Page 105 of Lease to Love

I laughed under my breath. "I have to breathe, baby. It's a whole biological requirement."

"Breathe quieter."

She snipped the thread I hadn't even noticed was loose, then smoothed my collar flat with two fingers, giving it a final inspection before patting my chest.

"There. Fixed."

I glanced down and didn’t see a damn thing different. But Summer was clearly proud of whatever she thought she did.

"My heroine." I said dryly.

"I know." She stepped back, planted both hands on her hips, and admired her work like she'd just restored a priceless painting instead of cutting one piece of thread. "This is a service, you know. You should be paying me."

"I pay your rent."

Her eyes narrowed. "That's a completely different line item."

"Is it?"

"Yes."

"Explain the difference."

She opened her mouth, paused, then pointed the scissors at me. "Don't bring your corporate-accounting bullshit into my house."

I smiled.

She turned away before I could answer, and I caught her wrist.

She made a surprised little sound when I pulled her back against me, but she came easily, laughing as both hands landed against my chest. I looked down at her, at the freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks, at the little smile she was trying and failing to hide, and for a second I forgot where we were.

Then I kissed her. Just because I could.

Her hands curled into my shirt, and she kissed me back with the kind of immediate warmth that still managed to catch me off guard. When I pulled away, her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed, and she looked entirely too pleased with herself.

"You're distracting me," she murmured.

"That was the objective."

She laughed, and I kissed the corner of her mouth before letting her go.

It had been a week since that night after the fundraiser.

A week since the mirror. Since I kissed the maple leaf tattoo on her ankle for the first time. Since she'd finally stopped trying to convince me she didn't need anybody and let me hold her while she fell apart.

Naturally, that meant that the Sterling Group had decided that it was an excellent time to schedule three closings, a zoning appeal, and enough board meetings to make me question whether sleep was actually necessary for human survival.

For two nights, I didn't leave my office until after midnight.

For one, I didn't leave until nearly two.

We survived the week through FaceTime and text messages, her sketching while I answered emails, me working through financials while she complained about customers who touched folded merchandise with sticky fingers. Sometimes we'd talk for an hour. Sometimes we'd barely say anything at all.

Those were the moments I liked best.

We'd had sex exactly twice since that night.

A quickie against her front door that next morning when I was already fifteen minutes late leaving, and another on her desk in her office at the boutique, her thanking me—enthusiastically— for surprising her with lunch, the door barely locked behind us.