Page 79 of Sweet Somethings

On the other hand, the woman had never married…

She pondered that thought as she unlocked her door and walked up the stairs to her apartment.

If Martha were the owner of the letters, she'd made it clear that she didn't want them.

But if she wasn't the owner…

She sat down on the edge of her bed and kicked off her shoes. There was another woman to consider in this scenario—Martha's sister, Cecelia, who definitely seemed more the type to write a love letter. Maybe she needed to talk to her. But she had a feeling it would be better to do that without Martha around.

She flopped back on her bed, suddenly exhausted, but as she stifled a yawn, her fingers touched her still tingling lips, and her thoughts fled back to Roman.

Things were getting hotter each time they were together.

But like Roman, she didn't know what to do about it. She just didn't want it to end…and she knew it had to.

She couldn't think about that now. But someday she was going to have to face reality, and she had a feeling it was going to hurt.

* * *

As Roman signed off on a delivery of sheetrock and wood Thursday afternoon, he felt a little overwhelmed by the enormous amount of work in front of him. Demo was one thing. Building was going to take more time, more skill, and more help.

His grandfather had come by earlier and told him he was looking into subcontractors for sheetrock, electrical, and plumbing and was just waiting for some people to get back to him. In the meantime, Roman should just keep doing what he was doing.

He was happy to keep working, but his physical was in three days. What if he was cleared to go back to duty? How was he going to let his grandfather handle all this on his own?

Even if Vincent could hire subs, they would bill at a higher rate than laborers, and the budget would go through the roof.

He was surprised that his grandfather didn't seem to understand that. He'd always been excellent at estimating time and materials, but everything about this project seemed different than the ones his grandfather used to run. Had he lost some of his mental sharpness? Or was he letting some sentiment about the house drive his decisions?

With a frown, he realized he was just wasting time wondering when he could give his grandfather practical help by just getting back to work.

He was about to do that when the doorbell rang. He strode down the hall and opened it, thinking—hoping—it might be Juliette.

It wasn't. It was Travis.

He wore jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and a baseball cap on his head. His beard was as ragged as it had been a few days ago, and there were dark shadows under his eyes. Juliette was right; Travis still looked like hell.

"What are you doing here?" he asked shortly, not in the mood to deal with Travis.

"I was just down at the lumber yard. They said your grandfather is looking for laborers."

"Seriously, Travis?"

"I need the work," Travis said, a bitter edge to his voice.

"And you think you and I are going to work together?" He was stunned that Travis would show up and ask for a job after everything that had gone down between them.

"Look, we have a past, but that doesn't matter. I'm worried about the present. I lost my job. My mother is having health issues. My wife took off and has no interest in raising our kid. I have been all over this town looking for work. If you have work, I can do it. We don't have to talk. We don't have to be friends."

"Just like that, I'm supposed to forget you tried to send me to jail? You think my grandfather has forgotten that?"

"You did the same to me."

"No, I didn't."

"That's what Chief Winters said."

"I didn't talk to the police at all. I sat there in silence for hours. And then the chief came in and told me you and Doug gave me up."

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