—Amira—

He stood there in a white T-shirt and blue jeans, a bouquet of flowers in hand.

His cologne wrapped around me, stirring passionate memories I wasn’t ready to face.

I couldn’t breathe. Not with the way my heart was pounding in my chest.

“Who’s that?” Mama’s voice came from behind me. She appeared at my side and gasped. “Mr. Rivera!”

For the first time since he got here, he smiled. “Good evening, Mrs. Nwosu.”

“Evening. We weren't expecting you.” ...