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 aromaof 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.”
We reached for a tiny jar of jam at the same time, and our fingers brushed. I froze. Roman’s hand just… stayed there, like it was nothing.
But it wasn’t nothing.
He was doing this on purpose. Every look. Every pet name. Every hand graze. It was all part of his mission to ruin my life one goddamn flirt at a time.
And yet, my pulse remained steady. I didn’t feel like I was about to implode or apologize for existing. I felt fine. Better than fine.
I felt likeme.
