Page 30 of Lease to Love

The line went quiet.

Then Maya screamed with laughter. “Girl bye! Don’t act like you never thought about seeing if that dick is as mean as he is.”

"Ka'Maya Denise Johnson—"

"Okay, okay, before you pull out the government name—" she was laughing again, "I'm just saying. You and Roman Sterling have been beefing for what, three years? There's a thin line between love and all that hate, Sun-Sun. And hate sex is medicinal—"

“And on that note, I'm hanging up on you."

She started talking faster. "I understand that your vagina and your brain are having conflicting feelings about your fine ass landlord—"

"Goodbye, Ka'Maya!"

"I love you!" she called, just before I ended the call, laughing so hard my stomach hurt.

For a moment, the apartment was quiet again, and then I looked down and saw the orange stain spread across the front of my white camisole.

The fry I dropped earlier.

Autumn.

My smile faded, and my appetite went with it.

I stood and carried my food back to the refrigerator, closing the container before sliding it onto the shelf.

Then I stood there with one hand resting against the refrigerator door, listening to the quiet hum of the compressor.

The ache wasn't going anywhere.

So I walked toward my home office. Although, calling it an office was generous. It was an old L-shaped desk and chair occupying the space where most people would have put a dining room table.

I sat at the desk, opened the second drawer.

I didn't decide to get the journal. I just found myself reaching for it.

My fingers found the familiar worn cover before my eyes did, and I pulled it out carefully.

Two Seasons Fashions was scrawled across the front in my handwriting.

Underneath it, in elegant looping cursive, was:

Autumn.

My name was written beside hers in my usual rushed chicken scratch. And in the top-right corner, I'd written:

DO NOT TOUCH!!!

I smiled.

We'd passed this book back and forth through school hallways during class changes, slipping it between us whenever teachers weren't looking. It had been our way of staying connected throughout the day when we didn't share classes and our phones kept getting confiscated for texting each other during them.

The first page was labeled:

THE IDEA

Underneath, in my handwriting:

Afro boho chic meets couture!