Page 8 of Lease to Love

The DMV was too damn small.

"I know, Mama, I know." I huffed, finally plopping down on the chaise next to her. "I should have ended it long before it got to this point. It's not like I was planning on marrying the guy."

I laid my head on her shoulder, like I was ten years old again, seeking comfort after a boy pulled my braids on the playground.

"But it hurts. And the worst part isn't even the breakup. Not even the cheating. It's how public it all is. I'm a whole business owner, and I was publicly played by a man who makes his living posting fit checks and sponsored content for beard oil."

Mama hummed in understanding and gave my head a pat, smoothing her hand through my thick curls.

"The humiliation always hurts worse than the finding out."

I huffed out a bitter chuckle.

"Yeah, especially when it happens in front of his twelve thousand ashy-ass followers."

Before Mama could respond, the bell above the door chimed again, sending me hopping off the chaise and straight back into worker-bee mode.

Two young women, maybe twenty-one, both in cropped athleisure sets, stepped inside and immediately began murmuring to each other in the way customers did when they were trying to decide if they were about to actually buy something or just window-shop.

I clocked them immediately. Tourists for sure.

The one in lavender was the decision-maker. The one in baby blue was along for the ride.

"Be right back," I whispered to Mama with a wink.

She waved me off with a proud smile.

I walked over to the women with an easy smile, my sandals quiet on the wide-plank floor I'd installed after the original linoleum started peeling. Reclaimed oak from a barn in Frederick County, and my broke ass installed it myself, thank you very much.

My crowning achievement, even if no customer ever noticed it.

"Good morning, ladies! Let me know if you're looking for anything specific. We've got a rack of specials just behind you—the last of the summer collection!"

"Oh, we're just browsing," Lavender said, already reaching for a cropped cardigan in blush pink.

"Browse away! I'm Summer, by the way. Give me a shout if you need sizes or a fitting room."

When I first opened House of Autumn, I called myself being professional and introduced myself as Ms. Proctor, and it felt like wearing my granny's church shoes.

Not to mention I knew everybody and their mama in Langston Park, and nobody on this block was gonna call me Ms. Proctor without busting out laughing. Hard to be formal with people who'd known you since you were in pull-ups.

So, Summer it was.

Little Miss Baby Blue had drifted toward a display of silk scarves. Lavender was already holding the pink cardigan against her chest, checking the fit in the mirror, and I knew from the way her shoulders dropped that she was falling in love with it.

Good.

That cardigan was one of my favorite pieces from the summer collection—a cotton-bamboo blend that looked expensive but felt like nothing against your skin.

"The sleeves have a little stretch in them, so they don't lose shape if you roll them up," I offered, gesturing toward one of the ones still on the rack. "Perfect for DC in the fall, when you need long sleeves in the morning and short sleeves by noon."

"I love that!" Lavender said with a smile, never taking her eyes off the mirror. "And it's so soft..."

And just like that, she was sold.

Even if she didn't know it yet.

Not wanting to hover, I drifted back toward Mama, who had pulled out her phone and was scrolling with the particular squint of a Black woman who refused to wear her reading glasses in public.