Chapter 9

Nine

Sam

"Trying to decide if I know how to cook?" She stepped out on the porch and teased him. But Roman held his breath for a moment and looked away. "You can change your mind. It's okay."

She meant it, but she couldn't deny the wave of relief that rolled over her when he turned to meet her eyes again and shook his head.

"No. Just…" He took a hesitant step up and then huffed out a sigh. He sounded frustrated. Tired, but not tired like he had just gone for a long run. Tired, like he was stressed out and maybe angry with someone. "Phone call."

"Mm." She nodded. As curious as she was, she wouldn't pry. "Want some coffee?"

"I won't say no to coffee," he said with that ridiculously perfect smile—the one she had seen in her dreams last night.

"C'min," she told him and nodded at the door. She pulled it open and held it for him, feeling a charge of excitement when he followed her and stepped inside her house. Small and cozy, the white walls, pastel-colored accents, and big windows made it seem roomier than it was.

"Smells good," he said quietly as he followed her into the galley kitchen. She wasn't sure if he was referring to the coffee or the muffins she had in the oven.

"So, you're a runner?" She took two mugs from the glass-front white cabinet and peeked at him over her shoulder before filling them with coffee.

Roman looked at her and nodded as he eased onto a stool at the white granite peninsula counter that separated the kitchen area from the living area.

"Yeah, I am." He rested his hands on the counter as she carried the mugs over. He mumbled a thank you when she put his down. "I used to run every day. For me."

"Cream or sugar?" she asked as she lifted her mug for a sip.

"No, thanks."

"So who do you run for now? If not for yourself?"

Roman wrapped his long, slender fingers of his right hand around his mug and studied the black liquid.

"I got caught up in all the benefits and the fundraisers at home. Ya know?"

Sam nearly swooned when he lifted his gaze and hit her with that dark, dreamy stare.

"Yeah."

"The holiday runs and the raise money for this cause ." He sighed and finally lifted his mug for a drink. She told herself not to stare at his hand, his fingers, but she couldn't help it. Hard not to wonder about his fingers in her hair. On her lips. Her breasts.

Sam cleared her throat and turned away from him.

"I have blueberry muffins in the oven," she announced. "And I'll do eggs and sausage."

He put the mug down and simply stared at her with a smile.

"What?"

"Sounds good," he said simply. "I don't remember the last time someone cooked for me."

"Oh, come on." She rolled her eyes.

"Carry-ins at the office. And dinners out." He shrugged. "But Cathryn wasn't much for cooking."

"Cathryn," she repeated. "Your ex-wife?"

"Mmm." He nodded.

"I don't cook much," she said quietly, uncertain where to go after the mention of his ex. "But I also don't like to part with my money on dinners out."

His thin lips twisted into a smirk that played games with her girl parts. And maybe, if the twinge in her belly meant anything, her heart, too.

"I cook," he told her. "I just don't always want to."

"I get it."

The eye contact grew so intense, she felt like her cheeks might burst into flame. Uncertain if Roman was thinking, feeling, the same way, Sam jerked her gaze away and cleared her throat. She put her mug down and went to the fridge for the eggs and sausage.

"What about your kids? Do you see them often?"

Kids were an okay topic to discuss, right? Didn't most parents enjoy talking about their children? Seemed a better bet than his ex-wife anyway.

"No." He sounded a little down, but when she snuck a look at him, he was simply eyeing his coffee, no expression on his face. "I used to see Damien a little more often. But he's working full time now, and when he's not at work, he's with his girlfriend."

"As it should be?" she asked softly.

Roman smiled and nodded. "Yes. As it should be."

"And your daughter?"

He winced and broke the eye contact again. Sam gritted her teeth together as she turned back to the eggs and the bowl she had put on the counter. She had said the wrong thing, dammit.

"Luca and I don't see eye to eye about most things," he answered. "It was Luca that called me just a while ago."

"Oh." She cracked the eggs into the bowl and tossed the shells in the garbage can. "I'm sorry."

Roman smoothed his fingers over his top lip and finally offered her a tired smile.

"It's okay. She's just a handful. Maybe part of what drove Cathryn and I apart." He shrugged. "Or maybe our marriage drove Luca to make the horrible decisions she's made."

"How long were you married?"

"Thirteen years. Maybe five or six were good."

Sam grabbed the milk from the refrigerator and splashed a bit in the bowl with the eggs.

"Cathryn, um…had issues. A lot of depression?—"

"You don't have to tell me." She glanced at him. "I don't mean to pry."

He pressed his lips together and heaved a deep breath through his nose. "She was on antidepressants when we met."

"And that bothered you?"

"Not at all," he answered calmly. "But when Luca was nine and Damien was two, Cathryn was in a car accident. She broke her back. She recovered, but not without more issues."

Sam scrambled the eggs a bit harder, knowing where he was going.

"She ended up addicted to oxycontin."

"Mmm." Sam dipped her head as she poured the egg mixture into the waiting skillet. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah." Roman cleared his throat. "It's been a roller coaster. She's battled the addiction, and she wins a few battles, but I'm not sure she'll ever win the war. She and Luca weren't close, and for some reason, Luca blames me for that, I think. I don't know. Anyway, Luca has spent her entire life acting out, making trouble. Hurting herself. It's a lot."