Page 74 of Lease to Love

Especially when he looked like that. Especially when he could blend seamlessly into my community. Especially when I kept noticing those damn dimples.

Which was why I was determined to enjoy today's outing without thinking about any of that.

The Langston Park farmers market was crowded before we'd even made it halfway down the first row. Music drifted from a portable speaker near the produce stand. Somebody was selling fresh flowers out of galvanized buckets. Kids ran between tables while their mothers called after them, and every few feet somebody I knew stopped me to say hello.

Roman walked beside me with his sunglasses pushed up on his head, one hand in his pocket and the other occasionally finding the small of my back whenever the crowd got too tight.

I ignored the way I liked it.

“Okay,” I said, pulling out my phone. “Selfie.”

Roman sighed. “We've taken six.”

“Seven.”

“That's not better.”

I stepped closer and held the phone up. “Smile.”

He did.

I snapped the picture. “See? You survived.”

“Barely.”

I turned the phone around to inspect it. He was smiling. Actually smiling.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “You're getting good at this.”

“At what?”

“Looking like you like me.”

His eyes met mine over the top of his sunglasses. “Maybe I don't have to fake it as much anymore.”

My brain stalled.

I lowered the phone, but he was already looking away.

Asshole.

I took another picture. Then another.

“Stop taking pictures of me.”

“No.”

“Sunshine.”

“Smile.”

He sighed. I smiled. He smiled.

Click.

Another picture for the fake relationship scrapbook I was apparently building against my will.

We moved from vendor to vendor, sampling everything people offered us: peaches, fresh baked brownies, local honey, and some kind of goat cheese that Roman claimed tasted like “expensive sadness.”