BROOKS



I never asked for much out of life—just a quiet tower above my bookshop, a bow tie collection, and the peace of knowing every book spine is perfectly aligned. Romance is something that happens in novels, not in real life, certainly not to men like me.

Then he walked in. Cody Cameron. Sunburnt, swaggering, Australian, and already knocking books off my shelves like some chaotic force of nature. He's loud where I'm quiet, messy where I'm meticulous, and yet . . . I can't stop looking at him. He makes me laugh, he makes me furious, and he makes me wonder if maybe I could step outside the safety of my tower.

CODY



I've been wandering the world with nothing but my backpack and my compass, writing stories about places most people never see. I thought Mulligan's Mill would just be another stopover, another small-town article for one of my freelance travel stories.

But then I met Brooks Beresford—the bow-tied bookshop owner who looks at me like I'm a tropical cyclone. He's stubborn, sharp, and somehow the sexiest thing I've ever seen. I've never stayed in one place for long, but something about Brooks makes me think about words I don't often use in my vocab . . . words like home.