Before Roman started wardrobe shopping, he made a quick stop by the building supply. He was eager to get the renovations done so he could invite Ophelia and his stepbrother, Manfred Flynn, before Ophelia started her new job.
Ophelia would start as a junior associate at her girlfriends' father's firm, but she was on the fast track to becoming a full partner in one of the most prestigious law firms in New Orleans.
At least Dad had Ophelia and Flynn, to be proud of, but what else was new? Even when Roman had gotten a full athletic scholarship to the University of Alabama in Tuscaloosa, it hadn't won Dad's favor. No matter how hard Roman tried, nothing had ever been enough. He was the only biological child of his, and maybe that made him unlovable. Thank goodness he finally understood and didn't give a shit.
Sure, he'd once dreamed of being a CEO of a major company, if for no other reason than to prove he could amount to something regardless of what the old man thought. But truth was Roman had no control over how his father or anyone else judged him. God knew he'd tried that route. Bent over backwards to make the best grades, worked hard to excel in football and set the right example. That's why it'd been a surprise when Dad asked his buddy, Derek, to give Roman a summer part-time job.
Roman had taken the gesture as a sign things were getting better with his father. And they had for a while, but when the place burned down, Dad had been first in line to believe the worst. He'd known Derek Grimald for twenty years. No way would he lie. Yeah. Right. Wonder what Dad thought about Grimald now?
Two sharp raps on the back of the truck shook the thought from his mind. The delivery man closed the tailgate. "You're good to go, Mr. DeRoux. Thank you for your business."
Roman waved to the loader, then drove away. Fifteen minutes later, he parked in front of Daniel's Duds. Stupid name, but the clothes in the window looked good. It'd been a long time since he'd bought anything but jeans and casual shirts, so he figured a professional's help couldn't hurt.
Turned out, Danny was quite the salesman and Roman bought more than he needed. As he loaded the shopping bags into the backseat, a young boy carrying a box approached. A mop of brown hair fell in waves over his small head. He wore an oversized Spongebob shirt and wrinkled plaid shorts. Green sneakers had holes in both toes. He looked to be about five and should be in school.
"Hey, mister. You want a puppy? I just got one left." He set the box down and removed the scraggly dog. "He's housebroken and everything."
Mixed breed for sure, but resembled a Wirehaired Terrier, mostly brown, with a tuft of gray between ears and around his muzzle. Talk about puppy dog eyes. Those big chocolate peepers stared up at him as if begging for a new home. "What's the everything?"
"Huh?"
Roman scanned the street for an adult but saw none. Who'd let a kid this age camp out downtown with no supervision? "You said house broke and everything, so what's the everything you're talking about?"
"Oh. Well, he doesn't have fleas."
Roman shouldn't be teasing the kid, but he couldn't help himself. "Good to know, but I don't need a pet."
The boy shoved the dog toward Roman and without thinking, he took it.
"See, Mutt likes you."
Damn, now he knew his name. Roman tried not to look at the scruffy mongrel, but he licked his hand. He came to his senses and thrust him back to the boy. "Sorry, no deal."
The kid cradled the pup, sat down on the sidewalk, and cried.
Roman heaved a deep breath. Holy hell.
When he got back home workers were in full swing. Roman unloaded, put everything away, and strapped on his tool belt. In the new bedroom, two men taped and bedded sheetrock, while in the bathroom another guy laid tile.
Roman headed back outside to work on the porch addition. Over the last year, he'd given a lot of thought to how he wanted his master suite. Spacious enough for a king-sized bed. French doors opening out to a deck. Wood-burning fireplace. Surround sound. He figured this would be a trial run for his future cabin.
By the time the carpenters left for the day, he noticed real progress. Paint and carpeting would come next. Bricklayers still had the chimney to finish, but the stone fireplace and hearth was ready for winter. And soon he'd have an inside shower.
From the radio Roman had brought outside, a new country song blared. Roman hammered to the beat, nailing the last board. He didn't know why he was in such a good mood. Maybe it was because the house was finally coming together. Or because he took pride in his accomplishment. Or perhaps the encounter with the kid in town. Whatever it was, he shuffled a couple of dance moves and twirled around.
Zoya stood in the doorway, holding the puppy from earlier.
He holstered the hammer and plastered on his poker face. "Where'd that come from?"
She held the animal close to her chest. "I found him outside. Can we keep him, or are you an enemy of dogs, too?"
"I'm not an enemy of anything, but you have to admit, The Golden Girls needed to go. Even the vet said one of them was sick. She was in pain."
"Well, this dog looks healthy."
Roman moved closer, then leaned down and studied the pooch. "Looks a little wormy to me."
"He's just small. I'll keep him in my room. You won't even know he's here."
He let the silence hang between them. Wouldn't want her to think he'd gone soft. "Tell you what. I'll let you keep him if I can name him."
She pulled her brows together. "I've already thought of names. I like Finley or Bentley."
He shook his head. "Those are stupid names. I'm thinking... Homer."
"No. That's terrible."
"Let him decide. Put him down."
She eased the pup to the floor.
Roman crouched. "Here, Homer. Come on, boy."
The puppy scampered to him and licked his outstretched fingers. "See, he likes it."
Zoya frowned. "Well, I don't."
Roman rose to full height and smiled at her. "Since we need to go to town for dog food, I'll take you to get a burger. You won't have to cook."
She lowered her head. "I don't really..."
"I know. You don't like crowds. We'll drive through and get something then go to the park and eat in the truck. How about it?"
Roman saw the wheels turning in her head. Other than work or visiting Mariana, he didn't think Zoya ever left the house.
"Okay."
"Good. Just give me time to shower and change."
"I have dough in the fridge I should knead before we go. Do I have time?"
"For homemade bread?"
"Cinnamon rolls."
"Damn right you have time." He smiled as he went to get a towel and washcloth.
Behind him, Zoya called the dog. "Come on, Homie."
She'd given the dog a stupid name after all.
By the time Zoya put the puppy in the laundry room, washed her hands, and removed the dough from the fridge, Roman was in the outdoor shower.
She'd learned of this cold rice recipe from one of the cooking shows. It made the most delicious cinnamon rolls she'd ever had. She sank her fingers into the soft mound. Squish.
A few minutes later, Roman threw the blue tarp open and stepped outside, one towel wrapped around his waist and holding another.
Squish.
He threw the extra bath towel over his shoulder and zig-zagged it across his upper back.
Squish, squish.
Her breath caught, stomach fluttered, fingers froze. He turned sideways, dried his chest, then ran a hand through his hair. She should look away, or at least close her eyes, but couldn't. She understood why he had no trouble picking up women. Although he wasn't Hollywood handsome with his dark skin and freckles, now that he didn't scowl all the time, he was more attractive. A lot more. Broad shoulders, muscled biceps, taut belly with a wicked scar. She was attracted to men and women, but she had never been so distracted by anyone or felt the heat in her belly before. Not even with Livvy.
She'd seen him half-naked before, but something about how the sunlight gilded his tanned body caused her heart to hammer.
"Uh?" Caught up in the moment, she'd not heard him come in.
"I asked if you were done."
She tried to pull her hands free, but couldn't get them to move. "Oh. Yeah. Almost."
"Good, I'll get dressed, then we'll head out."
He disappeared down the hall. She hoped she hadn't killed the yeast.
He maneuvered into a spot under the biggest oak in the park, and the late afternoon sunlight speckled the hood of his truck like a disco ball. During the drive, what little conversation he and Zoya had concerned the new member of their household. She'd presented her best case to change the dog's name, but Roman stuck to his guns. He wasn't sure if her argument was sincere but it gave her the opportunity to use her word of the day: Pejorative, which meant expressing disapproval or suggesting something is not good or is of no importance.
Roman swirled a French fry into ranch. "Turns out, you and I have a lot in common."
"We do?"
"Sure. We've both lost our mothers. We loved Charamel. We like living in the farmhouse."
She pinched off a bite of burger and put it in her mouth. She didn't eat much. Most nights, she just chased food around her plate with a fork.
Roman shoved another potato into his mouth. "Tell me about your dad."
"He died three years ago."
"Oh, I'm sorry."
"Why? It isn't your fault."
Her abruptness always surprised him. "What happened?"
"Pancreatic cancer."
Hoots and hollers came from a nearby basketball court where a group of teenagers played one-on-one. Zoya gazed at the team, then slid low in her seat.
Roman studied the boys, then looked at her. "What's wrong?"
"I work with one of those guys. I don't want him to see me."
"Why?"
"I just don't."
Roman craned his neck for a better look. Each boy wore a numbered jersey, knee-length gym shorts, and fancy high-tops. "Which one?"
"Number twelve."
"Has he been mean to you?"
"No. He keeps asking me out and I don't want to go."
Roman took another look. Tall and thin, the boy put a three pointer in the basket, then pranced like a show-horse. Just a guy being a guy. He remembered those carefree days. For him, it'd been football, but every sport was the same when it came to teamwork.
"Any particular reason?"
"He's seventeen. And I don't like him."
Roman chuckled. "Don't want to be labeled a cougar?"
"Is that a joke?"
He laughed harder. "Yeah. Kinda."
She gathered her leftovers and crammed them back in the to-go bag. "Are you done?"
He handed her his trash, and she stuffed it in the bag. He wanted to get her talking again. "So, where d'you grow up?"
"Are we playing the question-answer game?"
"Sure."
"Okay. In a city."
He faced her and raised a brow. "You're being sarcastic."
"I am? I thought I was just avoiding the question. My turn. Where were you raised?"
Damn. This was a side he'd not seen before, and he liked it. "Okay, I'll bite." That got a slight smile from her. Another first. "Just outside of Baton Rouge." Ah, something flickered in her eyes. Maybe that was her hometown as well. He recapped. Raised in Baton Rouge. Home schooled. Both parents dead. He stopped to do the math. If she was twenty-four, and she'd been five when her mother died, then the accident happened in 1999.
Little by little, he was finding out the identity of his housemate. Once he did, he'd be able to figure out why she was in Arcadia and who she was hiding from.
What do you think Roman's about to do next?
TEASER: "Would you like to have dinner with me?"