He’s a storm cloud, a grouchy winemaker in a rec league hockey jersey. I’m a rom-com princess, the persistent ray of sunshine he never saw coming.

I used to believe in love—the kind that makes your heart race like the last scene of a movie, where the music swells...and the guy chases after the girl after he ruins everything.

But real life is different. I learned that the hard way—one unanswered text, one almost-love at a time. So, I filled my world with little joys that don’t require a man. A shelf full of paperbacks, novelty coffee mugs, nerdy facts about winemaking.

And yet, the one thing I’ve always known is that I want to be a mom.

I’ve completed the adoption forms and propped up my social media image with a fairy tale story worthy of America’s sweetheart. All I need to do is convince the courts that I’ll make a good parent. I’m so close to the life I want, even if it’s not a rom-com dream.

And then Archer Corbett shows up. Not in some grand or dramatic way—no rain-soaked confession or well-timed orchestral swell. Just a guy, standing there, looking at me like I’m the plot twist he never expected.

Archer hates small talk, fake smiles, and anything that feels like hope. He’s weighted down by the obligations of running the family winery and following in the footsteps of his father, a man whose work never left time for his kids. So Archer is adamant that he’ll never have kids of his own.

But I’m not sure this grump is beyond hope. Not when he lifts the hem of my skirt so I don’t trip on it. Not when being with him feels this good.

Suddenly, I’m gripped with that feeling again—the one I tried so hard to ignore.

Like maybe, just maybe, love is still worth believing in.