by: Teri Wilson
Series: Turtle Beach
Genre: Contemporary Romance/Romantic Comedy
Release Date: August 2, 2022
Publisher: Sourcebooks Casablanca
USA Today bestselling author Teri Wilson brings you the perfect beach read rom com with a bright, sparkling love story featuring:
A heroine who's vowed never to date again-for real, this time!
Her rambunctious Cavalier King Charles Spaniel puppy
The handsome and brilliant marine biologist she can't ignore
And the nonstop antics of her friends determined to be matchmakers
Sparks fly when Molly Prince's puppy Ursula constantly disrupts the beachfront area where new-in-town marine biologist Max Miller is studying sea turtle mating habits. Max and Molly are instantly attracted to each other, but Molly dismisses Max out-of-hand. She's not dating anymore. Maybe not ever, since her last relationship ended in a spectacular disaster. As for Max, he refuses to take Molly seriously when her job is to play pretend as the aquarium's mermaid. But when Ursula won't stop digging in Max's beachfront yard and reveals her unique ability to sniff out sea turtle nests, she might bring these two opposites close enough to help save the turtles, and maybe even save the aquarium...
On any given weekday evening, the dog beach on the small barrier island known as Turtle Beach, North Carolina, was typically occupied by two Dalmatians, six or more octogenarians and any number of canines of dubious origin.
Plus one mermaid.
Make no mistake, Molly Prince, the mermaid in question, was every bit as human as the aforementioned octogenarians. Mermaiding was simply Molly’s day job, but sometimes she wore her costume home instead of changing out of her emerald-green sequined fishtail and clam shell bustier. For modesty’s sake, the bustier was attached to a flesh-colored body stocking adorned with a sprinkling of rhinestone starfish and draped with no less than six strings of pearls. Getting out of the thing was no easy task.
Molly would get to that once she and Ursula, her Cavalier King Charles Spaniel puppy, got to the quaint oceanfront cottage they called home. Ursula was a recent addition to Molly’s life and due to the puppy’s extreme separation anxiety, she rarely left Molly’s sequined-clad side. The little chestnut-and-white spaniel was also prone to bursts of the zoomies, hence their regular stops at the dog beach after work.
“Look at that little dog go.” Ethel Banks, resident of Turtle Beach Senior Center and one of Molly’s favorite octogenarians, peered over her purple bifocals and grinned as Ursula charged at a flock of sandpiper birds chasing waves along the shoreline.
Three aluminum walkers were lined up in front of the smooth wooden bench where Ethel sat alongside Opal Lewinsky and Mavis Hubbard—or, as everyone in town called their little trio, the OG Charlie’s Angels. Nibbles, a teacup Chihuahua, sat shivering in the basket of the walker belonging to Mavis.
“Ursula really loves other animals,” Molly said. “You should have seen her today at the aquarium. She sat right in front of the shark tank, totally rapt.”
Opal snorted. “Like Mavis and her new boyfriend Larry every night when Jeopardy is on.”
Molly bit back a smile. Was it weird that her senior citizen friends seemed to have more active social lives than she did?
Mavis muttered something in response—laced with snark, no doubt—but whatever it was went into one of Molly’s ears and right out of the other one. Her attention had snagged on a man wading knee-deep through the waves, just beyond the shallows where Ursula pawed at the tiny silver fish that always skittered through the foamy water.
“Do any of you know who that guy is?” Molly felt herself frown.
The dog beach was too close to the crest, local speak for the southernmost tip of the island, to be safe for swimming far from the shore. The surf close to the crest was rougher and the riptides stronger, due to warm water from the bay spilling into the salty depths of the open sea. Swimming past the sandbar wasn’t allowed, for humans and dogs alike.
Opal, Mavis and Ethel narrowed their gazes in the stranger’s direction and then shrugged in unison.
“Where’s his dog?” Molly did a quick inventory of the canines enjoying their freedom on their small, designated strip of sand. She’d been here enough times to know precisely who each dog belonged to.
“All the pups here are accounted for,” Ethel said. Clover the corgi woofed in agreement at her feet.
Weird. What was he doing at the dog beach, dog-less?
“He’s staring into the water like he lost something.” Opal pressed a hand to her heart as a wave rocked into the man’s chest. “He really shouldn’t be so far out there.”
Mavis shook her head. “Definitely not.”
Ursula romped back toward them and spun in excited circles around Molly’s mermaid tail.
Oh, yeah…the costume.
Super. Molly was going to have to go out there and warn the stranger about the riptide while she looked like Daryl Hannah straight off the set of Splash in 1984. Not ideal, but she didn’t have much of a choice. Molly certainly didn’t want the guy to drown, and she was currently the only person in sight who was fully ambulatory. The dog beach was dotted with more walkers and electronic scooters than actual canines. Where were the Dalmatian owners? They always helped bring the median age at the dog beach down by a decade. Or three.
“He’s drifting further out,” Ethel said. “Molly, maybe we should do something.”
“I’m on it.” Molly took a deep breath and headed toward the shoreline in urgent-yet-tiny footsteps, since her fishtail was almost as confining as it was glittery. The costume was never a problem on the turquoise vintage Vespa she used to get around the island. Of course, she didn’t normally have to rescue swimmers on the way home from work.
Ursula romped after Molly, just like she always did.
“Don’t worry. We’re just going to stand right at the edge of the water and yell at that guy to come back to the shallows. We’ll be on the couch in front of the Great British Baking Show before you know it,” Molly said, not altogether sure if she was talking to her dog or herself. Possibly both.
But just as they moved from the sugary sand of the dunes onto the damp shore, the tide rushed in. The man bobbed up and down in the water, and he finally looked up as he seemed to realize how far he’d wandered offshore. A wave smacked him right in the face.
Oh no.
Molly’s stomach tumbled. “Hey, are you okay?”
Ursula paced at the water’s edge, leaving a trail of frantic, tiny paw prints in her wake.
Molly waited a beat for the man to resurface, but all she could see was sunlight glinting off something shiny floating in the water. She shaded her eyes with her hand. Eyeglasses. Not a good sign at all, considering they were missing the head that they belonged to.
“Wait here!” she said to Ursula. “I’m going in.”
Hoyt Hooper, the senior center’s bingo caller, rolled to a stop nearby in his mechanical scooter. His pug, Hops, sat in the scooter’s basket, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt that matched the one Hooper was wearing, down to the last hibiscus. “That man’s got to be in trouble. I’m calling 911.”
Molly nodded. “Good idea.”
But would they get to the dog beach in time to help him? Doubtful.
She glanced at the red Igloo cooler strapped to Hoyt’s scooter with a bungee cord. “Hoyt, remember that safety demo the fire department gave at the library last year?”
He nodded. “Yeah, why?”
“I’m going to need your cooler.” According to the fire department, fiberglass coolers could be used as flotation devices in an emergency situation. And this was definitely beginning to feel like an emergency.
“Does this mean you’re going in after that guy?” Hoyt grabbed the Igloo and handed it to her.
Molly jumped out the contents—three frosty cans of root beer and a pile of ice. “I sure am.”
Ursula’s tail wagged as she licked the spilled ice cubes.
“I’ll watch your pup. Be careful, Molly,” Hoyt said as he climbed off his scooter. “Please.”
“It’s going to be fine,” she said, and wasn’t quite sure if she was talking to Hoyt, Ursula or herself.
Molly waddled as fast as she could into the water while Hoyt scooped Ursula into his arms and the other seniors made their way toward the scene with their walkers leaving winding trails behind them in the sand. The dogs gathered round, barking at the ocean while their ears flapped in the salty breeze. Molly suddenly felt like she was in a very bizarre episode of Baywatch.
It occurred to her that she didn’t even know if her costume was waterproof. She’d never actually gotten it wet before. Some mermaid she was.
She held her breath, dove into the waves and breast-stroked her way to the place where the man had disappeared with one arm, clutching the cooler tight with the other. The water this close to shore was murky, filled with tumbling seashells and stirred up sand. Molly’s eyes burned, and her chest ached. A wave splashed into her face, and she couldn’t see a thing. Then she blinked a few times and spotted him.
The man’s arms flailed at the waves. He gasped for air. Molly could feel the riptide pulling at her ridiculous fishtail, threatening to drag her out to sea. She clutched the cooler as tightly as she could.
No way. She was not going to die like this—costumed, while the greater senior citizen and dog populations of Turtle Beach looked on. Absolutely not. She flat-out refused.
“Grab my hand,” she yelled above the roar of the waves and sea spray.
The panicked man’s head jerked in her direction. Their eyes met, and his gaze filled with a combination of wonder and relief. Molly’s heart thumped hard—adrenaline, no doubt. Still, there was just something about those soulful eyes that made Molly’s head spin.
She only hoped it wasn’t because they were about to drown together. Drowning was nowhere on Molly’s to-do list, and the stranger was far too cute to get lost at sea. She simply couldn’t picture him with a Tom Hanks Castaway beard, crying over a volleyball with a face.
Why on earth were these crazy thoughts flitting through her head? Was she drowning right now?
She reached for the man as hard as she could, kicked her mermaid tail against the current and yelled at the top of her lungs.
“Wilson!”
Plus one mermaid.
Make no mistake, Molly Prince, the mermaid in question, was every bit as human as the aforementioned octogenarians. Mermaiding was simply Molly’s day job, but sometimes she wore her costume home instead of changing out of her emerald-green sequined fishtail and clam shell bustier. For modesty’s sake, the bustier was attached to a flesh-colored body stocking adorned with a sprinkling of rhinestone starfish and draped with no less than six strings of pearls. Getting out of the thing was no easy task.
Molly would get to that once she and Ursula, her Cavalier King Charles Spaniel puppy, got to the quaint oceanfront cottage they called home. Ursula was a recent addition to Molly’s life and due to the puppy’s extreme separation anxiety, she rarely left Molly’s sequined-clad side. The little chestnut-and-white spaniel was also prone to bursts of the zoomies, hence their regular stops at the dog beach after work.
“Look at that little dog go.” Ethel Banks, resident of Turtle Beach Senior Center and one of Molly’s favorite octogenarians, peered over her purple bifocals and grinned as Ursula charged at a flock of sandpiper birds chasing waves along the shoreline.
Three aluminum walkers were lined up in front of the smooth wooden bench where Ethel sat alongside Opal Lewinsky and Mavis Hubbard—or, as everyone in town called their little trio, the OG Charlie’s Angels. Nibbles, a teacup Chihuahua, sat shivering in the basket of the walker belonging to Mavis.
“Ursula really loves other animals,” Molly said. “You should have seen her today at the aquarium. She sat right in front of the shark tank, totally rapt.”
Opal snorted. “Like Mavis and her new boyfriend Larry every night when Jeopardy is on.”
Molly bit back a smile. Was it weird that her senior citizen friends seemed to have more active social lives than she did?
Mavis muttered something in response—laced with snark, no doubt—but whatever it was went into one of Molly’s ears and right out of the other one. Her attention had snagged on a man wading knee-deep through the waves, just beyond the shallows where Ursula pawed at the tiny silver fish that always skittered through the foamy water.
“Do any of you know who that guy is?” Molly felt herself frown.
The dog beach was too close to the crest, local speak for the southernmost tip of the island, to be safe for swimming far from the shore. The surf close to the crest was rougher and the riptides stronger, due to warm water from the bay spilling into the salty depths of the open sea. Swimming past the sandbar wasn’t allowed, for humans and dogs alike.
Opal, Mavis and Ethel narrowed their gazes in the stranger’s direction and then shrugged in unison.
“Where’s his dog?” Molly did a quick inventory of the canines enjoying their freedom on their small, designated strip of sand. She’d been here enough times to know precisely who each dog belonged to.
“All the pups here are accounted for,” Ethel said. Clover the corgi woofed in agreement at her feet.
Weird. What was he doing at the dog beach, dog-less?
“He’s staring into the water like he lost something.” Opal pressed a hand to her heart as a wave rocked into the man’s chest. “He really shouldn’t be so far out there.”
Mavis shook her head. “Definitely not.”
Ursula romped back toward them and spun in excited circles around Molly’s mermaid tail.
Oh, yeah…the costume.
Super. Molly was going to have to go out there and warn the stranger about the riptide while she looked like Daryl Hannah straight off the set of Splash in 1984. Not ideal, but she didn’t have much of a choice. Molly certainly didn’t want the guy to drown, and she was currently the only person in sight who was fully ambulatory. The dog beach was dotted with more walkers and electronic scooters than actual canines. Where were the Dalmatian owners? They always helped bring the median age at the dog beach down by a decade. Or three.
“He’s drifting further out,” Ethel said. “Molly, maybe we should do something.”
“I’m on it.” Molly took a deep breath and headed toward the shoreline in urgent-yet-tiny footsteps, since her fishtail was almost as confining as it was glittery. The costume was never a problem on the turquoise vintage Vespa she used to get around the island. Of course, she didn’t normally have to rescue swimmers on the way home from work.
Ursula romped after Molly, just like she always did.
“Don’t worry. We’re just going to stand right at the edge of the water and yell at that guy to come back to the shallows. We’ll be on the couch in front of the Great British Baking Show before you know it,” Molly said, not altogether sure if she was talking to her dog or herself. Possibly both.
But just as they moved from the sugary sand of the dunes onto the damp shore, the tide rushed in. The man bobbed up and down in the water, and he finally looked up as he seemed to realize how far he’d wandered offshore. A wave smacked him right in the face.
Oh no.
Molly’s stomach tumbled. “Hey, are you okay?”
Ursula paced at the water’s edge, leaving a trail of frantic, tiny paw prints in her wake.
Molly waited a beat for the man to resurface, but all she could see was sunlight glinting off something shiny floating in the water. She shaded her eyes with her hand. Eyeglasses. Not a good sign at all, considering they were missing the head that they belonged to.
“Wait here!” she said to Ursula. “I’m going in.”
Hoyt Hooper, the senior center’s bingo caller, rolled to a stop nearby in his mechanical scooter. His pug, Hops, sat in the scooter’s basket, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt that matched the one Hooper was wearing, down to the last hibiscus. “That man’s got to be in trouble. I’m calling 911.”
Molly nodded. “Good idea.”
But would they get to the dog beach in time to help him? Doubtful.
She glanced at the red Igloo cooler strapped to Hoyt’s scooter with a bungee cord. “Hoyt, remember that safety demo the fire department gave at the library last year?”
He nodded. “Yeah, why?”
“I’m going to need your cooler.” According to the fire department, fiberglass coolers could be used as flotation devices in an emergency situation. And this was definitely beginning to feel like an emergency.
“Does this mean you’re going in after that guy?” Hoyt grabbed the Igloo and handed it to her.
Molly jumped out the contents—three frosty cans of root beer and a pile of ice. “I sure am.”
Ursula’s tail wagged as she licked the spilled ice cubes.
“I’ll watch your pup. Be careful, Molly,” Hoyt said as he climbed off his scooter. “Please.”
“It’s going to be fine,” she said, and wasn’t quite sure if she was talking to Hoyt, Ursula or herself.
Molly waddled as fast as she could into the water while Hoyt scooped Ursula into his arms and the other seniors made their way toward the scene with their walkers leaving winding trails behind them in the sand. The dogs gathered round, barking at the ocean while their ears flapped in the salty breeze. Molly suddenly felt like she was in a very bizarre episode of Baywatch.
It occurred to her that she didn’t even know if her costume was waterproof. She’d never actually gotten it wet before. Some mermaid she was.
She held her breath, dove into the waves and breast-stroked her way to the place where the man had disappeared with one arm, clutching the cooler tight with the other. The water this close to shore was murky, filled with tumbling seashells and stirred up sand. Molly’s eyes burned, and her chest ached. A wave splashed into her face, and she couldn’t see a thing. Then she blinked a few times and spotted him.
The man’s arms flailed at the waves. He gasped for air. Molly could feel the riptide pulling at her ridiculous fishtail, threatening to drag her out to sea. She clutched the cooler as tightly as she could.
No way. She was not going to die like this—costumed, while the greater senior citizen and dog populations of Turtle Beach looked on. Absolutely not. She flat-out refused.
“Grab my hand,” she yelled above the roar of the waves and sea spray.
The panicked man’s head jerked in her direction. Their eyes met, and his gaze filled with a combination of wonder and relief. Molly’s heart thumped hard—adrenaline, no doubt. Still, there was just something about those soulful eyes that made Molly’s head spin.
She only hoped it wasn’t because they were about to drown together. Drowning was nowhere on Molly’s to-do list, and the stranger was far too cute to get lost at sea. She simply couldn’t picture him with a Tom Hanks Castaway beard, crying over a volleyball with a face.
Why on earth were these crazy thoughts flitting through her head? Was she drowning right now?
She reached for the man as hard as she could, kicked her mermaid tail against the current and yelled at the top of her lungs.
“Wilson!”
Purchase A Line in the Sand from:
The Turtle Beach Series:
Teri Wilson is a Publishers Weekly bestselling author of heartwarming, whimsical contemporary romance. Three of Teri's books have been adapted into Hallmark Channel Original Movies by Crown Media, including UNLEASHING MR. DARCY (plus its sequel MARRYING MR. DARCY), THE ART OF US and NORTHERN LIGHTS OF CHRISTMAS, based on her book SLEIGH BELL SWEETHEARTS. She is also a recipient of the prestigious RITA Award for excellence in romantic fiction for her novel THE BACHELOR'S BABY SURPRISE. Teri has a major weakness for cute animals, pretty dresses and Audrey Hepburn films, and she loves following the British royal family.
Places to find Teri Wilson:
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