My life is basically a three-item to-do list: 

1. Keep my eight-year-old daughter happy. 

2. Keep my job at the elementary school. 

3. Keep my big, scary dream of being a full-time artist locked up where it can’t break my heart. 

Easy. Manageable. Drama-free. 

And then Fisher Wright strolls into Star Falls. 

Tall. Charming. British. The kind of dangerously attractive that should come with a warning label—or maybe a hazmat suit in my size. He’s here for eight weeks, helping a famous music superstar record her next album. 

We have one harmless, flirty conversation at the local bar. 

Then it’s wine on my porch. 

Then stolen kisses by the falls. 

Then… oh no, actual feelings. The big, messy, life-complicating kind I swore I didn’t have time for. 

But his life is in New York. Mine is here. And long-distance fairytales? Please. They don’t come true — especially when there’s a kid involved. 

So why is he making secret plans to get my art in front of Manhattan’s elite? 

Why am I suddenly imagining him at my daughter’s soccer games? 

And why does it feel like the only temporary thing here… is the eight-week expiration date we agreed on? 

Small-town slow burn. Single mom sunshine and a grumpy Brit. Steamy porch kisses. And one very inconvenient, very irresistible love.