Emily Ann Truce had resigned herself to the fact that she was nothing more than a sparkled-up, coffee and smut addicted, massively ADHD, slightly OCD, and moderately GAD, walking example of Murphy's law . . . at least that's how it felt. And now she was headed back to where it all began . . . home. Not home. Her old home. The place where it all went to shit. And damn if history just didn’t insist on repeating itself every chance it got. She guessed that sitting on the side of the interstate at the ripe-old age of twenty-eight with a broken down RV, no upcoming job placement, a dead mom, and a love life that only consisted of her favorite hot pink battery powered boyfriend was the equivalent of a worst-case scenario, and then promptly cursed herself the moment she looked up to find him walking straight for her…