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I was scrolling through a folder of croissant illustrations when Roman burst into the room. “Let’s go be disgustingly domestic in public.”

“I have work.”

“You also have one outfit that screams take me to a farmers market,” he said, flopping down on the end of my bed like gravity didn’t apply to him. “I saw it when you were unpacking. The overall skirt get-up. Put it on.”

“I have deadlines.”

“Breakfast tacos,” he sang. “And focaccia. Fresh, flaky. Slightly erotic.”

He was already halfway to the door before I sighed and shut my laptop. “This better be the best goddamn focaccia I’ve ever had.”

The aroma of cinnamon bread and sun-warmed tomatoes wafted toward me. Somewhere nearby, a street performer’s saxophone drifted over the murmur of the crowd. The lazy jazz felt like summer. I tucked my sunglasses higher on my nose and stared down a bunch of heirloom carrots priced the same as heirloom jewelry. A cable car bell clanged faintly in the distance, and the salty hint of the Bay mixed with all the other market smells. Roman leaned into my space, close enough that I could feel the stupid warmth radiating off him.

“So, what’s my little sunshine bean in the mood for? Jam? Pickles? Eternal torment?”

I didn’t even look at him. “I swear, if you call me ‘sunshine bean’ again, I will end you.”

“Oh, peach fuzz.” He sighed dramatically, as if I’d just whispered a love confession instead of a threat. “Don’t tease me.”

I picked up a blood orange and seriously considered hurling it at him. But then he gave me that look—that infuriating, self-satisfied smirk that made something in my chest flutter, which I absolutely didn’t have time for.

God help me, I smiled.

The next stall we came to sold handmade pottery. A gust of wind carried the scent of roasting coffee from a cart set up near the edge of the market, blending with the tang of sea air that always seemed to hang over this part of the city. I was eyeing a collection of blue urns with delicate floral designs, each one a different shade of twilight, when Roman snorted behind me.

“What would you even put in those?”

“The ashes of my enemies,” I said flatly. “Or I might just leave them empty. I like the symbolism.”

He laughed, an honest, full sound that made me smile even harder. I turned over one of the urns and spotted the price tag.

“Okay, never mind,” I muttered, gently placing it back on the table. “My enemies are safe for now.” But I still made a point to compliment the woman behind the table. “Your work is gorgeous.”

Her eyes lit up. People didn’t say what they liked aloud enough. I made a mental note to do it more often. We drifted toward a stall overflowing with fresh bread and jars of wildflower honey. Roman snagged a sample cube of something flaky and perfect, then dropped it into my hand with a flourish.

“For the queen of sarcasm. Your crown awaits.”

“You’re such a menace,” I muttered, but my voice came out soft. Too soft. Too fond.

He shrugged and brushed imaginary dust off his shirt like a humble martyr. “It’s a gift.”

We wandered from booth to booth. A seagull squawked overhead, hopeful for crumbs. Roman joked with vendors, and with nothing but a crooked grin and a well-placed compliment, he convinced the honey guy to give us an extra free sample. A fog bank lingered just beyond the market, that soft, gray wall that always threatened but never quite ruined the day.

“We’ve just pulled off a heist,” he whispered. “Act casual.”

I actually laughed, and not the polite kind. The real kind, the kind that cracked something open in my ribs and made room. For once, I wasn’t thinking about how I looked or whether I was being too much. I was just… there. With him. Comfortable.

As we passed a pie stand, Roman bumped my shoulder and pointed at a gooseberry pie. “You think Doris would explode if I bought a gooseberry plant to put by the entrance?”

“She’d call the fire department.”

“What if we bribed her with a gooseberry tart? You think she has tart trauma?”

“She probably has a spreadsheet of forbidden fruit trees,” I deadpanned. “Right under her eviction clauses and maintenance schedule.”

“She definitely has a specific time of night when she shimmies up the drainpipe to spy on tenants.”

I snorted. “I’d watch that documentary.”