the comedian’s party in the aftermath of getting fired. No way can I get ready in time. It starts in two hours and it’s in the city, where she lives part-time, since she also has a place a few towns away. The city’s at least an hour and a half from here. Like I’d be good company tonight for anyone anyway. Except Captain. My German shepherd mutt lies curled up by my feet on the tiled floor of my apartment.
But as I reach for the salted caramel tiramisu pint—since when in doubt, always go with salted caramel tiramisu—a voice in my head says, You dumbass.
Great. Now the voice in my head is insulting me.
Psst. The party isn’t for Florence. It’s for her dog.
Ohhhh.
A smile forms, slow and devilish. I jam the carton back in the freezer and slam the door. “Thank you, voice in my head.”
After her recent Webflix special became a huge hit, the comedian hired me this spring to train her dog for her upcoming tour. Tonight is Bagel’s birthday party down in San Francisco. An extravagant, over-the-top affair. Which means there will be potential clients there. Imagine when they find out I’m the one who taught Florence’s corgi mix to trot across the stage and high-five her—high paw her—before the start of each stage show?
Excitement courses through me since when one door closes, another one opens. All I need to do is network my ass off tonight. I hunt through my past emails for the details on the party. When I find it, I scan for the location, then read the no gifts please note too.
I run some quick calculations. A speedy shower and outfit selection and I should be able to pull this off. I’ll be on the road and dropping Captain at my mom’s in no time.
Sure, it’s a dog party, but I’ll network better without a pooch by my side.
I strip off my sweats and fuzzy socks and run into the bathroom, leaving a trail of clothes on the floor behind me, next to the estimate from the car repair shop to get my door working again. Like I can even afford to sort out all of Roxie’s problems even with the discount the sweet owner is offering me since she’s a friend of my mom’s.
Thirty-five minutes later, I’m fresh as fuck, and I’ve dropped Captain at my mom’s, so he can play with her golden mix Penny Lane. I scoot across the passenger seat again, dressed for the festivities. Well, the dress code did say fabulous.
I’m wearing a white summery dress with light-blue Converse sneakers, my hair piled into a bun, and just the right amount of makeup. I head out of town, blasting girl power anthems the whole drive down to the city and praying the car speakers don’t die along the way.
Or the spark plugs either.
But parking costs a couple kidneys in this section of Hayes Valley. At a traffic light, I do a quick search for the closest discount parking, then locate it a half mile from the party. I snag a spot. The all-day price is less than the four-hour one, so I opt for the cheaper option, naturally. After I tuck my phone and lipstick into a tiny, thrifted Coach clutch, I walk to Bagel’s third birthday party in the heart of the fancy-pants neighborhood.
I unlock the first of the double gates—they’re white wood and pristine—and my eyes widen. I knew the event was bougie, since it’s held at a just-opened dog park. But wow—is that a lake over there for the dogs to splash around in? Well, it sure seems to be since it’s filled with Labs and collies paddling after tennis balls.
I open the second gate, then shut it behind me and gawk.
A long, high table by a gazebo holds a cake large enough for me to make out the words Best Boy written in a curly font above a dog bone illustration. A gate keeps the industrious pups out of the gazebo, where buffet tables are set up with appetizers and other treats for humans. Off in another corner of the lush, emerald-green lawn are baskets full of dog toys. And next to that is a stage. A band is setting up.
It’s so over the top, and this is exactly what I need. The chance to chat with one chichi, dog-loving client after another. I squint. I’m pretty sure I spot a rising-star actress over there by the lake. Is that Veronica Angel? Her role as a zodiac-obsessed, heart-on-her-sleeve hippie in a dark comedy has been all the rage, and with good reason—who doesn’t love a zodiac lover. Maybe there are agents here, too, repping dogs? Producers for, I don’t know, dog reality shows?
As I head deeper into the park, Florence spots me, waving grandly my way, bangles sliding down the bronze skin of her arms. She scurries over, a smile cresting across her face. She’s probably coming over to tell me how excited she is to introduce me to everyone.
“You made it, babe,” Florence says, then tosses her arms around me. She’s a hugger all right, and I’ve had to become a hugger thanks to all the octopuses in my life, so I step into her embrace.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. This party is amazing, and Bagel deserves to have all the fun,” I say once she lets go.
The best boy in question trots my way right now, in all his loaf-of-bread corgi-mix glory. When he arrives, he parks himself in a perfect sit at my feet, then offers me a paw for high-fiving.
“Dude, now you’re just showing off for your dog trainer,” Florence says to him, then scratches his chin. “But like I told you, Chloe’s not working tonight.” Florence turns back to me and squeezes my arm. “I told Bagel you’re not here to babysit him. So do not even think about training him, okay? I want this party to be fun for everyone. No work. Just good times.”
And…I spoke too soon. With those two words spoken—no work—it’d probably be gauche to network tonight.
“I can’t think of anything more fun than this,” I say as brightly as I can muster.
Except maybe a stiff drink. Might as well bring the pity party here.
“Pro tip: get the Fuzzy Navel Hound. You won’t regret it,” she says with a straight face as if she’s read my mind. She gestures to the bar, a few feet from the lake.
“Sounds delish,” I say.
When she pats her thigh and Bagel follows gamely along as she presumably heads off to chat with someone else, I draw a deep breath, then reset my plans. Maybe it’s not the right place to network. But at least it’s a warm night, the drinks are flowing, and the entertainment looks to be top-notch.
If nothing else, this party will be a good story to tell my besties about when I return to town.
As I beeline to the bar in search of a Fuzzy Navel Hound, whatever that is, my gaze lands on a tall, sturdy man resting an elbow against the end of the bar, checking out the scene. He has dark, wavy hair, soulful eyes, and a scowl on his handsome face.
Hello, sir.
Why am I always attracted to the grumpy ones? If I only knew, I could write a book about the charisma of the cantankerous male. My body hums as I take in the chiseled jaw lined with a trim beard, the strong nose, the broad chest. He’s dressed in khaki shorts and a white linen shirt that can’t hide the muscles in his arms. His eyes are crinkled at the corners as he seems to take in the whole event.
But I keep returning to that serious mouth. Especially since his scruff is making me wonder if I could use his beard as an exfoliator.
On my thighs.
That sounds better than salted caramel tiramisu ice cream for erasing the day.
But when he turns to a stunning brunette by his side, my shoulders slump.
Of course he’s taken. That’s just my luck.
Copyright © 2026 by Lauren Blakely
I’ve Got a Crush on You, by Lauren Blakely will be released on August 4, 2026 from Cosmo Reads. To preorder the book, click on the retailer of your choice:
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