The rain had been falling over Seattle for nine straight hours when Maya Evans stopped beside the black SUV.
By then, her waterproof jacket had surrendered.
Water had seeped through the shoulders, the cuffs, and the collar. Her dark hair, normally tied into a neat ponytail at the beginning of every delivery shift, had escaped in damp strands that clung to both cheeks. Her sneakers made a faint squishing sound each time she stepped off the curb.
She was still smiling.
That was the first thing Alex Harper noticed.
Not the pizza.
Not the rain running down the red insulated delivery bag hanging against her hip.
Not the fact that the woman standing outside his passenger window looked as though Seattle had personally emptied the sky onto her.
The smile.
Small.
Tired.
Genuine.
Alex lowered the window.
“Please tell me that’s ours.”
Maya lifted the pizza box.
“Unless you’re secretly the Martinez family in apartment 4C.”
Alex glanced at the leather seats surrounding him.
“That would be an impressive apartment.”
“I’ve seen stranger.”
She leaned closer and held out the box.
Inside the rear seat, seven-year-old Lily Harper slept beneath a pale pink coat, her face pressed against the window and one arm wrapped around a worn stuffed rabbit.
Maya noticed her immediately.
“Oh.”
Her voice softened.
“She’s out.”
Alex looked back.
“Ballet rehearsal.”
“Long one?”
“Apparently seven-year-olds require three hours to prepare for forty-two seconds onstage.”
Maya smiled.
“Worth it?”
Alex looked at his daughter.
“Every second.”
Their hands met around the pizza box.
Maya’s fingers were cold.
Alex felt it.
He looked at the rain pouring behind her.
“You need an umbrella.”
“I need a submarine.”
He laughed.
It surprised him.
Most people around Alex laughed because he did.
Board members.
Executives.
Investors.
People professionally trained to recognize the emotional temperature of powerful men.
This felt different.
He reached toward the passenger seat and picked up a folded black umbrella.
“Take this.”
Maya shook her head immediately.
“No.”
“You’re soaked.”
“I noticed.”
“I have three more at home.”
“You have a little girl asleep back there.”
“She’ll be inside in twenty minutes.”
“And if she wakes up before then?”
Alex stared at her.
Maya pushed the umbrella gently toward the open window.
“Keep it for her.”
“You’re delivering food in a storm.”
“And you’re carrying a sleeping child into a building.”
“That makes me significantly less heroic.”
“Didn’t say heroic.”
Her eyes were teasing now.
“Just said you need it more.”
Alex looked at her delivery app.
“Tip already included?”
“Yes.”
He reached toward his wallet.
Maya immediately stepped backward.
“No.”
“You haven’t even seen how much.”
“That usually means too much.”
“It’s raining.”
“It rains here.”
“This is biblical.”
“Still Seattle.”
Alex smiled again.
“Most people notice the car first.”
Maya looked at the SUV.
“Very nice.”
Then she glanced through the back window at Lily.
“But she looked colder.”
Something inside Alex went quiet.
He had spent the previous eighteen months surrounded by people who noticed everything except the things that mattered.
Maya shifted the delivery bag on her shoulder.
“Anyway, dinner delivered. Mission accomplished.”
Alex’s voice lowered.
“Wait.”
She paused.
He did not know what he intended to say.
Then he heard footsteps splashing along the pavement.
A man in a tailored black suit hurried toward the SUV beneath an umbrella, phone in one hand and leather folder tucked under the other arm.
“Mr. Harper!”
Maya looked over.
The man stopped beside the window.
“Sir, the board is still waiting. Tokyo joined the call ten minutes ago.”
Alex’s expression tightened.
“I told them twenty minutes.”
“They’re asking whether you’re still coming to headquarters.”