Page 4 of Sweet Somethings

"He sounds—complicated," she murmured.

"The best ones always are," Sara put in. "I haven't met this Roman Prescott, but now I really want to. There's nothing wrong with a good bad boy."

"You have love on the brain, Sara," Donavan told her assistant.

"It's almost Valentine's Day, what can I say?" She gave a helpless shrug. "It's the season for love."

"Well, I don't think Roman was looking for love this morning, more like food," Juliette said. "He was probably hungry from his run, but the bakery wasn't open yet."

"Hey, Juliette and Roman…that sounds a little like Romeo and Juliet," Sara said.

Her nerves tingled at the suggested coupling, but she brushed the comment off with a wave of her hand. "I've heard that joke before, too many times to count. And I'm not looking for a Romeo; I have no time for love. On that note, I'm going back to work."

* * *

Work had always been his therapy, Roman thought, as he used a crowbar to rip off a piece of drywall in the living room of the old Victorian his grandfather was restoring.

Learning carpentry and construction had saved him as an angry teenager. He'd found a place to hammer out his frustration and bitterness. He wasn't sure the work would have the same effect on his burned-out, cynical, and weary thirty-one-year-old self, but at least it gave him a few hours of respite each day from the nightmares that haunted his dreams.

After thirteen years in the Marine Corps, it also felt good to be restoring a building, bringing it back to life, making it better. He'd like to believe he'd improved things in other places in the world. Certainly, he hoped he'd made some of those places safer, but the good didn't always balance out the pain and destruction.

"Roman, there you are."

He looked up as his seventy-three-year-old grandfather Vincent Prescott walked into the room. Tall and thin, with dark eyes and dark hair that had never grayed, his grandfather had always been an imposing man. Vincent had done the hard, physical work of construction all his life, and his callused hands and weathered skin reflected those years. He might be moving more slowly these days with his arthritis flaring up, but his sharp gaze missed nothing. His grandfather had been the toughest boss he'd ever had, and that was saying something.

"Where else would I be?" he drawled. "You gave me a job to do, and I'm doing it."

He and his grandfather had had both an antagonistic and an awkwardly caring relationship. While Vince had saved him from the foster care system when he was fifteen, his grandfather hadn't been around the terrible years before that, and Roman had never really understood why. But his grandfather wasn't big on talking. He'd just moved him into his house, taught him how to build, and made sure he had food to eat and a place to sleep while he went to high school.

"Looks like there's some rot behind those boards," Vincent said, tipping his head to the opening behind the sheetrock.

"I suspect we're going to find that throughout the house," he agreed. "You may need to increase the budget on this one or change up some of your plans."

"Can't do that. Just fix what needs to be fixed. Whatever it costs, it costs."

He nodded, wondering again why his grandfather had chosen this particular house to flip.

In fact, he couldn't really understand why Vincent had bought the property at all. He'd been in semi-retirement before he'd purchased the property six months earlier, and he no longer had a crew to do the work. If Roman hadn't been put on medical leave from the Marines, he had no idea who'd be working on the house. But all he said was, "Will do."

"I've got a kid coming in after school tomorrow to help you with the downstairs bathroom demo," Vincent added. "Jeff Dobbs. He's Margaret's grandson," he added, referring to his long-time neighbor. "He needs some cash for college."

"Fine. I could use an extra pair of hands—more than one would be great."

"I'm working on that. I should also be able to get back in here to work later in the week. These flare-ups don't last too long." He flexed his fingers with a painful grimace.

"Whenever you're ready, but you're going to need to hire subs regardless. I am a little surprised you took on such a big project."

"Why?" his grandfather asked, an edge to his tone.

He suspected that suggesting his grandfather was old would not be the best answer. "I thought you were winding things down."

Vincent didn't answer right away, a faraway light coming into his eyes. "I always wanted this property. It has only been up for sale a couple of times in the last fifty or so years, and it was never the right time for me. When it came back on the market last year, I knew I had to get it. I've had ideas for it for a long time. I want to see those ideas come to life before I die."

It was a sentimental reason for a man who wasn't known for his sentiment, and Roman wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

Vincent's gaze swept the room. "The arched doorways and windows, the exposed beams, the details are all here, but they need to be honed, remade, redone. This house could be magnificent. It deserves to be that." Vincent frowned at the end of his statement, as if he regretted showing so much emotion. He cleared his throat, putting his usual cold, stoic expression back on his face. "I'll check in with you later. I'm going to run some errands and then meet Max at Donavan's for chess and coffee."

"Sounds good." His grandfather spent most of his afternoons at the local coffee shop.

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