Eliza

To my utter dismay, Leon is right – it does take me half the time to unload the car and set up the booth with his help.

The booth Serena, Tenille, and I set up is adjacent to a kettle corn stand, making the air smell sugary and savoury. I also find that it gives the Farmer's Market this carnival-like feeling; the sweetness in the air, the smiling faces in every direction, and the distant smell of deep-fried foods from surrounding food trucks. Altogether, it's an enticing aroma – especially with the kettle corn being so close.

Ever since I can remember, I've loved kettle corn. It's sweetened with a little bit of sugar, but it's fluffy and crisp and doesn't stick to your fingers like caramel corn does. Aside from eating it, I also like watching how they make it. Rather than putting the kernels in an air-popper, they pop the kernels that have been coated in sugar in a huge kettle over an open flame, stirring them around and around with this big stainless-steel paddle. When the kernels are done, they scoop out the popcorn and put it in a bag while it's still hot.

As Leon and I are setting up our display, sorting each soap based on its scent, size, and price, I continue to glance over at the kettle corn stand, my stomach grumbling. Leon's peanut butter-coated toast clearly wasn't enough to curb the hunger pangs created by my greedy stomach. After I get Leon situated and explain to him the rules, I'll have to grab some food from one of the vendors.

Such as the kettle corn stand.

"So," Leon says. He places a bar of soap on the top shelf of the display, making sure it's straight and matches the pattern we have going. "When did you and the ladies start doing this?"

I finish arranging our summer specials – lime-coconut and shea-passionfruit – and turn to face Leon. Or, rather, stare up at him. He's dressed in swim shorts and a black muscle shirt that displays his naturally tanned skin and toned arms. There's a ballcap fitted to his head, the visor facing backwards.

I gesture to the ballcap. "The visor loses its credibility when it's pointed backwards," I say. I know what he's trying to do. He's trying to get to know me again by asking me personal questions about my life.

He shrugs and adjusts the hat. "I think it gives me swagger."

I snort. If there's one thing Leon doesn't need, it's swagger – the man already has enough of it. Honestly, I don't know how he manages to keep this persona going. He can be so goddamn arrogant and indifferent, yet I think he's one of the most modest and caring men I know. He's definitely a contradiction, but maybe one that's not so bad.

"You avoided my question," he sings.

Turning my back to him, I pull out our money box. It's metal with several dents and tons of stickers. There's a padlock on it to prevent anyone from stealing the cash inside. Serena, Tenille, and I are the only ones who have keys, and mine is currently hidden in a secret compartment in my wallet. I also pull out our payment terminal. Despite everything being digital nowadays, the payment methods bounce back and forth between cash and credit. For the longest time, we didn't have a payment terminal and it really affected our sales. That's why we invested in one. The only thing we don't have is a receipt printer – we still have to write those out. I suppose it's our fault – we bought the cheapest payment terminal we could find and the receipt printer in it has never worked. Normally, the book we use to write these receipts would be in my bag. But the more I rummage through it, the more I begin to realize that I must have left it in the car.

"Shoot!" I exclaim, dropping the bag to the table. "I must have left the receipt book in the car. I'll be right back. Do you think you can run the place for a few minutes?"

Leon picks up a bar of soap and tosses it back and forth between his hands. He then looks up at me, a questionable look on his face. "What, do you think soap intimidates me?"

No, but you sure as hell intimidate me.

"I'll leave you to it, then," I say. I don't bother to look back at him as I wind my way back to the parking lot.

After ten minutes of rummaging through Serena's car, I find the stupid book of chalky paper. Normally, I would complain about wasting my time searching for something like this, but ten minutes isn't nearly enough time away from Leon. Goddamn Serena for skipping out. Goddamn her for drinking so much last night. She could have come and slept in the back of our booth for all I care. Anything. So long as I didn't have to put up with him.

Also, damn Serena for making me miss breakfast. It's the most important meal of the day. I'm starving, and with every second that passes, I slip further and further into hangry-mode. Without food to supply energy for my body, my mood is nosediving right into the middle of Lost Lake.

When I get back, Leon is standing behind our table, looking particularly bored as he doodles on a pad of paper with my green-ink pen. From afar, I watch him. Although I'm not fond of spending time with him, there is a part of me that yearns to know him again, to figure out what two years have done to him. To both of us. As the days go by, it gets harder and harder for me to feed off of my grudge against him. It's toxic and I know I shouldn't be so hard on Leon without knowing what really happened. But it's also hard for me to let my guard down around him when I remember that he's the reason our friendship and relationship fell apart.

I allow myself to watch him for a few more seconds, marvelling at how much he's grown and leaned out. At how strong his jawline is and how dark his stubble is compared to his dirty-blond hair. It amazes me that he has any stubble at all, really. He could barely grow facial hair when he was seventeen. He's no longer awkward and lanky, either. Instead, he's evenly proportioned and looks, well, handsome.

Just as I'm about to step out from behind the tree I was using as a hiding spot, two women walk up to our booth and begin to talk to Leon. A rush of jealousy infects my blood. Who do they think they are? Leon isn't there to deal with their overly flirtatious mannerisms – he's there to sell soap. I tighten my grip around the receipt book and push away from the tree. My stride is brisk and purposeful as I walk, and when I arrive, I push my way between them and join Leon on the other side. One of them mutters something incoherent, but I'm too protective to care. I don't know why I'm being protective, but who cares?

It's because you don't want a guy like Leon to be taken for granted, my mind teases. You definitely wouldn't take him for granted – you never have.

I tell my mind to shut up, horrified that it could even produce a thought like that.

Setting the receipt book down on the table, I set my palms down and lean forward, blocking their view of Leon. I can't believe the nerve of these two. They don't even know him, for God's sake! They don't know if he's married or has a girlfriend or anything and they have the audacity to flirt with him like this.

I cock my head to the side and smile brightly at them. "Good morning! Are you ladies looking for some soap?"

I can feel Leon's eyes burning into the back of my skull, but I ignore the tingling sensation in my veins. We're here for business, not social time. And I need to get that message across to our customers and Leon.

The brown-haired girl narrows her eyes at me, the look on her face calculating. It's as if she's trying to figure out if I'm Leon's girlfriend or not. I stare back at her, silently challenging her to make a move against me.

"The orange-vanilla bar is exceptional, if I do say so myself," Leon pipes up. He joins me by my side, our shoulders pressing against each other. I try to push him aside, but he pushes back with just as much force. "It smells like a creamsicle tastes."

In a passive-aggressive manner, I give him a shove while the ladies focus on the bars of soap in front of them. Just because he's taller than me and has leaned out since the last time I saw him, doesn't mean I can't still kick his ass. "For once," I add, my voice dripping with venomous honey. "He's right." I jab him in the side with my pointer finger. It earns me a flinch, which brings a real smile to my face.

In the end, the ladies decide to buy four bars each of the orange-vanilla soap. When they're gone, Leon steps back and stares at me, his mouth slightly agape. "Christ. Are you always this ferocious with your customers?" He turns his back to me and heads to the far corner of our booth. It's where we've stored our water bottles and other belongings.

I slip the newly written receipt into our data book. "I am Eliza, hear me roar." I make a claw-like action with my free hand.

Rather than replying with some smartass comment, I hear a loud crunch behind me. Frowning, I turn around to see what exactly is making this noise. My mouth drops open when I see him lounging in a chair and enjoying a bag of kettle corn. Pissed that he's eating my favourite food right in front of me, I send him a sharp glare, hoping to make him uncomfortable. I can't believe he's eating freaking kettle corn right in front of me.

As if on cue, my stomach growls. I'm slightly embarrassed by how loud it is, so I wrap my arms around my stomach to try and muffle the sound.

A grin splits Leon's face. He shoves another handful of kettle corn into his mouth.

"Are you always this much of a cow?" I snap. I stare at the popcorn in his hands, wishing I could snatch the bag from him and inhale the whole thing. I'm so goddamned hungry I'm almost ready to puke.

"If being a cow includes buying two bags of kettle corn, then yes, I suppose I am always this much of a cow," he drawls, gesturing to his left. I follow the motion and see that, right next to my purse, there's an untouched bag of kettle corn.

My mouth begins to water.

"Is that for me?" I ask.

Leon levels his gaze with mine as he tosses another piece of kettle corn into his mouth. He chews slowly, as if he's savouring every flavour. "No," he replies. His voice is dripping with sarcasm. "I simply put it there to tease you, Liz. Not because I know it's your favourite guilty pleasure or because I can hear your stomach growling from a mile away."

I glare at him. He holds my gaze. And while there is plenty of background noise, there's nothing but silence between us. He studies me, his gaze locked with mine, while he continues to feast on kettle corn. After a couple more seconds of having a staring contest, the corner of his mouth twitches. And, before I know it, I've erupted into a fit of laughter. I'm laughing so hard that tears are running down my cheeks and my stomach muscles are begging me to stop. I don't know what point Leon joins in, but soon there are pieces of kettle corn falling to the pavement and he's hunched over with tears welling in his eyes.

As much as he annoys me and as much as I don't want him here, we're being ridiculous – we're acting like little kids. Seriously, it's like we're fighting over who gets a turn on the tire swing all over again. Sighing, I grab the bag of kettle corn he bought me and stuff a handful of it into my mouth. I practically groan as the sweet and savoury flavours erupt across my tongue.

"All joking aside," Leon says, wiping at his eyes. He's still smiling, directly at me, and his dimples are showing. My heart squeezes. I haven't seen those dimples for years. "Has your stomach always made that noise? It sounds like a moaning whale."

"Shut up," I smile, punching him in the arm.

Before I can withdraw my hand, he snags my wrist and brings my knuckles to his mouth. He lets my hand hover there for a moment, his breath hot against my skin. A shudder goes down my spine when I make eye contact with him; his look is so intense I can hardly handle it. On top of that, his touch feels like it's burning me. When was the last time I actually got to hold his hand? When was the last time he ran his thumb across the underside of my wrist, where the skin is softest?

I inhale deeply, watching as he presses a soft kiss to my knuckles. Instantly, I feel paralyzed. His lips are softer than I remember. Fuller, too. And the scent coming from him is so intoxicating it makes my head spin. I want to pull him close and make up for the seven years we've missed out on. We kept in touch for some of those years, yes, but we still missed out on so much. I used to know him better than anyone else in the world. And, if I'm being entirely honest, I want to know him like that again.

After a few seconds, he drops my hand. It falls back to my side. I watch, still feeling paralyzed, as he gets up and mutters, "We better get back to work."

He walks past me, leaving me to stare at the bag of kettle corn he's left on the chair. My mind is still spinning and I can't figure out what the hell is wrong with me. I'm getting married. My heart isn't supposed to feel this way around Leon when I'm getting married to James. Yet, here we are, my heart stuttering and stumbling over itself, and the blood in my veins throbbing.

Delicately, I run my hand through my hair and take another deep breath. I need to stop this before it gets out of hand. From now on, I need to find a way to distinguish the lines between us. Maybe, just maybe, we can be friends again. But anything with a sense of intimacy needs to be cut from our lives. Leon may have the charm and beauty and basically anything a woman wants, but he doesn't deserve me. Because, in the end, he's the reason why it's not him I'm marrying.