Roman shrugs like it’s nothing. “Found the wood on the beach, it was easy enough. Great name by the way.”
My smile is a thing of light. “The words ‘done that’ will be burned onto the front of the coffee counter. Bean there… done that…”
“You’re really fucking smart, you know that Lola?”
Maybe I am. Smart enough to know he’s lying about it being easy. He’d have to clean the wood then treat it and let it dry before he could burn into it. It must have taken the whole three days since he found me crying in my shop.
I run my fingers over the smooth wood and walk over to him. “I can’t believe you made me a sign.” I loop my hands together behind his neck more out of instinct than anything else. For once in my life I’m not thinking about holding back from him.
My body is tingling from the pure joy cascading over me, and I just want to be close to the man who spent hours crafting to make me happy.
Roman’s shoulders stiffen under my arms and the feeling freezes but just as my heart’s kicking up a fuss and I’m about to pull away, he drops his hands to my waist. Hesitant at first. Then firmer.
My chest opens up and birds fly out of it. I am soaring.
He dips his head and I tilt up my chin.Kiss me. Please, please kiss me.
His breath rushes out of him, rippling over my face. He closes his eyes.
Then he lets go of my hips and takes a deliberate step back.
I think someone just took a shotgun and killed my metaphorical birds. They fall to the bottom of my stomach, battered wings and broken bones.
I stumble back and turn my face away from him.
“Lola, I’m sorry. We can’t.” His voice is rough.
I stare at the patio, grinding the toe of my sandal into the stones as I try to breathe without crying. “I know.”
He sighs and I wonder whether his throat feels like it’s closing too.
“Are we good?” he asks.
I can’t fall apart, not here, not in front of him. I pull my shoulders back and flash him a bitter smile. “Relax, I’m not going to go running off with a shady biker again.”
I think I’m playing it cool, but Roman’s face turns to stone. His eyes flare and his voice drops deadly quiet. “What the fuck did you just say?”
I freeze. I’m so caught up in the mess my stupid, emotional heart just made that it takes me a moment to figure out why he’s mad.
Then the penny drops.
Oh shit.
Chapter Eighteen
Roman
Admit it, you think I’m cute.
You’re seventeen years old, Lola. I’m way too old for you.
So… I should date guys my own age?
Fuck, no. No dating. You’re officially banned from dating.
- Conversation between Lola, age 17 and Roman, age 24
“Any chancewe can forget the last five minutes ever happened?”
