"Wait, wait—'Anthony Johnson'? Like star quarterback, entrepreneur, and model Anthony Johnson?" Edward asked, eyes wide as he paused mid-step in the kitchen. His tone was half disbelief, half awe, and wholly dramatic.
The stainless steel refrigerator hummed in the background, and the faint scent of lemon-scented floor cleaner lingered in the air. A half-cut avocado on the counter sat forgotten.
Summer smirked, one eyebrow arching as she turned from the sink with a dish towel in hand. "No! The other one," she said with thick sarcasm, her voice lilting upward as she let out a short, melodic laugh. It wasn't just any laugh—it was one of those rare, unfiltered sounds that filled a room with warmth.
Her head tilted back slightly, the light catching her cheekbones just right as the sound echoed softly off the tile. That laugh had a way of pulling reactions from people. Even Edward, arms crossed and pretending to be annoyed, couldn't resist the tug at the corners of his mouth.
