Page 12 of Sweet Somethings

"In that case—all right." Donavan handed him a ceramic mug of coffee. "You never did like to owe people. And, yes, I put this in a to-stay instead of in a to-go cup, because I thought we might chat for a minute."

Seeing the determination in her eyes, he knew there was no way he was going to escape without that chat. And the fact of the matter was he didn't really have somewhere else he needed to be. "Sure."

Her eyebrow arched in surprise. "That was easier than I thought, but I'll take it." She came around the counter, and they sat down at a small table.

"I saw the piano," he said. "Do you still play?"

"Whenever I get the chance. How about you? Still strumming that guitar?"

"Just took it up again recently."

"That's great. How are you doing, Roman? I heard you were injured and had to leave the Marines. The details are murky, though."

That's because no one knew the details, including his grandfather. "That's pretty much the story. I may still go back. I'm on medical leave."

"Well, I'm glad you weren't too badly hurt. It's been what—eleven, twelve years—since you were here?"

"Thirteen. I left a few weeks after my eighteenth birthday." As he sipped his coffee, he added, "This might be the best cup of coffee I've ever had."

Her smile broadened. "I'm glad to hear that. I have to say I wasn't sure you'd ever come back to this town, Roman. Things weren't great when you left."

"No they weren't, but it was a long time ago."

"I'm sure your grandfather is happy to have you back. He said you're working for him now."

"Temporarily anyway."

"Well, I hope you'll stay as long as you can."

"Thanks, but you may not share the popular opinion when it comes to me staying in town," he drawled, seeing two older women across the room, one of whom was glaring at him.

She followed his gaze. "Don't worry about Martha Grayson. No one listens to her."

"That hasn't been my experience."

"Well, even if people listen to her, they know she's just gossiping. Give the town a chance to show you it has grown up, just like you have. And while Martha can be the ultimate small-minded mean girl, her sister Cecelia isn't so bad, and sometimes she can keep Martha in line."

He smiled at her optimism. "Sure, she can. But thanks. You were always kind to me, even when I didn't deserve it."

"You did deserve it. Most people just didn't see the real you, Roman. And that wasn't their fault; it was yours. You didn't let people in. You had a huge wall up."

"That's true, but I did let a few in, and that didn't work well."

"I never really understood what happened."

"You and me both." He paused as a familiar woman came through the door of the coffee shop, and just like earlier in the day, every muscle in his body tightened and warning bells went off in his head. Juliette's gaze, however, went straight to his grandfather, and as she headed over to the men's table with a purposeful walk, he was actually curious to see what would happen.

To most people, his gruff, short-tempered grandfather would probably be intimidating, but Juliette didn't seem at all worried. Then again, she was on a mission, and she wasn't about to let anyone stop her from making her pitch.

"Who are you looking at?" Donavan asked, then turned her head to see. "Oh, Juliette Adams." She turned back to him with a knowing gleam in her eyes. "Juliette runs the bakery across the street—Sweet Somethings."

"I know. I met her today," he murmured.

"She spent her early childhood here, then came back several months ago. Her bakery has really taken off. We sell a lot of her desserts. She's very nice."

He didn't comment, thinking that the word nice didn't fully describe Juliette. Not that she wasn't nice, but she was a lot more complicated than that.

"Donavan," Sara said, waving a hand from the counter, where the line had grown.

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