Page 83 of Lease to Love

Her brow furrowed. “The hell does that mean? I don't perform for anybody.”

I gave her a look. She stared at me.

Then her eyes widened slightly as the obvious finally occurred to her.

“Our present situation aside,” she said, waving one hand between us, “I don't perform for anybody, Roman.”

“The hell you don't.” I scoffed, then looked down at her, ticking off my fingers. “The bubbly boutique owner. Langston Park's personal ray of sunshine. The girl next door.”

She frowned at me, but I kept going. “You perform sweetness all day, every day. But with me?” I shook my head. “Meaner than a junkyard dog.”

She opened her mouth, but I kept going.

“You let that mask slide off and show me the fangs underneath.”

For a second, she looked genuinely offended… Then she laughed. “Well Roman, that's because you're an asshole.”

“And you’re difficult.”

“And you're still an asshole.”

“I wouldn't be an asshole if you weren't so damn difficult.”

She shrugged. “Chicken or the egg?”

I chuckled and took another bite. “It's aight, Sunshine. I got thick skin.”

Then I glanced down at her. “I don't mind a little teeth.”

Her steps stuttered. Just for half a second.

A blush crept up her cheeks, and she immediately became fascinated with the funnel cake in her hand.

I smiled to myself. I almost liked seeing her blush more than I liked seeing her angry.

Almost.

We walked another block before Summer finally spoke again.

“Wanna go for a walk around the neighborhood?” She nodded toward the streets beyond the fair, “It's one of the rare occasions when it's quiet because everybody's here. Something a real couple would do, right?”

I knew what she wasn't saying.

The fair was loud. Crowded. Full of people.

And Summer had been on ten since we arrived, greeting everyone, answering questions, taking pictures, smiling until the muscles around her eyes had probably started to hurt.

She needed a break.

I didn't point that out. I just gestured to the street ahead and said, “Lead the way.”

She smiled and turned toward the street.

The noise of the fair faded behind us almost immediately. Without the crowd, Langston Park sounded different. Quieter.

The breeze moved through the trees overhead, carrying the dry rustle of leaves that were just beginning to turn. Somewhere in the distance, a Metro bus groaned to a stop. A car rolled past us slowly, tires whispering over asphalt, and then the street settled back into silence.

Summer walked beside me, swinging the last piece of funnel cake from the paper tray.