There’s nothing wrong with admiring a work of art, or so I tell myself…even when the admiring is more like peeping out my bedroom window, and the work of art is the shirtless, sweaty, body of the man who’s been mowing my lawn once a week. But when Theo Ross peers in my window and catches me… er, mid-admiration… all bets are off. It turns out Theo is more than someone pretty to look at. Soon we’re trading logic puzzles and drawings as coded messages, I’m inviting him inside for dinner and stargazing, and I can’t help wondering if what we’ve found isn’t a short-term thing… but something written in the stars for us all along.

It was supposed to be a straightforward protection job. Remove the target from Vermont, get him to the safehouse, keep him there until his mafia uncle testifies, get back in my employer’s good graces. Boom, done. Easy. But it turns out things get complicated real fast when your target is an adorkable, accident-prone cutie with a shockingly low sense of self-preservation, zero clue that he’s related to the Fromadgio crime boss, and 100% too much inclination to chat happily with strangers. When Chris compromises our safehouse (and accidentally starts a “lowkey, unavoidable” bar fight), our only option is to go undercover… pretending to be campground hosts in Copper County, New York. Make that married campground hosts. (Long story.) Now I’m hiding out with a guy who’s obsessed with action-adventure shows and hand-knit sweaters, and whose most fearsome talent is arranging charcuterie boards, all of which is far less helpful in a gunfight than you might think. And worst of all… the sweet little virgin I rescued is growing on me. Somehow I find myself listening to his happy chatter when I should be watching the woods, trying to figure out how his mind works when I should be getting us out of this predicament, and appreciating the way he looks in my shirts when I should be focused on getting my career back on track. But when the Fromadgios’ enemies finally find us, protecting Chris is no longer just a job. I’ll do anything to protect what’s mine… and there’s nothing pretend about it.

My childhood friend. My biggest rival. The only man I’ve ever wanted. If there were a prize for the most contented man in Copper County, I’d win it every time. I’ve got my business. My son. My family. My friends… and no romantic prospects, sure, but only because I don’t need any. My life’s great as it is. Seriously. Could not be better. I’m practically bleeding serenity over here. At least until Jasper Wrigley shows up in Copper County after twenty years–as my son’s temporary hockey coach, no less, though the man could barely lace up his skates back in the day–and throws my carefully ordered life into chaos. Once upon a time, magnetic, confident Jasper was my best friend and greatest rival, and his summer visits to town were the best part of my year. Our competitions were fierce. Our dares were thrilling. We talked about everything under the sun, and he made me believe in the possibility of a bright, hazy future somewhere just out of reach. But then he left, and I grew up. Now the last thing I need is Jasper back in my space, provoking me, challenging me, and making me question… freaking everything. Like whether my life’s as perfect as I claim. Like whether I’m as straight as I think. Like whether there might be something better than “contentment” out there for me if I’m brave enough to look for it. And whether the man who was always my greatest rival… might just be the love of my life.

When you burn down your contractor’s home… and kind of, accidentally invite him to move into yours. First things first, that fire was a fluke. A tragic, completely unintentional byproduct of high emotions, an ill-timed backyard grilling… and one very shirtless man. I only meant to confront Brewer—my maddeningly stoic contractor—about a few small concerns with the renovation of my historic money pit. Instead, I got distracted by his muscles (who grills shirtless in February, I ask you?), I tripped over my words—and my feet—and… well, my carefully-ordered life went up in flames. Suddenly, Brewer’s living in my attic, his dainty teacups are in my cabinet, his slobbery dog is all up in my business, and I find myself renovating my whole future just as surely as Brewer’s renovating my home. Copper County was never my endgame. Once I finish writing my article, I’m off on my next assignment. But between late night conversations, sledgehammer therapy sessions, and solving the Jam Cupboard Mystery (it’s a real thing, I promise), I’m starting to think we’re building something neither of us expected. Because the more I learn about Brewer, the more I realize I’m not the only misfit in Copper County. And that maybe it’s time I stop chasing other people’s truths… and start writing my own.