Darius Stone was meant to be in Seattle. A business deal had fallen through, and his private jet was held up for inspection. Portland wasn’t part of the plan—it was just an inconvenient stop. But when the car service dropped him off near a quaint café on Alberta Street, something unexpected stirred in him. A flicker of familiarity, like a memory brushing his skin.
He almost passed by without noticing. But something—an instinct, a nudge—made him glance at the café window.
And there she was.
Nia.
Even after six years, he’d recognize her anywhere.
Her curls were pinned up just like she used to wear them on Sunday mornings. She leaned in gently toward three children—a girl and two boys—none of them older than five. Her expression was warm, full of tenderness.
But what shook Darius to his core was how the children looked at her.
And how they looked like him.
The same rich brown skin. The same high cheekbones. The same dimples.
His dimples.
Dimples he’d only ever shared with one woman.
The woman who had disappeared from his life.
