I have three rules for dating:

1. Always be my best self

2. Don’t put out too soon

3. Stay the hell away from anyone like my ex-husband - including liars, cheaters, guys with more looks than substance, and (especially important) bartenders

Everyone says you “just know” when you meet the one, but the only thing I know is New York men are the worst. So when Myles, the cocky, tattooed bartender at my brother’s bar starts hitting on me, it’s a hard pass, thanks. I won’t make that mistake again. Besides, I have enough going on with my ex trying to run my vintage clothing store out of business. So what if I’d rather be selling my own designs? I have bills to pay. But it turns out Myles is good at more than just looking sexy while pouring drinks. He knows how to save my business, and that’s an offer I can’t refuse. Everything else he’s offering? Not interested - not in the slightest. Not even if he could be the best mistake I ever make.

Turning thirty has a way of making you take a good, hard look at your life. And I think we all know what any sensible adult does in that situation: tequila shots. Lots of them. It’s okay, though, because I’ve finally escaped my tiny New Zealand home town and my negative parents. And New York is better than my wildest fantasies. So is Michael, the sexy single dad who lives in the apartment upstairs. And he’s featuring in my fantasies more and more—even if he’s a grump and I only ever seem to make a dork of myself in front of him. Ah well, a girl can dream. Anyway, I’ve got a writing career to build, and writing about being single is fun. If that means swearing off men for a bit, that’s fine. I can totally do that. It’s just a tiny crush.

Besides… happily ever afters aren’t real. Are they?