Chapter 2

Two

Roman

"Would you like more wine?"

The bartender—Sam—offered him a small smile when he lifted his eyes from the book she had recommended. Roman had been deeply involved in the story unfolding; a fast reader, he was already thirty pages into the book when Sam spoke to him. Mind instantly back in the wine bar with his body, Roman glanced at his nearly empty glass and then back at Sam.

She wore her long auburn hair in loose waves over her shoulders. Roman clocked the small diamond studs in her earlobes, the flecks of deeper blue in her sky blue eyes, and the chip in her front tooth before nodding.

"Please."

Her smile bloomed, lighting up her face, as she pulled the stopper from the bottle and splashed a good-sized pour into his glass. She was pretty, but he noticed that in the way he might notice a female model on the cover of a gardening magazine might be pretty. Pretty didn't faze him. Roman wasn't in Love Beach looking for love. Looking for other things, maybe.

Peace. Tranquility. Escape.

Beauty.

Though he expected to find that, wanted to find that, in nature. Not in a woman.

Still, he could appreciate a pretty woman with no strings attached.

"What do you think?" She nodded at the book as she recapped the bottle and set it down.

"Well, I'm in a beach bar in South Carolina, and I feel like I'm in the arctic with Hrodwulf." He gave her a small shrug as he reached for his glass. "You've read it?"

"Mm-hmm." She nodded.

"Then you know." He arched his eyebrows as if to say she must understand how addicting the prose was.

"I do." Her laughter was soft and musical.

"Do you serve dinner here?"

"No. But you can order from local restaurants and bring food in."

"Good to know." He nodded at her in affirmation as he put his glass back on the bar.

"You can also shelve the book and pick it back up if you come in again," she told him. "Like a library."

"How do you make any money that way?"

"The root of all evil," she said with a smile.

"'The love of money?—"

"I know." She held her hand up and shook her head. "People do buy the books, but some can't afford them. Or don't have the cash when they need it. Or they aren't sure they have the time to commit to reading."

"Nice."

"And also, Vivian doesn't need money. She owns this place for fun."

"Vivian."

Sam waved her hand a bit, indicating someone behind him. Roman looked over his shoulder to see another attractive woman—this one a bit older—talking to a table of ladies.

"Good to know. Thank you."

"You're welcome." Sam smiled. "Let me know if you need anything."

"I will."

Roman watched her walk out from behind the bar, noticing the snug fit of the denim over her hips and her backside. With a small sigh, he put his gaze back on the open book. But his concentration was shot. Not because of Sam. Not her pretty eyes or welcoming smile.

Because of Cathryn. And Luca.

The house.

All of it.

He had purposely waited until things settled in the Midwest before moving. Wasn't like Cathryn was his responsibility anymore, but Roman Ewing wasn't the coldhearted SOB some people chose to label him. Even being divorced from Cathryn as long as he had, he still worried about her.

And Luca.

Jesus. He couldn't divorce his child . But damned if there weren't days when he wished he could.

He loved her. But the sassy, little dark-haired and dark-eyed girl—his mini-me, Cathryn used to call her—had been a handful since she had turned seven. Since Cathryn had gotten pregnant with Damian.

At least their son had grown up relatively normal.

Roman huffed and reached for his glass again. He didn't know that, did he? He thought Damian was good. The kid had graduated from college and gone to work in a local bank. He'd socked money away until he could afford his own place. He was dating a cute girl he met in college. They'd been together for a couple of years.

None of that meant a damned thing, though.

Roman had learned that the hard way.

The buzz of his phone in his pocket shot dread through him like an electrical pulse. He swallowed another sip of wine. Ducked his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.

He had considered leaving the phone at his place. His new place. The condo he had moved into just before the dumpster fire had exploded back home. Well, no longer hom e, but still. Roman had seen the Book & Barrel sign several times since he had come to Love Beach, but he hadn't found the time to drop in. Today, he had decided he was clearing his calendar—he was retired after all—and stopping in for a glass of wine and a good book.

He figured he would get a text or a call, and he had almost left the phone on the island bar in the kitchen. But as much as he wanted, needed, to distance himself from Cathryn, maybe from Luca, he couldn't do it.

Closing the book now with a quick glance at the page number—he would remember it—he cleared his throat and pulled his phone from his pocket. The text message was from Damian, but Roman didn't let himself breathe easy. Odds were he would hear from Luca before the night was over. At least if he had his phone with him, he could read the message or let her talk and then make a decision on how to handle things.

He couldn't just cut her off, could he?

He had done that with Cathryn once.

Lesson learned.

Your bottle of Macallan is missing.

Roman stared at the screen of his phone for a moment, wondering if he should be concerned. Not about the scotch. The bottle in question was under the small bar in his condo right now. But why was Damian looking for it? Or had he just stopped in at the house—the house that had been on the market for two months now—and noticed it was gone?

He tapped out his answer, telling his son he had the bottle, and hit send. At war with himself, which was yet another thing Roman had desperately wanted to escape, he decided rather than going on the offensive, asking Damian why he was worried about the scotch, he would wait him out and see what his son said.

Good. Came by to find some of my tennis gear and noticed.

See? Damian was okay. Damian was doing all the things a twenty-two year old kid should be doing. Working. Having fun with his friends and his girlfriend.

Luca called me earlier. Didn't leave a message.

Roman considered answering, but he eventually put his phone face down on the bar. If Luca had called Damian, she wanted money. Maybe a place to crash. Roman wasn't going to worry about it now. Not until Damian called to bitch about his big sister. Or until Luca called him to ask for either the money or shelter.

Until that happened, Roman intended to build up his muscles, his courage, to say no.