Overview

Jordan Price plans for hurricanes, fireworks malfunctions, and the thousand tiny ways a crowd can turn. She does not plan for Sylvie March—tide‑eyed festival director, chaos‑into‑art producer, and the only person who can make Jordan forget a checklist mid‑sentence. As Tideglass Harbor’s Halloween Festival barrels toward opening night, the Northpoint Lighthouse starts acting like a mischievous emcee: cones that migrate in perfect spirals, a museum door that seems to breathe, a faint 47‑degree squeal that vanishes when the crowd moves together, and rainbow chevrons from the old Fresnel lens that pulse brighter when two hands touch the pedestal base. Jordan wants safe; Sylvie wants showstopping; the lighthouse wants attention—and maybe an audience.

Forced into a truce, the planner and the producer co‑design a consent‑first crowd drill that looks suspiciously like fun: a silent‑disco spiral with hand signals and lantern cues. Between run‑throughs, the town chimes in like a Greek chorus—Mr. Biddle drops pun‑laced keeper lore, Saffy sells calm charms and towels like a benevolent stagehand, the Mayor’s office posts wry PSAs (do not lick artifacts), and a child ghost named Button leaves spiral stickies in impossible places. Competence chemistry turns into actual chemistry on a wind‑slick catwalk where the first kiss tastes like sea‑salt and relief. Steam‑fog confessions follow (consent spoken out loud, always), along with a giddy after‑hours office‑chair reunion that proves planning and wanting can share the same map.

Then someone plants a branded lighter and whispers arson. A bureaucratic complaint boots Jordan from the site on the very night her voice could hold the line. Sylvie refuses to trade safety for spectacle, even as an outside ‘security sponsor’ circles, promising control while feeding fear. With Dev and Mara loaning sensors and chalk to visualize what the town can feel—how shared rhythm calms cold spots—their drill becomes Tideglass gospel. And when a false weather alert surges across phones and panic swells, Jordan and Sylvie step onto the stage together. They turn danger into choreography: call‑and‑response, headphones up, bodies flowing in a spiral past the lighthouse, lanterns blooming on the beat. Two synchronized hands on a hidden latch answer the moment with a soft click—revealing a secret panel and a fragment of the Harbor Binding diagram that has kept Tideglass safe for a century.

Set in a cozy‑spooky world where magic listens when love is spoken aloud, **Grave Mistakes & First Dates** delivers enemies‑to‑lovers crackle, open‑door heat (enthusiastic consent and tender aftercare on the page), and a mystery that pays off with clever clues and zero gore. Expect festival glow, witty banter, and a town that believes boundaries are the sexiest invitation. By the time the last lantern is out, the crowd is safe, the pedestal’s secret is cataloged, and Jordan and Sylvie have negotiated the only schedule that matters—alternating ‘spectacle’ and ‘safety’ date nights, with room for both to lead. Start here or read in order; either way, Tideglass Harbor will make you believe that safety and joy can share the same stage—and that the bravest plan is choosing each other.

WHAT YOU’LL GET: enemies‑to‑lovers crackle, festival ambience, a lighthouse set‑piece bathed in prismatic rainbows, three on‑page intimate scenes (explicit yet ad‑safe) with clear verbal consent and tender aftercare, and a clever cozy mystery that rewards attention. WHAT YOU WON’T: gore, cruelty, shamey banter, or cliffhangers. Reading order is flexible: this story stands alone with a full HEA and also advances the series arc as a new fragment of the Harbor Binding surfaces. If you adored competence kink with heart, community‑centered magic, and coastal autumn vibes in Book 1, you’ll swoon for the public save here—and for the way Jordan and Sylvie learn that the hottest thing in Tideglass is asking, listening, and choosing together