Leon

"Come on, Serena," I hear Liz say from down the hall. It's just before six A.M., and I've come to the conclusion that me being able to sleep in was simply a fluke; I was up at five and have already been for a bike ride. I'm currently in the kitchen, wolfing down a piece of toast with peanut butter. "We're supposed to be at the Farmer's Market in twenty minutes to set up our booth! I have the car loaded – you just need to get the hell out of bed!"

"I don't want to!" Serena moans. "I'm sick from last night."

"You mean you have a stupid hangover," Liz spits.

I suppress a laugh. Serena should know better than to piss Liz off – her wrath is terrifying. And it doesn't take a genius to realize that Liz is definitely pissed off this morning. I know the girls went out last night after their dress fittings, but that's all the information I got. However, due to the comments that have been exchanged so far, I think it's safe to hazard a guess that they all got drunk last night.

"Yes!" Serena snaps. "I have a stupid hangover and it's all your fault. If you had just listened to Tenille and gotten shit done, I wouldn't be sick."

An exasperated sigh echoes down the hallway. I can picture Liz standing in the doorway, tugging at her golden-blonde hair in frustration. "So," she says, "let me get this straight. You're going to stay in bed all day and nurse an upset stomach while I work my butt off in the heat of the summer? You know how popular we are, Serena. I need your help. And don't you dare suggest asking Tenille – she has horseback riding lessons to teach today."

I hear Liz grunt, the noise quickly followed by something falling to the floor with a soft thump. I'm assuming Serena threw a pillow at her, but you can never be so sure. I take another bite of my toast. This is a helluva lot more entertaining than the shit on TV. Seriously. For all I know, Serena could have thrown her entire collection of dental-floss underwear. And the only reason I know that's the type of underwear Serena likes is because she had no problem showing me when I walked into the guest room instead of the bathroom the other night. I don't know what is with her. She's got a sweet heart, but Kit was right – she's madder than a wet hen.

Just because I'm intrigued by this dramatic conversation, I saunter down the hallway, careful that my feet don't make any noise. At the end of the hallway, on my left, I can see dim light shining on the rustic barn-wood floor.

"Find someone else," Serena says. "And stop talking so damn loud! I have a headache."

"Ugh," Liz groans. "Who am I supposed to ask? Tenille is booked for the day, as I said earlier. James is working. Kit is God knows where and Scott already left the house for one of his hiking trips with some friends. There is literally no one I can ask, Serena."

I lean against the doorway behind Liz and cross my arms. Over her shoulder, I make eye contact with Serena, who, as I figured, looks like shit. If she went as hard as I think she did, she probably consumed her weight in shots of tequila. The poor woman. Tequila is poison.

"Him," Serena says. "You can ask him. He'll help you."

Following Serena's finger, Liz turns around. She jumps when she sees me, a small yelp escaping her lips as she clutches the doorway. "For the love of God!" she exclaims. "Do not sneak up on me like that, Leon Saint-Laurent! You know better than to sneak up on me!" Her cheeks begin to turn pink with embarrassment.

"Technically," I chuckle. "I didn't sneak up on you."

She opens her mouth. Closes it.

"He's got you there," Serena says. She leans over and turns off the light. "Now get the hell out of my room. I need to sleep."

Liz, clearly frustrated with everything and everyone surrounding her, throws her hands up in the air and storms out, deliberately knocking her shoulder against mine. She does it so hard that I actually have to grab onto the handle of the door to keep my balance.

Serena flops back against the pillows and lets out a low groan as she rubs her temples. "She's pissed, Leon. It may not seem like she wants your help, but can you please help her at the Farmer's Market today? I'll owe you one."

I don't reply right away because I don't want to seem too eager to take up the offer. After a couple of seconds pass by, both of which I spend trying to look lost in thought while rubbing my jaw, I nod. "Sure. I can help her today. It's not a problem at all."

"Thanks," she mumbles. She pulls the blankets up to her chin. "Now shut the door and get the hell outta my room."

While Serena is definitely madder than a wet hen, she's beginning to grow on me a little. I like her confidence and the way she tells nothing but the truth no matter how blatant it is. I wouldn't necessarily call her my friend but she's more than an acquaintance. With a subtle nod, I follow her passive-aggressive orders and leave her behind in the dark, the door shut firmly behind me.

I find Eliza in the kitchen eating the rest of my peanut butter toast.

"Really?" I ask.

She glares at me, a smudge of peanut butter on the corner of her mouth. "I'm hungry."

"So am I," I reply.

"So am I," she mimics in a condescending tone.

I bite back a grin. It's difficult to not laugh at Liz when she's mad. I don't know what it is about her demeanour but I find it amusing. "What, are we seven again?"

She pops the last bite of toast in her mouth and chews slowly, staring at me as she does so. The smudge of peanut butter is still there. I want to close the space between us and brush it away with my thumb. Or my tongue. It's an inappropriate thought to have about a bride, but I can't help myself. I used to kiss those lips every day. I wonder if they're still as soft as they were back then. I wonder if she still makes small gasping noises when there's tongue involved.

"You wish," she fires back. She walks over to the sink and rinses off her hands, drying them on a paper towel. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go and work this stupid booth on my own." She begins to head for the living room, her flip-flops slapping against the hardwood.

"I could, you know, help out if you need me. I've got nothing planned," I say. I can't tear my gaze away from the white high-rise shorts she's wearing. They hug her ass so perfectly it's not even funny. Just to make sure she doesn't catch me, I force my eyes up to her flowy, flower-patterned tank top. It's loose-fitting around her torso and the fabric is fairly thin. Meaning, if I stare hard enough, I can see her freckled skin beneath.

She freezes in the doorway. "I don't need your help, Leon."

"Then why, Liz," I chuckle, "were you begging your hungover friend to come and help you with the very busy booth? It sounds like you need some help."

Although the way she clenches her fists at her sides scares me a little, it also amuses me. Christ, was it always this fun to annoy her? Was it always this easy to get under her skin? I feel like I'm poking a bear with a stick, waiting until the claws come out. I want to see some action. I want to see her react and get mad at me.

She glances over her shoulder at me, her eyes narrowed into thin slits. "I was asking her for help because she is one of my business partners. I've never worked a day without her. I need to get going, Leon. I'm losing precious time."

She stomps out of the kitchen. In the distance, I can hear her frustratedly muttering profanity and pulling on her shoes.

"You could get it done in half the time if you'd let me help!" I call after her.

For at least ten seconds, all I hear is silence. It's so quiet that I'm almost certain she's stormed out of the house. My hypothesis is proven wrong, though, because she reappears in the kitchen doorway, a smouldering fire in her eyes. "Fine," she says. "But this is the last time you're helping me, got it? I'm only agreeing to this because I'm desperate."

I swipe a piece of bread from the bag and quickly coat it in peanut butter. "Okay. I'm ready. Let's go."

"You can't wear that," she says, carefully eyeing me. I notice how her eyes pause near my waist and then swoop down even lower. "There's no dress code but I can't have you looking like some mountain biker boy. You need to look like a normal human being who makes soap every weekend."

I cock an eyebrow. "I think you like the way my package or my ass – I really can't tell where you were looking, Liz – looks in these bike shorts. You don't want another woman to have the pleasure of staring at either of them. That's the real reason why you want me to change."

I'm teasing her, but she obviously doesn't get the memo. Her mouth drops open and her cheeks turn pink. She then begins to stutter over every word she attempts to form on her tongue. Laughing, I walk over and ruffle her hair. "Liz," I say, "I'm kidding. I'll go changed into something normal. Quick as can be so you don't lose more of your precious time."

Without giving her a chance to say anything more to me, I head for the back door of the kitchen. I can cut through the small garden in the backyard and make it to the carrier house much faster than I can if I follow the pathway from the front. Before I exit the house, I pause at the sliding glass door and glance over at Liz, tapping the corner of my mouth. "By the way, you've got a little something right here."

A hand flies to her mouth and I watch as she delicately touches her fingers to the smudge of peanut butter. Her gaze meets mine for a split second, and I see the potent build-up of emotion in them before she turns away from me. There's a mirror in the hallway, which is exactly where she's heading. Sighing, I step out into the warm summer air and leave Liz behind so she can clean up.

Outside, I take a deep breath. A lot of people would call the exchange that just happened between Liz and I toxic or dysfunctional. But the thing is, they don't know Liz the way I do. Even if I haven't seen her for two years. When something is bothering her, her stubbornness shines. And if you try to calm her down it only pisses her off. Which is exactly why I've been fighting fire with fire all morning. It still makes her mad, but it also diffuses her; it lessens the power she feels she has over you and if you're persistent, she'll eventually give up and let her guard down.

I chuckle to myself as I step inside the carrier house. I always loved the fire that Liz had in her when we were kids and I'm glad to see she still has it. I just wish I could see it more. Because I want it to burn bright and hot. Because a woman like Liz isn't meant to stand in the shadows. She's meant to make a mark in the world, to be known and lived the way she deserves.