Style.
Make beautiful things.
I'd never been so proud of my business.
I'd never been so proud of him, either.
Although I would've been significantly prouder if he'd let me sit down.
“I’m taking these damn shoes off,” I announced, already bending to unfasten the straps.
“I told you to wear flats.”
“The heels looked cuter,” I chirped, unrepentant.
I slipped them off and dangled them from two fingers.
Roman stopped walking and turned to look at me, shaking his head like he'd married a particularly stubborn child. “I'm not letting you walk home barefoot, woman.”
He rolled his sleeves to his forearms, then held out his arms. “Come here.”
I barely had time to laugh before he hauled me against his chest and scooped me up bridal-style.
I squealed, instinctively wrapping an arm around his neck.
“You know I've been walking these sidewalks barefoot since I was a kid, right?”
“I wasn't your boyfriend when you were a kid.” His mouth curved into a smirk. “If I was, I would've been carrying you like this with your bookbag on my back.”
I scoffed. “Please. You would've been pulling my braids and trying to steal my lunch money.”
“Well, it's a good thing we met as adults, then.”
I laughed, settling more comfortably against him.
The evening air was warm against my skin, carrying the faint smell of somebody's dinner drifting from an open window and the distant hum of traffic. Langston Park was settling into its nighttime rhythm around us—porch conversations, music spilling from a car at the corner, somebody laughing loudly enough to be heard halfway down the block.
This was home.
Our home.
And for a moment, I let myself simply enjoy being there.
When we reached the turn onto our block, Roman kept walking straight.
I frowned. “Roman?”
He didn't answer.
“Where are we going?”
He glanced down at me, the corner of his mouth lifting. “It's a surprise. Trust me.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Am I about to end up in the Anacostia River?”
“You are if you keep asking questions. Hush.”
I should've argued.