Page 7 of Sweet Somethings

"Can't that just be fixed?"

"It can—after I rip out the walls."

"So you're not going to actually tear down the house?"

"The plans call for an extension into the backyard, so some walls are coming down."

"Oh," she said, feeling faint again.

"It's all good," he assured her. "In fact, it's going to be great. My grandfather wants to maintain the integrity of the architecture while making the house much more livable and better suited for modern families. There will be a bathroom added to the master. The first floor bedroom and kitchen will be expanded and the bathroom will be remodeled. My grandfather knows what he's doing. This place will be better than ever when he's done with it."

"But it won't be the same."

"Time moves on," he said shortly.

She knew he was right, and that he was being nice enough just to talk to her, because the construction was truly none of her business. She should apologize for interrupting his day, but somehow she couldn't quite get an I'm sorry to come out of her mouth.

"When you saw me," he continued, giving her a speculative look as he crossed his arms, "you said you as if we know each other. But I don't think we've met."

She flushed at the reminder. She really did need to find a way to think before she spoke, but she never seemed to manage that. "I saw you earlier today outside my bakery. You looked—hungry."

"I was hungry. I'd just finished a six-mile run, and your bakery smelled like heaven."

"You should have come in."

"You weren't open yet."

"It was close enough. Remember that for next time—if you're hungry, that is."

"I will. I'm Roman Prescott." He extended his hand.

"Juliette Adams," she replied, as his fingers gripped hers, and a jolt of heat and electricity ran down her spine. She quickly pulled her hand away. "It's nice to meet you. I'm really not a crazy person."

"Okay." He didn't sound entirely convinced.

"So you said your grandfather is going to sell the house after the remodel?"

"I believe so."

"Would he consider selling it as it is right now—if the price was right?"

"I doubt it. He seems very determined to turn this house into some vision he's had in his head for apparently quite a few years. You're not alone in having strong feelings about this place."

"Why? Why does he care about it so much? He never lived here, did he?"

"He didn't live here, and I have no idea why he's so interested, but he is."

"Could you find out?"

"He doesn't tell me much. You can ask him if you want. He's at Donavan's most afternoons. He plays chess there with his old friend Max."

"Okay. Maybe I'll give it a shot. It can't hurt." She paused for a moment. "I heard you just came back to town."

"Who did you hear that from?"

"Donavan. She said you went to high school together."

"We did. I guess bad news travels fast," he said somewhat dryly.

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