Page 14 of Sweet Somethings

"The house will be better after it's remodeled. You might like it even more then."

She sat back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest. "No one seems to understand that I'm not interested in a remodel. I want it to be the same as it was."

"That's your choice, Juliette. But let's be honest. You don't have the money to buy the house now anyway, regardless of what it would be appraised at, do you?"

He could see the truth in her eyes.

"I might be able to make something happen," she said. "I could borrow money from my aunt, maybe get a loan." She blew out a breath. "But that's all pointless if your grandfather won't sell. I really wish you'd talk to him."

"It wouldn't make a difference. He doesn't care what I think; he never has."

She stared back at him with defiance in her eyes. "Well, I'm not giving up."

"I figured," he said, impressed she was still ready to do battle. He liked someone who was willing to fight for what they wanted.

She pushed back her chair and stood up. "I need some coffee."

After she left the table, a cold blast of wind entered the room, and he looked toward the front door. A man about his age walked into the coffee shop wearing black slacks, a cream-colored dress shirt, and a maroon and gray striped tie, his brown hair edged with blond highlights, his hazel eyes very familiar.

Doug Winters had certainly aged well, boasting the same good-looking features that had gotten him dates with half the high school cheerleading squad.

Doug had been the closest thing to a best friend he'd ever had, but that friendship had ended on a summer night a week before he left town to join the Marines.

As their gazes met, he saw surprise and wariness flash through Doug's eyes. Apparently, thirteen years had not been long enough for anyone to forget.

He took the final sip of his coffee and set his mug down on the table, then got to his feet.

Doug moved in front of him. "So, it's true. You lied again. You did come back, even though you said you never would."

"I said a lot of stupid things when I was eighteen." He paused, looking Doug straight in the eye. "So did you."

More discomfort entered Doug's gaze, and his lips drew into a worried line. "How long are you staying?"

"Not sure."

"I don't want any trouble, Roman."

"Why would there be trouble?"

"You know why." Doug drew in a breath.

They stared at each other for a good thirty seconds, and he could see beads of sweat appear on Doug's brow. That surprised him a little. Doug had always been cocky as hell as a teenager, convinced that his father, who'd been chief of police, and his mother, who ran the PTA, would be able to get him out of any problems. And, in fact, they'd done just that. So why the worry now?

Doug cleared his throat. "I don't know if you've heard, but I'm running for mayor."

Ah—now he understood the concern. Doug was afraid he would try to damage his reputation. "Good luck," he said.

"I don't want any trouble with you, Roman. Can we let the past be the past?"

He wasn't at all interested in soothing Doug's nerves. "I guess we'll find out."

* * *

Juliette tapped her fingers restlessly on the counter while Donavan made her espresso. She probably shouldn't be getting coffee; she felt in more emotional turmoil now than she had in years. But she needed a taste of something strong, something grounding, something to give her the energy to keep thinking and strategizing. Her outreach to Roman's grandfather had been unsuccessful. But she wasn't done trying. As she'd told Roman, she didn't quit easily. She just needed a new approach.

Thinking about Roman filled her with more turmoil…but a different kind—the kind that came with butterflies in her stomach and sweaty palms and a tingly feeling of anticipation, uncertainty.

She was happy he'd left the coffee shop, although she was curious about the tense exchange he'd just had with Doug Winters. She hadn’t been close enough to hear their words, but there was no denying the angry, tense body language.

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