You know by now that we’re taking our love for and legacy of supporting books into new territory by launching our own book imprint, Cosmo Reads, in partnership with Sourcebooks. Today, it’s time for another reveal: One of the first novels we’ll publish is...It Seemed Like a Good Idea by contemporary romance queen Lauren Blakely.
Lauren already has dozens of books to her name and has deftly conquered most of your favorite tropes. (Sexy billionaires? Yes! Hot hockey players? Mm-hm! Cozy rom-coms? Absolutely!) She specializes in dialing up the romantic tension while unearthing the rich emotional cores of her characters, all in fun—and spicy!—books that make her a perfect fit for Cosmo Reads.
The first in a new series, It Seemed Like a Good Idea comes out on March 3, 2026 and kicks off with a case of mistaken identity between Ripley, the twin sister of a Hollywood star, and Banks, the bodyguard she nearly had a one-night stand with. She swears she doesn’t need his protection, though she just might need him in other ways....
Here's your official first look at It Seemed Like a Good Idea, including a cover reveal and exclusive excerpt.
“A Lauren Blakely book is a guarantee of a good time.” ―Meghan Quinn, New York Times bestselling author
Grumpy meets sunshine with a Hollywood twist in this charming and fun small town romance from #1 New York Times bestselling author Lauren Blakely.
I really don’t need a bodyguard—I run a small-town lavender farm, for bee’s sake! But I’m getting one anyway since my identical twin sister just booked the movie role of a lifetime and it’s being shot in my hometown. And guess who my new broody, tattooed protector is? None other than the guy I had a one-night stand with last month.
Correction: he’s the guy with the wicked mouth and heated eyes who ran out on me before the bang without so much as goodbye. And of course he arrives in my tiny hometown where the film is shooting right in the nick of time to save me from the paparazzi at the market. The coffee shop. The dress shop too. I’m trying hard to stay mad after the third time the sexy jerk rescues me.
Maybe just one night would relieve all this tension? But one night turns into another, and then into sharing hearts and secrets that are best locked up. Especially since he’s leaving and I’m staying, and there’s no way we can be more than a summer romance that ends far too soon.
Now meet Ripley and Banks, aka your new favorite couple, on the book’s cover. The first-printing deluxe edition will feature stunning lavender sprayed edges (translation: you’re going to want to add this to your shelf ASAP).
Ready to see how their love story unfolds? Keep reading for a sneak peek at the fateful night that Ripley and Banks first meet. And find out what happens next by pre-ordering It Seemed Like a Good Idea.
BANKS
Do I always pretend to date random women in bars?
No, I don’t.
But the way that sleazeball crowded her, leered at her, and spoke to her when she clearly told him she wasn’t interested fired me the hell up. If anyone did anything like that to my little sister….My shoulders tighten with tension. I wouldn’t stand for it.
And while I didn’t hear everything he said, it didn’t take a body language expert to know she was telling him to get lost. Sure, I could have just physically shown the man the door—eight years as a Marine means I’m no slouch in the shifting unwanted types along department—but I don’t like to make a scene.
In fact, I’m excellent at not making scenes. Hence the offer to pretend to be her dude for the night.
But something I’m even better at than not making a mountain out of a molehill? Spotting opportunities.
I take the one this gorgeous woman with the long blond hair is offering me. “Yes, you can,” I say, meeting her captivating crystal-blue gaze at last, now that I’m done sending death rays at that guy. With him in the rearview, I pause, like we need a reset to move past that part of the night and into this part before I add, “On one condition.”
“What’s your condition?”
“That you let me buy it for you.”
A soft laugh falls from her glossy lips. Such a better expression than the tight, tense look on her face moments ago. Now her shoulders are relaxed, her eyes inviting. “Chivalry is not dead.”
“Not with me, that’s for damn sure.”
With a well then expression, she gestures to the stool next to her. I take it, placing the tablet I’ve been holding on the bar top. Time to set my business plans aside, along with the proposal I’ve been working on since my early evening meeting here in this hotel. I’ll send this proposal to Dean tonight to review. Get his feedback. Make sure it’s airtight and confident before I fire it off to a huge potential client. A kernel of hope rushes through me. This gig could be huge for our recently launched firm.
But for now, a drink. I nod toward her empty glass. “Rosé?”
She lifts a brow. “You noticed what I was drinking?”
“I notice lots of things.” But I don’t want her to think I’m just as bad as that guy, like I’ve been stalking her in a whole new way, so I widen the aperture. “Like, I noticed the women over there traded lipsticks before they shot selfies while drinking cosmos, and the guy who hit on you removed his wedding band.”
My companion’s lips part. “He did? I noticed a tan line, but not that he’d taken it off.”
“About fifteen seconds before he moved next to you. And the bartender didn’t come over because he was working on a big order for a dozen blueberry margaritas.”
“Are you an anthropologist studying bar behavior? A secret shopper who observes hotel lobbies? Or a superhero who saves the day when a gal needs a temporary boyfriend to ward off creepers?”
I laugh. “The latter sounds like a good gig. But no, I’m just observant.” I offer my hand. “Banks. I’m in town for the night from Los Angeles.”
For a brief second, she appears taken aback when I say Los Angeles, but then clears her expression and says, “Ripley.” Like it’s important to her to say her name. “Like Ripley’s Believe It or Not!”
“Or Ripley from Alien,” I add.
“Or The Talented Mr. Ripley. I’m in the city from—” She must think the better of supplying that detail because, with barely a pause, she finishes, “A little town by the coast.” She holds my hand for a beat longer than most do, and I definitely don’t mind the extended shake or the way she holds back where she’s from. That’s just smart for a woman these days.
She lets go of my hand as the bartender comes our way.
I raise a finger to get his attention, and he stops in front of us.
“Sorry for the wait. Had a big order.” His smile is apologetic. “Thanks for your patience. What can I get you?”
Ripley shoots me a look that says she’s impressed. I like it—the cute smirk, the twinkle in her irises. “No worries, Duke,” I tell the bartender, reading his name tag. “A rosé for the lady.”
“Actually, a whiskey sour for me,” she says, keeping me on my toes.
“I stand corrected,” I say.
Then, she continues to keep me on my toes, tilting her head toward my glass. “And what was it you were drinking? Bourbon?”
I let out a low, appreciative whistle as I reach for the credit card in my pocket and slap it down. “Yes, I was. But I’ll have the same as my…girlfriend.”
She rolls her lips, sealing up some satisfied laughter.
“Two whiskey sours coming right up,” Duke says.
When he leaves, I turn to Ripley. “And so are you—observant, that is.”
She shakes her head, dismissing the compliment. “I was actually admiring your butterfly when I noticed the drink. I’m more of a gambler. I took a guess it was bourbon.”
“Gut instinct,” I say with an approving nod. My job, my whole business, is fueled by gut instinct. “That’s a good thing.”
She gives me a grateful smile. “Seriously though. I appreciate what you did.”
“It’s no problem,” I reply.
“And guys wonder why we think dating is rough. But I’m glad you decided to fake date me tonight.” She pauses a moment, teasing me with a smile. “And I’m extra glad you decided to be my boyfriend, not just someone meeting me for a first date.”
“You don’t like first dates?” I ask. But who does?
She gives a faux shudder. “First dates are horrible. It’s like a review of your dating CV. All that talk about what you do for a living, where you see yourself in a few years, how many pet goldfish you have, and so on.”
“I don’t have any pet goldfish,” I say dryly.
“Good.” She crosses her legs. I try not to check her out too blatantly but damn, she’s not only beautiful—those eyes are impossibly captivating—she’s also seriously fucking hot in jeans and a cropped white hoodie that slopes down her shoulder, revealing more of her neckline. I want to roam my eyes up and down her long legs and her athletic frame, enjoying the view, but staring would make me no better than that guy I nearly tossed in the trash.
“I don’t think you can find out if someone’s right for you by asking those staid, boring questions,” she goes on.
“How do you find out then?”
She gives a hopeful shrug. “By asking if they blast music while they drive, or if they’ve ever bungee jumped, or what was the last thing they googled.”
The bartender returns with our drinks. We thank him, and then she lifts a glass to toast. “To noticing things,” she says. “And to very smooth saves. The phone call and the table? That was well played, Banks.”
As she sips, her gaze strays around the bar to some of the booths in the corner, a little more private. I like to think I can read the room. Read a woman too. “Want that table?”
She pauses, but not like she’s reluctant. More like she’s weighing my offer, writing a pros and cons list in her head. I’d love to know what’s in each column, but mostly I want her yes.
It comes seconds later as she says, “You know what? I do.”
Yep, that business proposal can wait a little longer.
I take our drinks, tucking my tablet under my arm and grabbing my paper butterfly from where I left it when I got up. As we weave through the tables, I stay very, very close to her. Just in case. But I give myself a long enough leash to drink in the view of her as we go. The fall of her shiny blond hair over her shoulders, the sway of her hips, the slap of her flip-flops against the concrete floor. She holds a small clutch purse. A sliver of a farmer’s tan peeks out by the strap of the cami under that hoodie, while a few freckles dot her nose. She’s right that dates shouldn’t be about CVs, but I’m still curious who she is. She doesn’t have the polished reserve of a banker or a lawyer. She’s not a city girl, either, by her own admission. Bet she runs a store, maybe a café, possibly a bar.
When we reach the booth, she meets my eyes straight on. “You’re a very good boyfriend tonight.”
Tonight.
A reminder that what we do doesn’t matter. This is a one-night-only kind of thing, and that’s fine by me. “I blast music in my car,” I tell her. “So loud it shakes.”
Her smile spreads deliciously. Playfully. “And does everyone know you’re coming from the Mozart sonata?”
That image is too much. And scarily almost accurate. “You know, Ripley? I bet they can.” Then I slide a little closer because, yes, I can read the room, and I fucking like what it says.
RIPLEY
This never happens to me in Darling Springs. I don’t meet men like Banks in my hometown. An interesting, flirty man built like a Mack truck who maybe listens to Mozart?
Nope.
I hardly meet men there because that’s where I grew up. I know everyone already. Like William, the Irish guy who runs the local bookshop that his Brazilian grandmother gave to him. Or Fox, who moved to Darling Springs from Montreal and now owns the bar and commiserates with me over a game of pool about the price of things.
But meeting a man at a bar and having this kind of zingy chemistry is like being in college all over again.
And the best part of college was sex.
That’s what I want tonight. I want this man to relieve some of the pressure I’m facing by relieving another pressure. He’s like an answered prayer, this tattooed hottie. The sleeves of his button-down shirt are rolled up, revealing muscular forearms with ink coasting up his fair skin, geometric shapes that have me staring at the art and the muscles. How do you even get muscles in your forearms? I squirm a little at the thought of him throwing me around with those strong arms. What do the rest of them look like? How far up does the art go under that button-down shirt I want to rip off?
Soon, you’ll find out soon.
I meet his gaze again. His eyes are intense, but thoughtful too. The look in them—both soulful and filthy—makes my pulse kick up.
Under the low light in this corner booth, anticipation threads through me, spooling through my cells as I wait for him to make the next move. He lifts a big hand and I think he’s going to cup my cheek, but instead, he covers my shoulder, curling his palm over me. Powerfully.
Making me shudder.
He pushes down my hoodie another inch, then slides his thumb along my collarbone.
And that’s…shivery.
I tremble head to toe, then lean in to his hand, mesmerized by the way he travels along my skin. Taking his time, he changes direction, coasting his fingers back then up the side of my neck.
I let out a shuddery breath.
This is…outrageously sexy.
He’s touching me in some kind of slo-mo seduction. His fingers move to my jawline, the pads grazing along my face, then coming to a stop at my chin where he holds me. Roams his thumb right under my lower lip. Breathes out hard, full of wanting.
I am done.
“Just kiss me,” I whisper.
Excerpted from It Seemed Like a Good Idea, by Lauren Blakely, to be published on March 3, 2026, by Cosmo Reads, an imprint of Sourcebooks. Copyright © 2026 by Lauren Blakely.
It Seemed Like a Good Idea, by Lauren Blakely will be released on March 3, 2026. To preorder the book, click on the retailer of your choice:
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