Page 91 of Lease to Love

I didn't tell her about the texts, either — the ones that came at random points throughout the day, never anything important, just Roman being Roman. A meme that made him think of me. A TikTok that backed up his side of whatever silly thing we’d been arguing about that day.

The FaceTime calls that had somehow become a nightly thing, both of us just existing on camera while I sketched and he answered emails, barely talking, comfortable in a silence I used to think he wasn't capable of.

I didn't tell her that he'd started showing up at the shop around lunch with food I hadn't asked for, staying just long enough to steal a kiss and talk shit about my inventory system before some call dragged him back into the real world.

I didn't tell her any of it, because none of it was anything. We still weren't anything.

Not officially. Not out loud.

Whatever this was existed in the space between the lie we'd started with and whatever the truth was turning into, and I didn't have a name for that space yet, so I didn't know how to explain it to my mother without her hearing exactly what I was too scared to hear myself.

“He’s taking me to some fundraiser in Bethesda tonight,” I said, grabbing the hem of my sheet between my fingers. “Wants to show me off to his business friends.”

That wasn’t quite true either.

What Roman had actually said, in that flat, unbothered voice he used when he was saying something that meant considerably more than it sounded like it meant, was that he had to go and I was the only thing that would make the evening worth a damn.

I had blushed so hard I’d had to leave the room.

“Bethesda.” Mama said the word like she was testing it on her tongue. “That’s real fancy, baby.”

“Very fancy. Very not Langston Park.”

“You’ll be fine.” Her voice softened. “You sound a little off, though. You good?”

The nightmare flickered behind my eyes before I could stop it.

Gunshots.

A car rolling slow.

Autumn’s face going from mortified to nothing at all in the space of one sound.

I shoved the images back where they belonged.

“I’m fine, Mama. Promise.” I forced a lighter note into my voice. “Tell Aunt Sage and Uncle Darnell I said hi.”

“I will. Have fun tonight, baby. And Summer?”

“Yeah?”

“I like hearing you happy… Even if I did have to hear about it from your Instagram comments first.”

I laughed, and this time it was real. By the time we hung up, the ghost of the memory had gone quiet again. Not silent. Never silent. Just quiet enough to work with.

I checked the time, checked my phone, and found a text waiting for me.

Roman: Be there at 7. Drink some water before I pick you up, because I know your ass is dehydrated.

I stared at that damn message for five seconds, smiling like an idiot, then I grabbed the garment bag off the hook and got to work convincing myself that everything was fine.

Because it had to be.

The dress was ochre velvet, deep and warm against my skin, and it fit exactly the way everything he sent me fit — like he'd built it around the specific shape of my body instead of pulling it off a rack somewhere. I turned once in front of the mirror, watching the fabric catch the last of the evening light, and decided I looked like a woman who had never once had an anxiety attack in her life.

Good enough.

When Roman knocked, I opened the door to find him already smiling that small, private smile he only ever gave me.