Logan slowed his steps, his gaze catching on the woman he had brushed against. For a split second, his chest had tightened—he thought it was Freya. The tilt of her chin, the curve of her hair falling over one shoulder—it had been so close. But when she turned, her eyes were brown, not the deep gray he’d memorized.

“Sorry,” he muttered under his breath, stepping back quickly.

The woman blinked at him, startled but polite. “It’s alright.”

Kia, standing a few feet away, arched a ...