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Three weeks until Christmas. Three dates. Three chances.
Warrick Byrne is known for a revolving door of women. Nothing more than a giant flirt. I have no interest in him even if he has been asking me out since I moved to the small town of Mistletoe Creek. Even if he is charming, handsome as the day is long, and a danger to my lacy bits.
I claim temporary insanity when I agree to a series of dates with the deal that if he guesses my name by the end of the third date, he’ll get more dates, more of me, more of us.
Only it doesn’t take three dates for me to see the real him. For me to start to fall. For me to hope he catches me.
Can three dates really lead to one happily ever after?
