Page 7 of Before I Say I Don't
His eyes were already landed on me then warmed, like he’d been handed a piece of sunlight he remembered from a long time ago.
“Kamira Sinclair.”
My name did a slow, dizzy spin in the space between us.
It had been nine years since I last saw him. Roman Hill was a classmate from law school years; a figure from a hazy past who wore worn hoodies and had an aura of quiet determination. He was the kind of student who slept four hours and stood like he’d slept twelve. However, the Roman who stood before me right then was a complete transformation—his frame was robust and chiseled, broad through the chest, with forearms that were defined, marked with a softness cultivated from discipline and consistent effort. His hair was closely cropped, the fade so sharp and clean it felt almost illegal, drawing attention to the strong angles of his jaw. He wore a navy polo that hugged his form perfectly and a close-cropped fade, line clean enough to be illegal. The scent that surrounded him was a warm blend of cedar and a sense of knowing—like someone who had learned to choose well in life.
Before I could rein in my emotions, I felt my mouth curve into a smile, before I gave it permission.
“You look… good.” The compliment slipped out, genuine and effortless.
I wanted to say, ‘sexy as hell’, but I had to remember I was an engaged woman.
Roman smiled, slow and complete, like he knew exactly what I was holding back. “You look exactly like you did in moot court—like you’re about to ruin somebody’s afternoon.”
A laugh escaped me, loosening something tight in my chest I hadn’t realized I’d been carrying since that last argument with Viangelo that past weekend.
“Only if they deserve it,” I said.
Roman stepped out of the line and came closer, crowding out the sun through the window.
“You got a minute to catch up?” he asked. “Or are you on the clock?”
My eyes flicked to the time out of habit.
I could spare an hour. But for him? I could spare two and call it nutrition for my spirit.
I tucked a stray curl behind my ear and nodded. “Sure. Why not?”
The hostess must have been listening, because a two-top near the window miraculously opened. She led us there with the kind of smile that made it clear she would have seated Roman on the moon if he’d asked.
As soon as we sat, a waitress appeared.
She tilted her chin at Roman, then asked, “Can I get you started with something to drink?”
“Iced tea… no sugar,” he replied, then glanced at me. “And give this beauty whatever she wants.”
The word slid across the table like warm honey, coating me before I could put my guard up.
Beauty.
It wasn’t a compliment tossed out for effect; it was the way he said it, like he’d just realized something about me and wanted me to carry it with me for the rest of the day.
“Sparkling water with lime, please,” I requested.
Her eyes dragged over Roman once more.
I made myself look down at my menu and not at her. I hated that the smallest, pettiest part of me enjoyed the fact that he hadn’t looked back.
“So,” Roman began, resting his forearms on the table, leaning in. “You stayed.”
“I did… the firm made it worth staying.”
“You’re still at Carter & Bloom?” he asked. “Corporate litigation, right?”
“Yes. Corporate everything,” I confirmed with a sigh and a smile. “Mergers, contracts, the occasional trial when a client is allergic to settlement. I chair the pro bono committee, too. Keeps me honest.”
“You always were,” he said.
