Page 39 of Seasoned with Love (Prosperity Ranch 4)

Cara moved around the counter and sat on one of the bar stools. Dropping her head into her hands, she closed her eyes. And relived the kiss, in all its heat and intensity. If nothing else, kissing Roman De Marco was something she’d never forget. Ever.

He’d just raised the bar.

Cara didn’t know how long she sat at the counter, but eventually her timer went off, and she rose to pour the second layer of Jell-O on top of the first. She had no idea when Roman came back in, because she finally went to bed without hearing anything.

The following morning, her eyes felt like sandpaper when she tried to open them. Squinting against the brightness of her room, she realized she’d slept in. Like three hours longer than usual.

Cara hopped out of bed, and hurried through her shower and dressing routine as her thoughts spun with the events of the night before. From the wagon ride to reading to Mia in bed, then the kitchen . . . and kissing Roman. How he’d left the house to go on a walk in the freezing weather. What conclusions had he come to?

Maybe it would be better to put everything behind her. Start fresh. Forget that she was insanely attracted to a man who lived in a different sphere than she did. Being his pen pal had been kind of a cute idea, but in reality, it probably wouldn’t work, and besides . . . it would be sad when it ended. Why set herself up for sadness?

When she crossed the bedroom to the door, she paused when she saw a folded piece of paper on the floor. She picked it up, her pulse fluttering. A quick glance at the bottom of the page told her it was a note from Roman. Handwritten.

She started reading from the beginning.

Dear Cara,

This is my first letter to you. I’m not going to lie—this is the first letter I’ve written by hand in a long time. I don’t even remember the last time I did. Maybe it was to my mom from Scout camp?

Anyway, you were asleep, I’m assuming, when I came back from my walk. I ended up sitting in the barn with Thayne and listening to a lecture. Well, he’d call them life lessons, but when they kick you in the gut, they’re definitely lectures.

I know that I should be telling you I’m sorry for all the crazy stuff between us. Or I should be telling you that keeping in touch would be a waste. But I can’t tell you that nothing should have happened between us. I’m glad it did. I needed clarification—for what exactly, I’m not sure yet. But I certainly don’t regret any shared moments or conversations between us.

You’re a beautiful, talented chef who is a rising star, and dating a damaged man like me would only slow you down. But I’m not going to pretend that nothing is happening between us, or that I don’t hope that something more could happen . . . later. When I’m not so damaged.

I want to be friends. Pen pals. Whatever we want to call it between us. I just know that I’m not ready to say goodbye to you tomorrow, so this is a compromise. What do you think? Maybe the future will surprise us both.

Your pen pal,

Roman

Cara read through the words again, more slowly this time, focusing on how he didn’t want to say goodbye to her. Was this really happening? It was surreal, that was for sure. Maybe when she left, Roman’s mind would clear. He’d move on; she’d move on. It would be a natural thing.

But then there was Mia. Cara would keep her end up as long as Mia wanted to write to her. Eventually, though, that would come to an end, too.

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