“Another one of your admirers?”
I follow the guy as he moves to the opposite end of the bar. “I think he felt sorry for me. Maybe he thought I’d been stood up.” I turn to face him. “What are you really doing here, Roman?”
“I think this is called reaping the joys of small-town living.” I guess I pull a face by the almost infinitesimal reaction in his. But he takes a sip of his wine, then carries on. “I’ve been to Drew’s place.” My heart gives a pained little leap at what that might mean. “See, I got it into my mind that you’d be with him. I didn’t come to that conclusion entirely by myself, but I think I could be forgiven if I had.” There’s a minor barb to his tone that I choose to ignore.
“This person who helped. Does she own a threatening-looking paintball gun?” It’s a decent guess, given my neighbours were there in the bank today indulging in their specialty. Being nosy.
“It was Ursula who overheard. Betty just offered me the weaponry.”
“Oh, God.” I press my hand to my head. “Please don’t tell me you’ve redecorated Drew’s house. He’s only just finished the kitchen.”
“If I was going to use a paintball gun, I wouldn’t be shooting his kitchen. I’d probably aim for his head. At the very least, I’d leave him full of bruises.”
“But you didn’t because Annie was there.”
“Oh. So you know about them?” He leans his forearm on the bar and lightly drums his fingers.
“Come on, Roman. I set them up.”
He gives a sheepish-looking grin. “And here I thought she was supposed to be your friend.”
“Drew’s a nice guy,” I mutter defensively. He’s just not the guy for me. Because he also deserves better than me. He deserves someone sweet like Annie.
“Weird.” His gaze narrows yet looks almost remote. “Annie seems to think so, too.” He seems to come back to himself. “I guess there’s no accounting for tastes.”
I bark out a laugh. “Yeah, because some people prefer their love interests to be the cause of their high blood pressure.”
“Love?” Triumph flickers over his expression.
“Love interest,” I correct as though that makes a difference.
“Well, some love interests might cause elevated blood pressure, but others steal all the water pressure.”
“I switched it back,” I mutter. As my gaze slides to the mirror behind the bar, I force my brows to relax by pressing my finger between them. “I think I’m going to need Botox.”
“Maybe,” he mutters, drawing my attention sharply. “I might even have to pay for it after I tell you the stuff Annie and Drew clued me in on.”
“What sort of things?” My stomach suddenly feels like it’s sinking. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Things that needed to be said.” His shoulder rises with ambivalence. Then he grins. “I’m surprised your ears weren’t burning.”
“Please tell me you didn’t ruin their dinner. It was meant to be an intimate first date.” But I’m deflecting. I just don’t need to hear what they’ve been talking about. I don’t need my life explained to me.
“I only stayed for the appetisers. Drew had made these little asparagus bundles.” He approximates the size of a box of kitchen matches with his fingers. “Wrapped in prosciutto and mozzarella. I thought they were a bit 1970s myself,” he says, using humour as a defence. “But they were surprisingly tasty.”
“I can’t believe you crashed their date.”
“I was hungry. Besides, we had lots to talk about.”
“Lots to say about me, you mean?” Oh, God.
“So your ears were burning. Also, Annie suggested you might be in here.” Roman’s eyes flick around the place, taking in the high gothic ceiling and the heavy use of copper and glass. “She said you had lunch here with Holland before she left. You miss your sister.”
“I do.” My eyes prick with tears. “But she’s doing her thing and living her best life.” I force a bright smile. “So, spill. Tell me how the two of you put my life right.”
“Drew was part of the conversation, too.” I don’t get to ponder that for very long before Roman reaches for my hand. “He helped me figure out why you had a real estate agent visit.”
“No.” Oh, Drew. What have you done?
“And before you know it, I was leaving Drew’s house all kinds of optimistic and—”
“Roman, don’t.” The blood in my veins has turned to ice water as I try to pull back my hand, but he won’t let it go. I can’t let this happen. I can’t drag him into this web of lies I’ve woven.
“I know about your loan application.”
“He wouldn’t—he’s not supposed to,” I almost cry. “He could lose his job for this!” For divulging my personal information.
“Nah, not if he just kind of implied. That’s not you, Kennedy,” he adds softly. “Bonus, I didn’t even have to threaten him.”