Copper County

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 every summer for years.

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. 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.

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.

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.