Denim & Diamonds

When the board of directors of my company mandated that I go to a wellness facility in small-town Maine to recharge, that shouldn’t have included:Using a ladder to sneak out of the bedroom window at night and going to the local bar.Getting so drunk that the bar owner brought me upstairs to sleep it off in his bed.Waking up staring at the taxidermy moose head on said bar owner’s wall.Falling for said bar owner who was the most drop-dead gorgeous man I’ve ever seen.But Brock Hawkins was so much more than just the hot bar owner. He owned half the town, built log cabins with his bare hands, and was apparently the most eligible man in all of Meadowbrook.He was also a cinnamon roll despite his seemingly rock-hard exterior.And the last man I should’ve been falling for—because my time in this small town was limited.I had to head back to my life in New York City, one that was the complete opposite from the kind Brock lived.He was denim. I was diamonds.