Hannah My plan is simple: one week on an island, no spreadsheets, no insufferable bosses, no coworkers stealing my lunch from the office fridge.
Just sun, sand, and the mindless relaxation that might remind me I’m still a functioning human being and not a calculator in a blouse.
Then I walk into the Shore Thing – a beach bar – and meet Logan Collins. He’s six-foot-five. Muscles on muscles. Owns the place and has the kind of smile that makes me forget I came here to be alone.
It was supposed to be a summer fling. No strings, no expectations, no heartbreak.
But somewhere between the first kiss and the last sunset, my one-week plan fell apart … And so did every wall I spent years building.
