Page 32 of Sweet Somethings

It was sad. The corner of the garden where her mom had grown tomatoes, zucchini, and herbs was now just dirt and weeds. She put her arms around her waist, feeling colder than the outside temperature. This yard felt like a reminder of the pain of her past, not the joy. But it would be better once the yard was landscaped, when flowers bloomed and grass grew. She could still recapture its glory—if she had the chance. At the moment, that was doubtful.

She thought about what Vincent Prescott had told her—that the house could and would tell many stories, not just hers. She'd never really thought of it that way before. Who would move in next? Would it be a family? Would there be kids who would want to help their mother grow vegetables, the way she'd done?

"Juliette?"

Roman's voice brought her back to the present. She turned around and pushed a smile on her face. She'd learned how to hide her sadness a long time ago.

"Ready?" she asked.

"Are you?" he countered, giving her a speculative look. "You looked lost in thought."

"I was back in the past."

"We both seem to be taking trips there today."

"This yard was my mother's pride and joy. Now it's a mess."

"It won't be for long."

"What is your grandfather going to do with it?"

"Replace the deck with some built-in benches, build in a barbecue area and redo the landscaping, but that's at the end of a very long list."

"Well, this yard could definitely use all of that. I'm always surprised when people who live in a beautiful house like this don't take care of the yard. If they don't want land to tend, they should live in a condo. It's just not right."

"If we're going, Juliette, we should go."

"You're right." Following Roman into the house, she grabbed her cookies and put thoughts of the house behind her as they went out to the front.

"We can take my car," she said, waving her hand toward her small white Mini Cooper.

He raised an eyebrow. "I don't think I'll fit in that."

"It's roomier than you might think."

"We can take my truck."

His weathered, charcoal-gray truck was definitely a lot bigger, but it also looked like it had seen better days, with dents on the passenger door and peeling paint on the hood. "How long have you had this?" she asked.

"I bought it right before I came here."

"From where—the junkyard?"

"A contractor," he said dryly. "It may not look pretty, but it's got everything I need."

"Do you ever want more than you need?" she asked, as she got into the passenger side.

He shot her a questioning look. "What do you mean?"

"You seem to exist at survival level, but I don’t think it's necessarily because you can't afford nicer things. So I wonder why you don't want to live in a nice place or buy a new truck?" She gave him a questioning look.

"I'm happy with what I have," he said with a careless shrug. "I don't get attached to things. I don't usually keep them that long."

She wondered if things included people. Knowing a little more about his past, she thought probably so. Roman had had to protect himself from a very young age, not just from danger but from heartbreak, and he'd probably learned as a child that attaching himself to people who would disappoint him and things he would lose was only going to cause him pain.

She wondered where his mother was now, but that was a question for another day.

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