Iâm the absolute last remaining single woman in the entire town of Bordeaux. Okay, maybe not the very last. Just the last one with all her teeth, natural hair color, and the ability to remember where I set my keys. I decided years ago that Iâm going to remain single until my dying day. Iâll infuse a new, hip meaning into the term âold cat lady.â I donât need a man. Iâve got my bulldog, my cats, and some of the best friends in the world. My cupâs not half-fullâItâs overflowing. My man-free life is going along fine until the day I walk into my new job as a part-time tutor to the daughter of the new doctor in town. The sight of this man is making my skin tingle and my breath hitch, and something very much like butterflies are erupting in my stomach. Butterflies! I donât do butterflies over a man. My reaction doesnât mean I need to change my stance on men. After all, Grantâs a broody, stern, cantankerous man. If I were going to start dating, it certainly wouldnât be someone who obviously hasnât smiled since he was forced to for school pictures. But then his daughter walks in the room, and his face lights up. That smile. Who knew swooning was a real thing? Still, Iâm not dating. And thatâs final.