Take one reclusive writer, add one charismatic reality TV host, toss together and get... a disaster. Read along as the mayhem and misunderstandings unfold in the sweet romantic comedy starring Katherine Evans (writer) and Mitch Ford (reality TV host). If these to can just get out of their own ways, it might be the romance of the century...The moment Katharine's eyes alighted on the man in the baseball cap, she trudged over to him, determined to put a stop to the ruckus. She ignored the stares and a couple of low whistles aimed in her direction, keeping her eyes on the target. A voice in her head spoke unbidden.Hello, Mr. Nice Jeans. She shook her head against it. Nope.By the time she reached him, he'd already climbed back into the cab of the yellow beast and had started it up. It roared to life, setting her teeth on edge."Hey!" Katharine's voice broke as she called out. She didn't have the kind of voice meant for yelling. It had a rasp to it and was a little on the low side. It embarrassed her growing up with a voice like that. People always laughed a little and made comments like, 'what's a dainty thing like you doing with that voice?' As if she'd had a say in the matter. It was no surprise the man in the baseball cap could neither hear nor see her. She tried again, twice more. Katharine looked around. No one seemed to be paying the slightest bit of attention to her now. Frustrated, Katharine grabbed the first thing her eyes landed on-a filthy, deflated soccer ball-and whipped it at his leg. It whopped him on the side of the head. He threw his hand up in surprise and looked for the source of the projectile. When his eyes met hers, her heart did the cliched somersault. They were cornflower blue and seemed to look right inside her. Cornflower blue? Wow, how lame. Some writer you are. Oh, my God, he's good looking. Stop staring, you dummy.Without taking his eyes away from Katharine, he turned off the machine, then turned in his seat to face her. The crew stood mostly silent but for a handful of guffaws and amused calls of, 'uh-oh, Mitch.' He shushed them with a wave of his hand. Still, his twinkling eyes stayed locked on Katharine's green ones."Did you just throw-a soccer ball at my head?" Instead of being angry, he looked amused. A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth, causing the dimple in his cheek to deepen. His ridiculously swoon-worthy eyes crinkled at the edges. Katharine was momentarily dumbstruck.Rugged. That's the word for Mr. Nice Jeans. Get ahold of yourself. He's the reason you're not working on your book right now, remember?"I-no. Well, yes. I was aiming for your leg, though.""Oh. I see. And...why were you aiming for my leg, may I ask?" A short guy wearing his baseball cap backward and his well-worn Boston Red Sox t-shirt untucked came around from behind Katharine with a large camera perched on his shoulder. He turned his round lens in her face. He grinned and chomped his gum and rolled his hand at her. She stared at him. He yanked his head back, away from the eyepiece and mouthed, 'keep talking.'"What? I-get that thing off me, will you?" To the man in the machine, "Can you tell him to get lost please?""Sam, buddy, back it up a bit, will ya?" He turned back to Katharine. "Okay, lady. We're on a time schedule here. What can I do for you, hmm? Do you want an autograph?""A-an autograph? What? No, I-""Yo, Eddie, get this lovely lady a promo cap," he called over her head."I don't want an autograph, I want you to stop this racket. Now.""Stop? I don't-" He paused, and gave her a harder look, then he slapped his knee and wagged a finger at her, squinting a little. "Ohhh, you're the mean neighbor lady, aren't you?"