We all know and love the forced proximity trope, whether that be a single bed in a hotel room or being trapped in a cabin during a snowstorm. Beth O’Leary, author of romantic comedies The Wake Up Call and The Switch, takes it to the next level as two strangers looking for a single night with no strings attached attempt to survive an emergency situation together. After a fun night of fun and flirting on a houseboat, Zeke and Lexi wake up the next morning to realize they are stranded at sea. After originally having zero intentions of seeing each other again, they’ll have to navigate survival at sea. 

Romantic comedies are one of my guilty pleasures and my favorite way to wind down after a stressful week. Who doesn't love getting lost in a feel-good story with characters you can’t help but adore? In Swept Away, available April 1, Beth O’Leary takes us on a delightful adventure full of unexpected twists, danger, and hot romance. Read an excerpt here: 

Day Two: Lexi 

It’s been perhaps twenty, twenty-five minutes since I casually sliced his midriff open with a kitchen knife, and the world feels like a completely different place. After a while, Zeke eases his hand from the towel and shakes it out at the wrist, breathing heavily through his nose. We wait. I stare at the bloodstained fabric.

“I feel like we need a game plan that isn’t just me sitting on this toilet,” Zeke says, moving to stand.

I open my mouth, but to my surprise, he’s not waiting for me to come up with something.

“If you put that green blanket over the bed, I can prop myself there,” he says. “Less strain if my feet are up, and we can wash the blanket more easily than the sheets if I, like . . . bleed everywhere.”

“Right! Yes. Good idea.”

I hover for a moment, wondering if he needs my help to walk, but he grips the doorframe and then takes a few unsteady, short steps to get himself to the kitchen counter. I move past him into the bedroom, grabbing the green blanket from the end of the bed.

We get him settled back on the pillows. I end up lying beside him, hands on my belly, staring up at the wood-paneled ceiling. When I close my eyes, the skylight leaves its rectangle there, glow- ing black. We’ve never been in this bed together before—we’ve al- ways taken it in turns. Well, except for the first night.

“It’s wide,” Zeke says, his voice strained. I glance over, then down to the towel. He’s feeling around underneath it; his fingers come back shining with new blood. “It’s sort of stretched open? I don’t know if . . . I feel like a cut like this, at home, it would need stitches.”

At home, we would be in A&E right now. He’d probably be bandaged up already, just waiting for a doctor to be free to suture him. We wouldn’t think twice about the painkillers he’d pop on the drive to the hospital.

“Do we have a needle and thread?” Zeke asks. “Oh my God,” I say, lifting a hand to my face.

“It’s OK. I’m sure I can do it myself,” he says, raising his head to look down at himself. “Do we have anything like that? A needle?” 

“There’s actually a mini sewing kit in my bag,” I say. “One of those hotel ones.” From a stay in the New Forest for a friend’s wedding.

“OK. Well . . . We’ll wait awhile. Maybe it will look better in a bit,” Zeke says.

His voice sounds strained, and I look at him closely, tracing his profile on the pillow. He’s sweating and drawn. Maybe that’s the infection setting in, the bacteria already zipping through his blood- stream.

It is totally possible that Zeke will die. Blood loss, infection— without modern medicine, those things kill you.

I have been so afraid out here on this houseboat, but I don’t think—until now—I have truly understood the danger we’re in. It’s not just the sea, the possibility of running out of food . . . it’s every- thing. Anything. The tiny dangers we encounter every day aren’t tiny here. Splinters, snagged nails, a bout of food poisoning: any one of those could feasibly kill us.

I watch as Zeke swallows, and I am hit with a sudden, searing pang of emotion. It’s not love, obviously—I barely know the man. Of course it isn’t love. But it’s akin to it: fiery, low, sweet. Some- where between desire and grief, as bitter and strong as the way I feel for Mae.

“You’ll be OK,” I say, and I reach across to grab his hand. “I’ll wait with you.”

Excerpted from SWEPT AWAY by Beth O’Leary, published by Berkley, an imprint of Penguin Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House, LLC. Copyright © 2025