Calling all paranormal romance lovers, BookTok readers, and Christmas lovers — we may have found the perfect holiday novel for you.
good spirits, per BK Borison, out next fall from Avon Books, combines magic, mayhem and cozy holiday charm. It follows the main character, Harriet York, as she is haunted by the ghost of Christmas past, who prompts her to reevaluate her past life. But things get complicated when York and the ghost who haunts her – known as Nolan Callahan in his days among the living – begin to feel a spark of romance between them.
“With the Christmas Eve deadline fast approaching, will they find the key to their future in each other’s pasts?” the synopsis of the book asks. “Or will she stay firmly in the present, surrendering to her unexpected, spiritual connection?”
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The novel marks Borison’s first foray into paranormal romance, but USA Today The bestselling author is already well-known in TikTok’s literary community for her Lovelight series, especially her latest novel, Business casual.
Other beloved BookTok authors shared their excitement about the work. Icebreaker author Hannah Grace chimed in Good spirits “absolute knockout”.
“It feels like coming home with the new Borison book in the best way. It really is in a league of its own,” adds Grace.
Check out an exclusive sneak peek of the novel below.
“Good Spirits” by BK Borison. Pick your favorite Christmas movie and we’ll pick your next holiday read
The glow of my tree greets me as I throw my belongings in a pile by the door, flickering out of my tights. I pull on my favorite pajamas – a matching red and white flannel set with dancing reindeer – and pull my curls into a ponytail. Tonight I will alleviate today’s disappointments White Christmas and peppermint tea. I’ll try again tomorrow.
Christmas has always been my favorite time of the year. It’s the only time of year when magic seems to be real, hovering somewhere close to the surface. As if you could reach out and touch him. Place it between your frozen fingertips like sugarplum kisses and popcorn strung on a string. The crackling of the fire under the hearth and the ginger cookies fresh out of the oven. Christmas was always real. Christmas always felt true.
I sink into the comfort of my couch and watch my movie, unwrapping a box of candy while Betty and Judy sing about sisters. Something thick and heavy settled in my throat. Sisters.
Growing up, my sister and I would lay on the floor with our heads together and watch this scene over and over. We would promise each other that we would be the same, laugh and laugh and dance – togetheralways. We watched our mother and aunt tear each other apart until their relationship was reduced to a pile of ashes. We knew we wanted something different. Something better.
But the last time I spoke to my sister, the cherry blossoms were on the trees and the tears were on her cheeks. Somehow, despite our best intentions, we managed to become just like them.
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I went one way.
Samantha took the other one.
I push the thought away. Today is December 1st. It’s not a day for painful memories. Today is a day for Danny Kaye and peppermint candy and my coolest socks.
Tradition. Hope. Kindness.
I’m so busy trying to suck my tea and convince myself I’m fine that I don’t notice the important things. Namely, the strange man in my living room. I don’t see it until it goes around my Christmas tree. It’s the scraping of his boots on the floor that finally catches my attention, his shadow large and looming in the glow of my lights. He clears his throat, my head turns in his direction, and I…
I’m screaming. I scream at the top of my voice and throw the nearest missile I have. The television remote control flies over his shoulder, landing next to the lighthouse ornament.
He doesn’t flinch, watching me motionless from the shadows.
“Hello, Harriet,” he says easily.
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His voice is rough. A faint accent that I can’t pinpoint or recognize. I don’t recognize only one thing about him, most of him is hidden in the shadows. All I can make out is a strong jaw and broad body, his arms held loosely at his sides.
I push myself deeper into my couch. My breath becomes shallow. Every murder mystery podcast I’ve ever listened to has started exactly like this.
The stranger raises his hands, palms facing outwards. “Don’t be alarmed.”
Don’t get upset. All right. Says the man standing — uninvited — in the middle of my living room. He approaches and the light dances on his angular face. He runs one hand through his messy, wind-blown hair.
I grab my box of candy. It’s not sharp enough to stab him, but I have enough adrenaline coursing through my system to probably cause a little damage.
“What do you want?” I’m breathing.
“I want to help you.” He moved closer. “It’s not too late, Harriet. You can fix yourself.”
I blink. “Is this a door-to-door thing? I am not interested in joining your cult, thank you.” His face remains blank. My eyes dart to the door and back. “How did you get into my house?”
“I-“
“More importantly, when can you leave?”
“I don’t—”
“I have nothing of value.” I slide my teeth over my lower lip. “Actually, that’s a lie. That gingerbread house at your feet is hand painted. You could probably get something for it on the black market.”
“Black market,” he repeats slowly. He studies the gingerbread house in question, eyebrows raised.
“You can have it,” I whisper. “Please leave now.”
He shakes his head, returning his attention to me on the couch. His eyes linger too long on the patterned material of my pajama bottoms. He runs his hand over his jaw. “I’m not interested in your gingerbread house.”
“Then what interests you? Kill?”
Good job Harriet, my brain is sizzling. Very subtle.
“I’m not interested in murder either.” The light passes over his face. He is from all angles and sharp, knowing eyes. His jaw set and he lifted his chin. “I’m interested in your soul,” he says ominously, and my stomach lurches to my throat.
I stop, waiting for him to continue, but he doesn’t. “See, that sounds a bit like murder.”
“It’s not murder.”
“That really, really sounds like murder.”
“It’s not,” he insists. “I didn’t—”
“Only, if you’re not an assassin, you should really work on your presentation because . . .”
“I’m here for your showdown.” He interrupts me quickly, raising his voice. He sounds frustrated, like he’s not going to plan any of this. Good. That makes two of us. His lips are pressed into a line and he looks at me, and something flickers behind his eyes. flame. Or a candle, almost.
“I am the ghost of last Christmas, Harriet. Your claim is pending.”
My jaw drops open. My candy cane falls to the floor.
On the first day of December, the universe sent me –
A streak of bad luck and . . . ghost, obviously.
Adapted from GOOD SPIRITS by BK Borison, published by Avon Books. Copyright © 2025 BK Borison. Reprinted courtesy of HarperCollinsPublishers.
Good spirits by BK Borison is out on October 7, 2025 from Avon Books and is available for pre-order now, wherever books are sold.
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