It would have helped if Diego hadn’t looked so good. Say maybe having lost some of that thick, sinfully wavy dark hair of his so her fingers hadn’t itched to sink into it. Or even better, if he’d grown love handles.

But neither of those things had happened. What had happened was that Diego had grown into all his long, lean, lanky inches and then some. The boy she’d once known and loved was long gone, not a trace of him left except for those whiskey-colored eyes. The man he’d become—tall, strong, and attitude-riddled—was a stranger to her.

He would stay that way.

And maybe if she repeated it enough to herself, she’d actually believe it.

Getting off the bus, she walked through the cobblestoned courtyard of her building. Usually, she took her time here, enjoying the glorious old architecture, the corbeled brick and exposed iron trusses, the big windows. But the evening was chilly, and her feet hurt.

She passed The Canvas Shop. Just inside the big picture window, she could see Rocco working on a client, as well as Sadie and Mini Moe, two of his best tattoo artists, as they did the same. Sadie’s better half, Caleb, was there too, making everyone laugh.

Sadie had become a dear friend, and Daisy often stopped in at this time of night so they could all order in takeout and share.

But tonight, she needed to be alone.

She took the elevator to the fourth floor because her poor toes were screaming at her. It’d been a case of beauty versus comfort with her heels that morning, and she’d stupidly chosen style.

Letting herself into her apartment, she immediately stripped, put on PJs, and…ate everything in her fridge. Then she put on Netflix and grabbed the ice cream from the freezer.

Some days required more self-care than others.

She’d just gotten comfy when a knock came at her door. Damn. Setting aside the carton of rocky road, she got up, leaned into the peephole and stilled. Oh shit.

Diego.

She stepped back and had a pep-talk with herself. Okay, remember…you are not the sweet, innocent little thing you once were. The one who fell head over heels for that crooked smile. You’re a grownup, a professional, and you don’t need no stinkin’ man—

He knocked again, and she jumped a little. What is he doing here? He’d made it clear earlier what she’d already known, that he hadn’t missed her, probably hadn’t given her a single thought in all these years.

It rankled that she couldn’t say the same, though it wasn’t from lack of trying. She’d done her best to get over him, but he’d been soul-deep. And that was hard to exhume.

His voice came again, surprisingly low, but she could hear him clearly enough. “Daisy, I know you’re in there. I can smell the wheels burning.”

Rolling her eyes at both of them, she opened the door to find him standing there, hands resting above him on the doorjamb, filling the space with that big, tough body that had once upon a time made hers sing the hallelujah chorus.