
“I’m not your vacation fling.” Deacon hears it and smiles anyway. Like he’s already unbuttoning the argument.
Allie arrives at a secluded lake house with one rule: no men, no drama, and absolutely no more brothers of exes. She’s still running on the kind of rage that makes you do something deliciously petty… which makes it worse. Then she hears snoring, opens a bedroom door, and finds Deacon sprawled in the bed like he pays rent. Of course it’s him. The CEO flirt from her sister’s wedding. The one who watched her like dessert, asked for one night, and got told no. Now he’s holding a key, she’s holding her suitcase, and you’re about to watch them negotiate “kitchen hours” like they’re not two seconds from biting. He drags a sketchpad to the counter and starts drawing up house rules. Then the front door swings open and a voice calls, “Allie?”
ALLIE
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