Chapter 1- The Wrong Place, the Wrong Time
If there was ever proof the universe hated me, it was this morning.
I was already five minutes late to my best friend’s engagement brunch which I had scheduled, in bold pink ink, three weeks ago. My hair was staging a full rebellion ; my dress refused to cooperate, and my heel had snapped mid-crosswalk like the universe’s idea of a punchline.
No meet cute . Just me, wobbling like a deranged flamingo while strangers pretended not to stare.
“Of course,” I muttered, digging through my bag for flats I definitely hadn’t packed.“Why would anything go right?”
And then—
Impact.
Solid. Warm. Unavoidable.
My tote slipped from my shoulder. Everything spilled lip gloss, pens, and God help me, my planner scattering across the pavement.
“¡Diosmío!” His voice was low, rough-edged, threaded with an accent that did something unhelpful to my pulse. “Are you okay?”
I looked up, fully prepared to destroy him.
Andforgot how to breathe.
He was crouched in front of me, gathering my things like this was normal. Like men who looked like that just… existed on sidewalks. Dark curls. Sun-warmed skin. A smile that felt like trouble dressed ascharming.
“I’m fine,” I said quickly, clutching my planner to my chest. “You just you weren’t watching where you were going.”
One eyebrow lifted. Perfect. Annoying.
“Interesting,” he said, glancing at my broken heel, “because from where I’m standing, you charged into me like a… one-legged bull.”
My mouth felt open. “Excuse me?”
“I’m just saying.” He straightened, towering now, completely unapologetic. “Maybe add ‘learn to walk’ to your list.”
“It’s not a list,” I snapped. “It’sa planner. And some of us like being organized.”
“Organized?” His smile deepened ,slow,and deliberately. “So,falling into me was scheduled?”
Heat rushed to my face. “You are—ugh—you are impossible.”
He handed me my lip gloss, his fingers brushing my brief , deliberately.
“And you,” he said, eyes flicking to the name on my planner, “are adorable when you’re angry , Harper.”
I froze. “How do you—”
His grin sharpened.
“Lila Harper,” he said easily. “Stonewell. Marketing.” A beat. Then softer, closer “Javier Morales.”
Too close.
Too smooth.
“Looks like we’re coworkers,” he added. “And now—” his gaze dropped to my ruined heel “—frequent collision risks.”
I just stood there, heart racing, one shoe in hand, and dignity somewhere on the sidewalk.
“By the way,” Javier said, already stepping back like hehadn’tjust derailed my entire morning, “you’re late.”
I blinked. “What?”
He nodded toward my planner, then met my eyes calm, certain.
“Engagement brunch”.Eleven o’clock. You shouldprobably run.”
My stomach dropped.
Because I hadn’t said a word about where I was going.
And when I looked up again
He was already walking away.
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