Come Again by Poppy Dunne

It is truth universally acknowledged, that a single woman in possession of a dead-end job, shoebox studio apartment, and zany, intensely loyal friends, must be in want of a man.
But in my wildest dreams, I never expected that man to remember me selling overpriced KoolAid in my Rainbow Brite underpants when I was six years old. Life is unpredictable.
Fraser Drake was the least sexy boy when we were growing up: all elbows and knees and khaki pleats and debate club. But right now, in my mother’s kitchen, he’s never looked hotter, more irresistible. Granted, he’s looking down on me as I expertly dance the sock hop scene from Grease. But behind those layers of haughty indifference, I detect the hint of lust.
He is everything I never knew I wanted. Since I met him, my feet haven’t touched the ground and my smile hasn’t left my face. His laugh is like a well-aged scotch, and I have a feeling I could get drunk on it.