I didn't want to go on a date, let alone a date where I was "matched" with someone from a goddess-forsaken app my so-called friends forced on me. He could be an axe murderer for all I knew. I had too much on my plate to even think about starting a relationship. I ran an island for paranormal folks to escape the humans and relax. My residents needed me and since there was no one else to run my family's haven for lost and weary souls, it was up to me. I didn't have time for boyfriends or dating or anything other than keeping my island in the Pacific safe. So I ran, like I always do. I ran from the table and straight into my date's arms. His hunky, muscular arms that connected to his hunky, muscular body. I didn't want to go on a date, let alone a date where some feckin' computer told me who I was supposed to mate. I didn't need help finding someone. I woke up from my own bloody grave six months ago. I was trying to learn how to function in a world that had moved on without me. But I had to listen to my therapist, and I had to go on a date or my residency on this island could be called into question. So, I walked into the restaurant with every intent on leaving early and wishing the poor lass luck on her future matings, but instead I was almost ran over by the very woman I Intended to let down easy. My date, who had long and thick raven-colored hair. My date, who smelled like patchouli and rain. My date, who I'd have to convince to stay, because there was no way I'd let her go now.