‘I have to be strict with him,’ he said. ‘He won’t turn a profit this quarter if he keeps giving the inventory away.’
‘Or if you keep scaring customers away.’
‘That, too.’ He folded his arms across his chest and, for the first time ever, really looked at her. ‘I’m Roman. Roman Carver.’
‘Samantha Roberts.’
‘What are you doing here, Samantha?’
‘Nothing,’ she said breezily. ‘Just out for a stroll. If you could point me in the direction of the main road, I’ll get on with it.’
‘I mean in Tobago. What are you doing here in Tobago?’
‘Is that really any of your business?’ she snapped.
He backed away, hands up, looking more amused by her outburst than he had a right to be. It made her feel peevish. She hated the feeling.
‘I’m a travel blogger,’ Samantha blurted.
‘Is that right?’ he said. ‘What’s the name of the blog?’
Samantha swatted away an imaginary insect. ‘The name?’
He shrugged as if to say, You heard me.
She looked around, grasping for an idea. ‘The Hidden Path.’
Roman’s almond-shaped eyes were framed with thick, arched brows. When he cocked one, questioning, something inside of her came undone.
‘The Hidden Path,’ he repeated.
‘That’s what I said.’
‘Come on,’ he said in a low, teasing voice. ‘Confess. There’s no blog.’
She would rather eat a worm. ‘There’s no blog … yet. I’m working on it.’
His smile was sunlight, warm and indulgent. Basking in it, she forgot what they were squabbling about.
He pointed past her shoulder. ‘Just keep down that path. You’ll loop back to where you came from.’
Samantha did her best to sound detached. ‘Cool. Thanks.’
He took a step backwards, every taut muscle of his body eager to get moving again. ‘Next time you stop by the shop, the bottled water is on me.’
And then he was off.