After the tragic death of my best friend and no-label-lover, I pack up my life-on-wheels and flee. I’m an expert at running. From relationships. From roots. From everything. You could say I have a thing against commitment.

But I’m tired of running, and this little mountain town is charming. So is the butter yellow house with the adorable wood porch…the house I signed the deed for.

Yep, I’m a homeowner now. No more running.

I’m planting roots. Until a tarot reading crushes my heart by predicting love. Baby steps.

I’m not ready for love. I don’t want love. I’m still trying to reinvent my long-time devotion with black to a love-affair with all things pastel. And that polka-dot cup…Priorities.

I don’t have time for love. But I can’t help thinking of the hot firefighter I’ve caught watching me. He’s big and strong and…Nope. No.

Bad luck has a way of following me around, and flames have been a constant tragedy in my past. If I could flip irony the bird, I would.

But I have bigger problems than a hottie I want to forget everything with.

My lifetime stalker takes that cake.