The Poet in the RV

Hitting the road with the only man who gives me butterflies while simultaneously making me want to punch him could be the biggest mistake of my life, or it could be the best thing I ever do. Three years ago, George Gregory kissed me. It was the sort of kiss that felt like the start of something really great. He spent the next twenty minutes telling me how much he loved his ex, and then he called me Mary. My name is May. Since that fateful evening, I’ve made it a point to never, ever, ever call him by the right name. I also mock him every chance I get. I love the way his cheeks turn red and he tilts his head to the side like he doesn’t understand why I’m so mean. He's not the only one confused, because in all other aspects of my life, I’m… well…. Pushover has such a negative connotation. I prefer to think of myself as dependable. Count on me to always say yes. Need a sitter for Sunday night? I’ll be there. Need someone to man the phones at my mother’s Inn? I’m on it. Need an extra hand at my brother’s winery? There’s nothing I’d rather do more. Just when I run out of places to hide from the people begging me to say yes, George Gregory shows up in an RV like a knight on a steed and offers to take me away from it all. Will the fact that George is in love with his ex and that my fiancé hasn't accepted we're over be enough to make me ignore the sparks igniting between us?