I don't do relationships. I especially don't intend to fall for the woman next door. I buried my wife two years ago. Every woman I've dated since has either pitied me or tried to replace her. I'm done. Ellie and I are fine on our own. Then I forgot my daughter on early dismissal day. Worst father of the year - I know. The sunny neighbor who rescued Ellie looked at me like I was a monster. The apology came with distance. My walls are built higher than ever. Then a tree crashed through her roof in the middle of a snowstorm, and suddenly she's living in my house. Bryn bakes cookies with my daughter at midnight. Laughs at my grumpiness instead of running from it. Fits into our broken life like she was always meant to be there. After Ellie falls asleep, I back Bryn against the kitchen counter. Kiss her until the cookies burn. Can't stop myself even then. Three days trapped together, and I'm ruined. The storm ends. She leaves to give us space. Two weeks later, my daughter packs a bag and shows up at Bryn's door. Ellie doesn't want space. She wants a mom. I'm one breath away from begging Bryn to come home. This time, I'm not letting her walk away. Secret-billionaire single-dad, small-town forced-proximity romance. Emotional slow-burn, cozy domesticity, devastating heat, heartwarming HEA. No cheating. Standalone.