Introvert's Guide

With all my best friends off the market, it's time that I, Tori Sussex, join them. So where better to find my future husband than the internet? It's great. I get to get all the awkward stuff out of the way and already know if I'm going to like the guy before we meet in person. It's a shame nothing's ever that simple. My relationship with Colton Lane, my best friend's brother, is the very definition of complicated-dirty little no-strings-attached hook-ups we've somehow managed to keep secret from all our friends for the past six months. We're bound to get caught, and if I'm serious about dating, I only have one choice: call it quits, end our little covert booty calls for good, tell him my parking space is off-limits to him. It should be easy. It should be simple. And I'm sure it would be... if only I wasn't in love with him.

After four years living the single life, it's decided that I, London Stuart, am back on the market. I'm not even mad when my cousins and best friends put my name down for the speed-dating sessions. In fact, I'm actually a little excited about it. But then one of my dates turns out to be my six-year-old son's irresistibly sexy soccer coach-his irresistibly sexy British soccer coach. Oliver Hayes is too good to be true-he's tall, dark, handsome, hilarious, and genuinely loves kids...especially mine. But he's not sure if he's even staying in the country, and I'm not sure I can handle giving him my heart if he's only going to leave. So why is he over for dinner almost every night? Why is he giving Leo private goalie lessons in the backyard? Why is he sending flowers to my desk at the newspaper? And why, oh why, can't I stop kissing him?

As the last woman standing, I, Piper Carter, am officially a loner. Apparently, that means it’s time for me to get out there and find myself a man. My protestations that I have no time for it falls on deaf ears, and the next thing I know, I’m on a blind date with someone my best friends assure me will be perfect for me. Maverick Donovan, a guy I, uh, know very, very well... After one conversation that makes my disdain for this setup very clear, the superstar playboy author asks me for only one thing: my help with his research for his next novel. It turns out that the heroine in his next hot romance is the owner of a bakery, but all his ill-fated efforts are baking the batteries in his fire alarm. I agree. I’ll create some recipes for his leading lady, and he’ll credit me and my store, giving me the recognition I need to help me on my way to franchising. If only we didn’t have to spend almost every free waking moment together to make it happen. I don’t want to give my heart to the guy with a trail of broken ones behind him, but there’s a fundamental problem with that plan: I’m pretty sure I’m doing just that...