It was supposed to be a quick stop. Just a run into the local coffee shop for something strong enough to shake the fog out of my brain. One of those mornings where the bed felt a little too good and reality hit a little too hard.

I was standing by the pickup counter, when I caught movement through the window.

A little boy, couldn’t have been older than two. Was jumping up and down like he’d just seen Santa. Arms flailing, tiny shoes slapping against the pavement. And what had him so hyped?

My car. Yeah… I don’t blame him. Midnight black, low and wide, the kind of engine that purrs when it’s idle and growls when it’s not. The kid had taste.

But then I saw her.

The boy’s mom, had to be. She was standing a few steps behind him, trying to get him to calm down, but she had that smile. The kind you don’t fake. The kind that tugged at the edge of her lips, even as she shook her head at her son.

She wasn’t dressed up, not in that “trying too hard” kind of way. Just jeans, a simple top, hair pulled back in a way that made it obvious she hadn’t done it for anyone but herself.

Still, damn. She was beautiful. The kind of beautiful that catches you off guard and doesn’t let go. Natural, warm. Real.

I grabbed my order and pushed through the door, the bell chiming overhead.

Her eyes met mine again.

“Someone’s got good taste,” I said with a grin, nodding toward the boy. “Right, little man?”