The night was magical beyond belief. I had managed to spend time with my son, meet a few artists, and book a gallery showing all in one fell swoop. I felt like a kind of Cinderella at the ball, only without the prince. Not that I needed a prince to be happy, but I secretly held out hope that a certain one would show up at the gallery and would whisk me off to a late dinner. Where I would tell him the news.

Instead, at the end of it all, I wound up at home. Alone.

It almost felt like a letdown after everything.

As I walked up to my front door after pulling in the driveway, packages caught my eye. It was unusual for the postal service to deliver past dinner, and I was happy for it. I had ordered some things to help me display my art, and it looked like I was going to need it much sooner than expected.

Opening the door, I grabbed the packages and made my way inside.

Practically throwing off my shoes in the entryway, I began to unpack the supplies directly into my homemade studio in the sunroom.

The distraction was good, given all of the things buzzing through my mind. Piece by piece, I placed them carefully in their proper places and formulated a game plan for getting my work and display items to the gallery all in one piece. If I even needed things for display. It was a gallery, after all. Perhaps it was up to them to do all of that.

It was official. I was in over my head.

At least I had given Marko a time for a gallery opening six months from now. Maybe I could figure this out before then.

As I pulled the tape off the last box, I noticed for the first time that it was completely different from the others. Come to think of it, between the wires and the panels I had already unloaded, I may already have all of the order put away. Carefully, I placed the tape back down, hoping for a return address, but found none. Actually, my address wasn’t even on the box.

Before I could think too hard about it, I ripped the tape completely off and opened the box. And stared and stared.

Sitting in it was a painting. More precisely, one of my paintings. One I had created after a failed attempt to find my alpha-father. It emanated my anger, frustration, confusion, and the rejection my search had left me with.

It had been therapeutic, but once the paint dried, I had done what every rebellious teen would do in anger—I hurled it into the trash can, never to see it again.

Yet, there it was, staring me right in the face, like a ghost from the past. I pulled it out, and a note floated to the floor.

Ethan,

I saved this from your garbage can all those years ago, planning to give it back to you when you expressed regret over its loss. Sadly, that day didn’t come before I moved, and I held onto it ever since. Have no worries, I always kept it hidden from strangers’ eyes, knowing it was far too personal. I just didn’t have the heart to destroy it.

Rhys

P.S. You say that no one remembers you. I hope this proves that I never forgot you, omega mine.

I read the note over and over again. Rhys had been so right. I did regret throwing it out in teen angst.

My heart swelled at Rhys’s thoughtfulness in keeping my emotions hidden from the world the way he had, especially knowing his love of art. This had been my most personal piece.

Sending me this on the night of the gallery opening, allowing me to have some space to come to the realization that we weren’t moving too fast. We just needed to start right where we stopped.

And I hadn’t even told him I was pregnant yet, although my hormones were making tears prick in the corners of my eyes.

He’d make a great father.

I had to tell him. Now.

I flipped the paper over, hoping for a phone number. Finding none, I emptied out the packing paper, unfolding it gently, looking for a number hidden somewhere, anywhere. My last hope was the box, but it, too, held nothing. Maybe I truly had ruined my chances that night and this was just a peace offering from Rhys.

No, there had to be more to it.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I opened up my laptop and searched for the number for Rhys’s tech company and dialed. After multiple prompts, I saw the fruitlessness of my effort. My best hope would be to get to Stephen’s desk and leave a message, if only I knew what last name to “dial the first four letters” of.

How the hell did Rhys start up such a big company?

Giving up, I used his favorite “I can’t figure out the prompts” technique and dialed zero. Shockingly, it began to ring and not just go to voicemail.

“Hello, Stark Enterprises. This is Maria speaking.” The woman on the other end of the phone didn’t mention an answering service. How odd.

I licked my lips. “Hello, Maria, my name is Ethan Rhodes. I was trying to figure out a way to leave Rhys Collins a message, but the prompts had me going in circles.”

It was the story of my life, and from the chuckles coming over the phone, I was not alone in this. At least Maria’s chuckles sounded like they were in good fun.

“I understand, sir. They do tend to be convoluted at best. Do you have a pen handy?”

I scoured quickly, finding one and an envelope. It would have to do.

“I do.”

“Call this number in the future.” She recited a phone number slowly.

“Is it Stephen’s desk line?” A guy could dream, right?

“No, sir,” Maria replied. “It’s Rhys’s personal number.”

Not that a guy usually dreamed that big. Rhys’s personal number. This had to be a set-up or a pissed-off employee.

“Are you supposed to be giving that out?”

“Only to you, sir.” I could almost hear the smile in her voice. Maybe, just maybe, I hadn’t ruined everything. Rhys did this. For me. “I’m security. I was only supposed to answer if it showed as your name. The rest go to voicemail.”

Rhys had set up an entire contingency plan, just on the off chance I might call. It was the stuff of sappy romance movies, yet somehow, it was my life. Hope welled within me.

Maybe we were finally in the right place at the right time.

After all these years.

“Rhys is very thorough,” I added, not knowing what else to say. Thanking Maria with tears of joy just didn’t seem right.

“That he is, sir.”

“Thank you, Maria.” I was proud of myself for refraining from gushing and promising her all the cookies.

“Welcome, sir.” Her voice cracked slightly, and I knew a “but” was coming. “And sir, if you don’t mind me speaking freely.”

“Not at all.” By which, I meant Tell me all things.

“He’s a good man, and he doesn’t do this kind of thing. Ever.”

Suddenly, I didn’t care if I had promised myself or not. Maria was getting cookies. All the cookies.

“Thank you for that.” I swallowed, holding back happy tears. Rhys still wanted me. At least, if I managed to refrain from messing up again like a ginormous chicken head. And the pregnancy thing didn’t scare off Rhys, but I had the feeling that wouldn’t happen. “I needed it.”

“The quiver in your voice told me as much, sir. And sir…” Maria was more perceptive than I had originally given her credit for. She was probably amazing at her job because of it.

“Yes?”

“You have raised a very strong and kind son. He treats my department with the same respect as everyone on the top floor.”

And the dam of happy tears broke. Nothing made a father happier than hearing his child was a good person.

Nothing.

“Thank you. I’m very proud of him. Good night.” I rushed my words, the emotion too heady for a phone call with a virtual stranger.

“Good night, sir.”