Book 17: What a Waste

Aris

“You didn’t have to come,” Roman says. We walk side by side through the market that’s held in Ruby every weekend. It’s crowded with locals and summer tourists alike, but through the noise and bobbing crowd, I catch a glimpse of Posey’s reddish-blonde hair as she weaves toward a stall selling an incredible array of freshly cut flowers.

“I was either going to sleep half the day away or this.” I motion toward the market. “I had no other plans.”

“Well, we’ve been going a hundred miles an hour since we arrived,” he says with a sigh. “I’m kind of looking forward to a break this weekend; I’m not going to lie.”

“Are we getting old, Roman?”

He smirks, shrugging. “I suppose the fun has to come to an end at some point.”

“Hold this,” Posey says quickly before