Kendall Ryan has been in the romance game for a long time, so she absolutely knows exactly what we need for our next read. And while we're looking forward to next part of her Must Love Hockey series to release to kick off the holidays, she's got plenty more to come in the new year. Luckily for us, she's finally giving us a first-look at her new small-town romance that definitely brings a different kind of energy than what we've seen before.
Cosmopolitan has an exclusive first-look at Main Character Energy by Kendall Ryan, which is set to be released on January 7, 2026. The novel follows Andi, a morgue tech who wants nothing to do with anyone living and prefers hanging with the dead. But firefighter-paramedic Cole bets that he can turn her frown upside down and suddenly sparks are flying between them. Here's some more info:
Andi Callahan prefers the quiet company of the dead.
As a morgue tech in a sleepy coastal town outside Boston, she lives for silence, predictability, and zero small talk.
Living people? Too loud. Too messy. Too nosy.
The dead don’t interrupt her, meddle in her life, or flirt with her.
Cole Hartley does.
He’s everything Andi avoids—charming, persistent, and entirely too good-looking for his own good.
The town’s beloved firefighter-paramedic has a hero complex the size of Massachusetts and a dangerous talent for cracking Andi’s ice-cold composure.
What starts as a harmless bet to make her smile turns into something neither of them saw coming.
Now Cole’s determined to prove that life is worth the mess—and that love might be the riskiest, most rewarding thing of all.
Funny, heartfelt, and impossible to put down, this opposites-attract romance asks what happens when a woman who’s made peace with solitude finally lets herself feel everything.
Perfect for fans of quirky slow-burns, grumpy-sunshine, spicy banter, enemies to lovers, and one very determined golden retriever in human form.
Ready to meet Andi and Cole? Well, you can check them out in the book's official cover where thry are definitely getting cozy together!
Oh, and that's not all! We also got a special first-look with the book's first chapter that you can read below! Just make sure to pre-order Main Character Energy and even check out some of Kendall's other reads while you're at it.
An Excerpt From Main Character Energy
By Kendall Ryan
Chapter One
Meet Ugly
Andi
Dead people don’t waste my time. That’s why I like them better.
They don’t talk back. They don’t ask stupid questions. They just lie there, still and quiet, while I do my job and keep the world from falling apart.
Which is more than I can say for the living.
I snap off my gloves, toss them into the bin, and stretch my neck until it pops. The morgue is hotter than hell today, the AC humming like it’s trying but not really trying, and sweat is already prickling at the back of my neck.
I glance at the clock. Not even noon.
Figures.
I’m halfway through logging a transfer when Mikey strolls in like he has nothing better to do than annoy me. Which he doesn’t, let’s be honest.
“Morning, sunshine,” he says, holding out a cup of hospital-grade sludge like it’s a peace offering.
I eye it. “Is it poisoned?”
“You wish.” He leans against the counter, grinning. “You look murderously hot today, by the way.”
I don’t dignify that with a response. He’s not wrong—I know I look good. Fresh blowout, my favorite purple scrubs. Enough bracelets to strangle him with if necessary.
“Don’t talk to me until you’ve tagged and bagged three bodies in ninety-degree heat,” I quip instead.
“Damn, Andi. Buy me a drink first.”
I snatch the cup, take a sip, and grimace. “This is disgusting.”
“You’re welcome.” He wiggles his brows. “I bring the best to the best.”
I don’t respond. He’ll take it as encouragement. Mikey’s been here almost as long as I have, and while I’d never admit it out loud, he’s tolerable—in small, heavily regulated doses.
He watches me for a beat, waiting.
“What now?” I sigh.
His grin stretches wider. “You heard about the auction?”
“What auction?”
“You’re gonna love this—and by love, I mean you’ll hate it with every fiber of your being.”
I give him a side-eye. “Well?”
“This one’s straight out of HR’s worst ideas folder.” He chuckles.
“Spit it out, Mikey.”
“The hospital’s doing a bachelor-bachelorette auction—for charity. All singles in the building are supposed to do it.” He pauses for effect. “That means you.”
I stare. “No.”
“Yup.”
“No chance in hell.”
He chuckles. “Voluntold, Callahan. Our supervisor’s already got your name on the list.”
I slam my cup down, hard enough that coffee sloshes over the rim. “They can’t make me.”
“They can. They are. All proceeds go to the children’s wing. You gonna fight sick kids?”
He’s right. The fact that it’s “for the kids” makes it even worse because how do you say no to charity without looking like a complete monster?
I sigh loudly. “This is the most manipulative bullshit I’ve ever heard.”
Mikey is loving this. “Oh, it gets better. They’re gonna print flyers to hang around the hospital. I’m helping pick your photo.”
I point at him. “I will end you.”
“You’ll look great on a poster. Maybe we can get you holding a scalpel—”
“Get out.”
He laughs, backing away with both hands up. “Fine, fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He’s gone, but the damage is done.
The heat in the morgue is worse now. Or maybe it’s just me—blood boiling, patience shot. Either way, it’s the kind of heat that settles under your skin, sticky and damp, clinging to everything you touch.
It’s been like this all week—tourist season—which means the town’s population triples and so does my workload. More people, more accidents, more mess.
More reasons to lose it.
It’s fine. Dead people are easy. They don’t complain, don’t make demands, don’t need anything from me. That’s exactly how I like it.
The living? Different story. They’re messy, loud, and somehow always manage to make everything worse.
I grab the next file and skim it. Mid-sixties. Heart attack. Found in a rental cabin by his wife. I heard she cried the whole time they worked on him—loud, raw, unrelenting. Grief sucks.
Like I don’t know that kind of weight. The kind that crushes your chest until breathing feels like a choice you’re not sure you want to make anymore.
But it’s the silence that follows—the stillness after the storm—that’s where I do my best work.
I wash my hands, letting the water run hotter than necessary, and glance at the clock. Only three hours left. I can survive three more hours.
Probably.
Maybe.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I don’t have to look to know who it is.
Shay.
I slide the phone out, answer, and tuck it between my ear and shoulder.
“Tell me something good,” I say, reaching for the next file.
Her voice crackles through, bright and chaotic. “Two things. One, I just did the worst haircut of my career—on purpose—and two, your ex is still a flaming pile of trash.”
I flip the page. “That’s not new information.”
“Yeah, but now he’s trash with a new girlfriend. Guess who walked into my salon holding hands with a watered-down version of you?”
“Beef?” I deadpan.
She cackles. “Beef would never betray you like that.”
My eyes flick to the corner where Beef is sprawled out, massive and snoring, like the world’s most useless guard dog.
“Anyway,” Shay continues, “you owe me dinner for that trauma. Or at least a drink.”
“I’m working.”
“You’re always working.”
“Dead people don’t process themselves.”
“If anyone could make that happen, it’d be you.”
I smile, just barely. “I’ll see what I can do,” I mutter, ending the call before she gets too comfortable. Shay’s great—in doses. But right now, I need focus. I need quiet. Three more hours until Beef and I are out of here.
Clock out. Go home. Pretend the living don’t exist.
I’m halfway through the next file when I hear them.
Male. Too loud, too casual, echoing down the hall like they own the place.
I grit my teeth.
The paramedic team. Of course.
The doors swing open, and in they come, Brennan first—all swagger and noise, laughing at something that wasn’t funny even before he said it. He’s hit on me at least four times this month. I’ve given him exactly zero reasons to continue.
And then him.
The cute one.
I don’t want to notice that he’s cute. I really don’t.
I’ve seen him before, once or twice, usually at night when I’m covering a late shift. New to this schedule. Cole, I think. Taller than Brennan, broader too. Lighter hair—messy, like he ran his hands through it.
They’re still laughing, still talking like this room doesn’t matter.
I close the file slowly and straighten my spine.
Let’s see how fast I can ruin their day.
Brennan’s halfway through a story about pulling a guy out of a kayak who couldn’t swim. His voice bounces off the walls, filling the room with the kind of forced bravado I’ve been ignoring for months.
But it’s the other one—Cole—who speaks first.
“Hey, got one for you,” he says, too casual.
I don’t look up. Don’t need to.
“What’s the name?” I ask, flipping to a fresh page.
“Timothy J. Ashton. Single-vehicle rollover. Highway 7.”
There’s something softer in his voice. I hear it, but I don’t care. It’s important to remain as detached as possible in this job. I learned that the hard way.
I step around the stretcher, check the tag, glance up—just once—and there he is again—closer this time.
Cole. Taller than I thought. Broad. Solid in his firefighter/EMT uniform. There’s a smudge on his cheek—dirt or blood, I don’t ask.
But it’s his eyes that stop me cold. Hazel, with little gold flecks that have no business being that warm in a place this cold. And he’s studying me, like I’m some equation he’s trying to solve.
“You good?” His voice is deeper than I remember.
“I’m fine.” I keep my tone flat. Professional. “This is my job. Are you?”
Something flickers across his face—amusement, maybe. He tilts his head, and I hate that I notice the line of his jaw, his mouth.
“Sure. I mean, I don’t spend my days hanging out with corpses, but I manage.”
Brennan barks out a laugh that echoes off the walls.
I let the silence stretch. One heartbeat. Two.
This place—my place—isn’t just cold steel and chemical smell. It’s sacred. The last stop for people who deserve dignity and respect. And I don’t let anyone treat it like a comedy club.
“You’re in the wrong room for jokes.” The words come out sharper than intended as I snap the clipboard shut.
Brennan whistles low, already wheeling the stretcher into position.
Cole’s almost smile dies. Just for a second, something else crosses his face before he locks it down.
“If you’re done,” I say, turning away, “I have actual work to do.”
They hesitate. I can feel them exchanging looks behind me. Then Brennan claps Cole on the shoulder, steering him toward the door.
“Told you,” Brennan stage-whispers. “Total ice queen.”
The door swings shut, cutting off whatever Cole might’ve said.
I exhale. Slow. Controlled.
Coffee. That’s what I need.
Not sleep. Not comfort. Just caffeine. Black, bitter, hot enough to scald my tongue and remind me I’m still standing.
I toss my gloves, grab my hoodie, and whistle for Beef. He doesn’t move. Not even an ear twitch.
Figures.
Probably dreaming about a squirrel.
The hallway’s cooler than the morgue. I keep walking until the cafeteria’s hum hits me.
It’s late enough that most people have cleared out, just a few stragglers grabbing whatever’s left before the line closes. A couple of nurses laugh at a table like they haven’t just pulled twelve-hour shifts.
I keep my head down, aiming for the counter. One goal: coffee. Maybe whatever pastry hasn’t been assaulted by fingerprints. And then I see it.
The last breakfast burrito. Wrapped, golden, still under the heat lamp like a beacon.
I reach for it—so does someone else.
Our fingers brush.
I look up.
Cole.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter.
He grins, holding it up. “Guess we’ve got the same taste.”
“In food, maybe.”
He laughs—like it’s funny. Like I’m funny.
The line cook calls out, “She finally speaking to you, Cole?”
“Barely,” he says, chuckling. “But I’ll take it.”
I hate this. How everyone lights up around him.
The janitor waves. The nurse on the other side of the room smiles. The cashier calls him by name and cracks some joke I don’t catch. I sip my coffee, bitter and hot.
“If you want it...” His eyes meet mine. “The burrito’s yours.”
“Keep it. Maybe you’ll shut up while you eat it.”
He steps closer, mouth lifting in a lazy grin. “You always this fun, or just with me?”
A slight tremor runs through me at the low sound of his voice—taunting, teasing.
I look up. “I don’t do fun.”
“Yeah.” His eyes flicker. “I’m starting to get that.”
I turn to leave, but he calls after me.
“You don’t have to hate everyone who talks to you.”
I pause. “And you don’t have to charm everyone like it’s your job.”
His smile fades, just for a second.
Good.
The last thing I need is another man thinking he can fix me—or worse, make me feel something. Especially one who looks like that. He can take his broad shoulders, trim waist, and savior complex somewhere else. Preferably far, far away from me.
Text copyright © 2025 by Kendall Ryan. Reprinted by permission of Kendall Ryan.
Main Character Energy, by Kendall Ryan will be released on January 7, 2026. To preorder the book, click on the retailer of your choice:
