When I left that night, I had every intention of coming back to you. To us. But no matter how hard I wish for what I want, there are some things in life that aren't meant to be. I don't expect you to understand. You've already moved on, living your life. But mine ended that night, nine years ago, and I still can't let you go. Not sure I ever will. I regret so many things, but hurting you, I'll never forgive myself. I'm sorry for...everything.

I left my family and tiny Texas hometown 15 years ago to escape small-town gossips and to give my mom and sister the chance at a better life. But when a phone call from an attorney back home informs me that my sister passed away, leaving me custody of her newborn baby, I'm shocked out of the steady life I've built for myself running a tattoo shop in San Francisco. The thing is: I don't do babies. And I don't do small towns. Or commitment. And I especially don't do family.

I had my person I was supposed to grow old with, but he double broke my heart when he forced me to choose between marrying him or hockey. I chose hockey and if I’m choosing hockey, I’m doing it all the way and leaving love out of the equation. Sounds like a great plan until I show up to hockey practice and realize the guy I fell into bed with is actually my new coach.

Raphael Scott is going to break my heart. He’s an American rockstar, engaged to be married, and straight. He’ll get tired of whatever this is soon enough. Then he’ll go back to his beautiful actress girlfriend and I’ll be alone again. I’m fine with that. But it doesn’t mean I won’t take what he’s offering me right now. His shining American smile, his beautiful open heart, the desperate kisses he presses into my skin.

If there’s one thing I don’t need upsetting my quiet and comfortable routine in the small town of Darling, Montana, it’s newcomer Ash Alcott crash landing on my family’s ranch like some sort of blonde angel. I don’t need his flirting. Or his smile. I don’t need the way he makes me question whether or not I’m truly happy being alone at forty. I certainly don’t need to be giving him riding lessons or appreciating the meals he cooks for the ranch.