Page 35 of No Summer Hotter than You

He scoffed. “I don’t run for an hour. Only thirty minutes. I don’t know what Mrs. Turner’s been saying to you, but I don’t run that long.”

Mrs. Turner was our friendly neighbor who owned the house next door. She was a big flirt and wasn’t shy to admit she’d be head over heels for Anthony Hughes if she was just four decades younger. She had been yelling over the fence the last few days about how she had been enjoying her morning coffee out on the porch, watching the sunrise and Anthony running around “in all of his half-naked glory.”

“If she’s going to be out on the porch at six every morning to watch the sunrise and you run around the block shirtless, then she’s going to have something to say about it to me when I leave for work. All right?”

Anthony shook his head as if he didn’t believe me.

“You don’t need to tell me, but I’ll always be here if you need to talk.”

He looked at me as if he had something to say. But, instead of answering my question, he said, “We can talk over coffee and breakfast at my place.”

I sighed with resignation. “Okay. You cook.”

Anthony smiled softly. “Fine.”

Growing up in an immigrant Asian household, I never ate the typical American breakfast. The only time I could recall eating anything close to that was the sad eggs, sausage, and microwaved pancakes schools handed out to us when my mom was in a rush to drop us off. But, aside from those rare moments, we always ate rice and eggs.

Now as an adult, the only things I ever wanted to eat for breakfast were a slice of sourdough bread, eggs, and bacon. If Anthony was fancy, he’d make us some hashbrowns or pancakes. He was never much of a cook before we moved next to each other.

But ever since we started to have breakfast like this together, he had been making some of the most mouthwatering breakfasts I had ever had. It was honestly the only thing he really knew how to cook. He couldn’t whip up anything else, and I would happily eat it every morning for the rest of my life.

I sipped my coffee from my usual lilac glass cup as I watched him at the stove wearing an apron. His thick, corded arms moved with ease as he flipped the sausages, his movements practiced and confident. The aroma of sizzling bacon filled the kitchen, mingling with the rich scent of freshly brewed espresso shots. I leaned against the countertop, content to watch him work.

“How was your run?” I asked.

The toaster dinged and I quickly took out the two thick slices of our favorite sourdough from our neighborhood bakery around the corner. Even though Anthony didn’t say anything, his silence was more than enough to make me look up at him.

He avoided my gaze as he plated the food. “Anthony Nhia?—”

He let out a long sigh as he set the plate he was holding down with a loud clack. “I don’t like Kelvin.”

That wasn’t news to me, though. He said this the moment we got in the car after our night at the fair. To be honest, I hardly thought Kelvin was that big of a threat. Evelyn was probably the one we should be more wary about. The fake relationship wasn’t deterring her from pursuing Anthony at all.

“That’s why you’ve been running for the last few mornings? Because you hate that guy that much? I didn’t know you were someone to be consumed by hatred,” I said.

“No, I’m serious, Shoua. He bothers the hell out of me and it’s something I just can’t shake off. Even with all this running! There’s just something about him that not only bothers me but creeps me the fuck out. You need to be careful around him.” Anthony’s brows furrowed tightly together as his lips pulled into a deep frown. He was worried about me. “Promise me you’ll stick to my side when we go bar hopping with Tyson on Saturday.”

We were planning to take Tyson to the Twilight District, which was the best place to bar hop. There were several blocks of the most popular bars in our city. It was always packed full of people with the greatest food trucks each weekend. If you wanted a good night out, then you’d go there. That was exactly what Tyson wanted.

“You don’t need to worry.” I shrugged and sat down at his small kitchen table where I had already set everything up.

He brought over my plate of food and set it gently in front of me. He clamored into his chair with a long sigh. I excitedly dug into the fresh strawberries I had washed earlier as Anthony spoke up, rather gravely.

“By the way, don’t freak out . . .” he started. “But Evelyn told me that she’s intent on making me hers.”

“What? When did she say that to you?”

“Saturday night at the fair.”

I was in total disbelief as my heart began to drum in my ears. If Evelyn said this to him on Saturday, why didn’t he say anything until now? Why did he wait this long to even mention it?

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Anthony’s lips mirrored the frown I wore. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m not that worried about her.”

“There is no point in us scheming around if she’s going to disregard us being together. Fake or not.”

His brows creased together again as he grabbed a slice of toast and ripped it apart furiously. Agitation was so clearly mapped on the lines of his face.

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