My new next-door neighbor seems to have everything figured out. Small town golden boy? Check. Single dad extraordinaire? Check. Hot baker forearms? I didn’t notice them, I swear. I, on the other hand, don’t–at all–have anything figured out. Trust me, I didn’t think taking over my mom’s dream bed and breakfast in Copper Run Vermont was going to be easy. It should be a good place to heal after my divorce. But apparently my scones belong in the garbage with my small talk skills. As pointed out by n