CUPID'S SECOND CHANCE

Maya's POV

The email notification on my phone lit up at 6:47 AM, and my stomach dropped before I even read it.

PAYMENT OVERDUE: Final Notice.

I stared at the screen, my heart pounding. The art commission I'd been counting on—the one that was supposed to pay this month's mortgage—had been canceled. Again. Third time in two months.

"Mommy! Mommy, wake up!"

My six-year-old daughter Lily jumped on my bed, her dark hair flying everywhere. She pressed her freezing hands against my cheeks, giggling.

"Lily, your hands are ice!" I yelped, trying to sound playful even though my mind was screaming about bills and money.

"It snowed, Mommy! Look!" She pointed at the window, bouncing so hard the whole bed shook. "Can we build a snowman? Please, please, please?"

I pulled her into a hug, breathing in the strawberry scent of her shampoo. This was what mattered. Not the canceled commission. Not the overdue mortgage. Not the fact that in exactly thirty days, it would be Valentine's Day—the worst day of my entire life.

"After breakfast, baby. Go brush your teeth while I make pancakes."

Lily scrambled off and ran toward the bathroom. I forced myself to smile until she was gone. Then I let my face fall.

Two years. It had been two years since I came home early on Valentine's Day with flowers and champagne. Two years since I walked into our bedroom and found my husband Marcus in bed with Rebecca—my best friend since college. The memory still felt like a knife twisting in my gut.

The divorce that followed had been brutal. Marcus, with his fancy lawyer skills, had painted me as unstable. An "overly emotional artist" who couldn't provide real stability. He'd twisted everything, made the judge question my parenting, made the whole town whisper about me.

I'd lost almost everything. My confidence. My reputation. Most of my clients. All I had left was Lily and my art—and some days, I wasn't sure the art was enough to keep us alive.

I shuffled to the kitBlake and started making pancakes on autopilot. How was I going to pay the mortgage? Should I take on more portrait commissions even though they paid so little?

"Mommy, why do you look sad?"

I hadn't heard Lily come in. She stood in the doorway, her dark eyes too knowing for a six-year-old.

"I'm not sad, baby. Just thinking."

"About Daddy?"

The question hit me like a slap. "What? No. Why would you—"

"Because you always look like that when you think about him." Lily climbed onto her chair. "We never talk about Daddy anymore. How come?"

I flipped a pancake too hard, and it folded in half. "Because Daddy and I aren't together anymore, sweetie. You know that."

"But I still see him sometimes." Lily swung her legs under the table. "And he asks about you. He always wants to know if you're dating anyone."

My hand froze on the spatula. "He asks you that?"

"Uh-huh. Last time he picked me up, he asked if any men come to our house. I told him no because you're always alone except for Aunt Vanessa." Lily tilted her head. "Why does he want to know?"

Because Marcus is a controlling jerk who can't stand the thought of me moving on, I thought. But I couldn't say that to a six-year-old.

"It's just grown-up stuff, baby. Nothing to worry about." I slid the pancakes onto her plate and sat down across from her.

Lily dug into her breakfast, getting syrup everywhere. "I wish you weren't always alone, Mommy. You get sad when you think I'm not looking."

"I'm not alone. I have you."

"That's different." She chewed thoughtfully. "You need a grown-up. Someone who makes you smile like you used to."

My throat got tight. When had my six-year-old become so worried about me?

"I smile plenty," I lied.

Lily gave me a look that said she didn't believe me for a second.

After breakfast, I sent Lily to play while I cleaned up. I was scrubbing the pancake pan when I glanced out the kitBlake window at the house next door. The small cottage had been empty for months. But now—

My breath caught.

The "FOR SALE" sign was gone. In its place was a new sign: "SOLD."

Someone had bought the house. Which meant new neighbors. Which meant I'd have to do the whole fake-smile routine and pretend my life wasn't falling apart.

I groaned. Just what I needed.

But then something caught my eye. Movement in the driveway next door.

A motorcycle pulled up—a gorgeous vintage bike. The engine cut off, and the rider swung his leg over the seat. He pulled off his helmet, and I got my first look at my new neighbor.

My heart forgot how to beat.

He was tall, with dark hair that fell perfectly across his forehead. Even from this distance, I could see the tattoos covering his arms. He looked like he'd stepped out of a magazine—too handsome to be real.

He turned toward my house, and for one impossible moment, our eyes met through the window.

I jumped back like I'd been electrocuted, my face burning. Had he seen me staring? What kind of creepy neighbor watches through windows?

I forced myself to peek out again, keeping hidden behind the curtain.

The man was still looking at my house. But not at the window anymore. He was looking at my front door.

Where Lily had just run outside in her pajamas and bare feet, laughing and waving at him.

"Lily!" I dropped the pan in the sink and ran for the door. I yanked it open and rushed onto the porch. "Lily Blake, get back here right now! You don't have shoes on!"

But Lily wasn't listening. She was already halfway across our yard, heading straight for the tattooed stranger.

Who was now walking toward her with a smile that made my stomach flip and my warning bells scream at the same time.

"Hi!" Lily called out. "Are you our new neighbor? What's your name? Do you like snowmen?"

I ran down the porch steps in my socks, slipping on the icy walkway. "Lily, I said come here—"

The man reached Lily before I did. He knelt down to her level—actually knelt in the snow—and held out his hand like she was an adult.

"I'm Dante," he said, his voice deep and warm. "And I love snowmen. Nice to meet you..."

"Lily! I'm six!" She shook his hand enthusiastically. "That's my mom. She's scared of everything, but she's really nice once you know her."

I wanted to die.

Dante looked up at me then, and the full force of his green eyes hit me like a truck. He was even more handsome up close—impossibly handsome, the kind of handsome that got women like me into trouble.

"Sorry about my daughter," I said, trying to sound normal. "She's... friendly."

"Nothing to apologize for." Dante stood up, still smiling. "I like friendly neighbors."

He held out his hand to me. I hesitated. Every instinct told me not to touch him. Not to trust him. Not to let anyone close enough to hurt me again.

But Lily was watching with hopeful eyes, and I couldn't be rude to someone who'd been kind to my daughter.

I took his hand.

The moment our skin touched, something impossible happened.

A jolt of electricity shot up my arm—not painful, but startling. Like touching a doorknob after walking on carpet. But stronger. So much stronger.

Dante's eyes widened. He'd felt it too.

We both pulled back at the same time, staring at each other.

"Static electricity," I said quickly. "From the... snow."

"Right. The snow." But Dante looked as shaken as I felt.

Lily, oblivious to the weird moment, tugged on Dante's jacket. "Do you have any kids? Do you want to build a snowman with us?"

"Lily, I'm sure Mr. Dante is busy unpacking—"

"Actually, I'd love to," Dante said, his eyes still on me. "If your mom doesn't mind."

I minded. I minded very much. This man made my heart race and my hands shake. Everything about him screamed danger—not the creepy kind, but the kind that could make me forget why I'd sworn off men forever.

But Lily was already cheering, and I couldn't say no without looking paranoid.

"Sure," I heard myself say. "Just... let me get Lily some boots first."

I turned to head back inside, my mind racing. It was just a snowman. Just a neighborly thing. It didn't mean anything.

But when I glanced back over my shoulder, Dante was watching me with an expression I couldn't read. Something intense and confused and almost... scared.

Like he knew something I didn't.

And that's when I saw it—just for a split second, so fast I thought I imagined it. A faint golden shimmer beneath the tattoos on his arm, like light glowing under his skin.

I blinked, and it was gone.

My hand gripped the doorframe, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.

What the hell had I just seen?