Six years ago at a random diner I met a stranger and he became the-one-who-got-away, or more correctly the one-who-didn't-show-up.

A small advice from me to you: if you haven't dated, touched *or* kissed a guy in years and *years* ... do not try to crawl away or hide from the-one-who-got-away. It's not a good look.

William Carter, the stranger I'd met six years ago was the last person I'd imagine ever seeing at my dad's firm where I work. While I panic and fight off the butterflies in my stomach and in general struggle to act normal, I realize he doesn't even remember me. I'm not sure if I should feel relieved or heartbroken. Things get worse when I learn we'll need to work in close quarters to each other, but at least I let him know that I don't have a crush on him anymore right away. Just in case he gets any ideas.

While I'm in the process of writing lists and making serious changes in my life, because I decide I'm ready to be the heroine in my own story; having William just a breath away is not helping things. Especially when things shift between us and we start to make eye contact in meetings. Then he shows up in places I least expect him to... as in blind dates and sex clubs. He also gives me cheese because he knows how much I like it and there are secret notes he leaves in my office. If you were wondering, I still don't have a crush on him though. Nope.