The Misfits of Copper County

When you burn down your contractor’s home… and kind of accidentally invite him to move into yours. First things first that fire was a fluke. A tragic completely unintentional byproduct of high emotions an ill-timed backyard grilling… and one very shirtless man. I only meant to confront Brewer—my maddeningly stoic contractor—about a few small concerns with the renovation of my historic money pit.  Instead I got distracted by his muscles (who grills shirtless in February I ask you?) I tripped over my words—and my feet—and… well my carefully-ordered life went up in flames.  Suddenly Brewer’s living in my attic his dainty teacups are in my cabinet his slobbery dog is all up in my business and I find myself renovating my whole future just as surely as Brewer’s renovating my home. Copper County was never my endgame. Once I finish writing my article I’m off on my next assignment. But between late night conversations sledgehammer therapy sessi