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I looked down at the book again and studied the table of contents.

Chapter One.

Acknowledge That You Want To Change.

No shit, Sherlock! Why do you think I forked out almost twenty dollars for this book and drove all the way from Nashville to hide out back here in this storage room?

Chapter Two.

Identify What’s Holding You Back.

If I knew, I wouldn’t be out twenty bucks!

Sighing, I closed the book and banged my head against the bag of flour.

Dammit!

I started to cough as flour exploded out of the bag and gusted all over everything, including me. I’d actually ripped a hole in the bag I’d been leaning against, and now I was covered in the stuff. I sneezed and sneezed again. I couldn’t stop.

Perfect.

I looked around and spotted a broom and a dustpan and cleaned up the flour. The last thing I wanted to do was leave a mess for my aunt.

I carefully settled down next to a different bag and started thinking.

So, what’s holding me back? Nashville was supposed to be my fresh start after London. It was going to be the city where I could reinvent myself, be anonymous, figure things out. Instead, I’d been there three years and felt more confused than ever. I'd taken whatever jobs came along: retail, receptionist at a law firm, barista. Nothing that meant anything. Nothing that felt like me. What was wrong with me?

Fear of failing?

Shit yeah!

Fear of leaving Nashville and moving back home, then admitting I didn't have it all figured out? Absolutely. Fear that everyone would see through my “I'm doing great in the city” act? One hundred percent.

Stop! No thinking of London!

Was my family keeping me away? Mom? Dad? Randy? Seth?

Hell yeah!

They might be my support, my cheerleaders, my lifeline. But they would be all up in my business before I could say hello. Hell, everytime I came home for a visit Mom kept telling me how I could move into my old room.

I almost dropped my book as I heard the distinctive shuffle coming down the hall.

Little Grandma was close. I’d recognize her no matter where I was.

Before I had a chance to hide the book, the pantry door creaked open, and I saw her concerned blue eyes looking at me.

Busted!

“That book doesn’t have the kind of cover I’m used to seeing you read,” she teased.

I laughed. “Since it doesn’t have a picture of a man’s naked chest on it, does that mean you don’t want to borrow it?”

“I like all kinds of books.”

That was true. I got my love of reading from her. She had made the top floor of her house a library, and I had hidden there for hours as a child.

“Tell me, sugar, how do you want to transform your life?”