Sweet Somethings Page 10

  She stared back at him. "Right. Friends. I have to go to the bakery. I ran out of cookies. I was on my way there when…"

  "Do you want me to go with you?"

  She immediately shook her head. "No. I'll see you later."

  As she walked away, he let out a breath, nowhere near as unshaken by the kiss as he'd implied. He'd definitely never had a friend like her. Only problem was he wanted to be far more than her friend.

  * * *

  Doug was charming and handsome, and having dinner with him Sunday night at probably the most expensive restaurant in Fairhope made Juliette feel a little like she was back in New York again. The food at Gladstone's was excellent. Her date was more than a little attractive in slacks and a charcoal-gray shirt, his light-brown hair styled, and his face cleanly shaven.

  She looked better than she had in a while, too, putting on heels and a dress for the first time in forever. She'd even worn makeup and curled her hair a bit. It was all so sophisticated…but also a little dull.

  Doug was happy to talk about himself: his law firm, city council business, and his upcoming run for mayor, which she found somewhat interesting. She always liked getting to know what made people tick, and it was clear that Fairhope's future was a big part of Doug's future. She supposed it was a big part of hers, too, so she should probably be excited to get the inside scoop from one of the more powerful people in town. But their conversation felt more business than personal, and they couldn't seem to find any other subjects to talk about.

  She wanted to bring up what had happened years ago between Doug and Roman, but so far Doug had stayed almost deliberately away from his past, from his childhood. Because he didn't want to talk about being a kid in Fairhope, he also didn't seem to be that interested in her life before she'd come back. If she was going to find out Doug's side of the fire story, she was probably going to have to force an unwanted trip down memory lane. And as the waiter set down coffee and a dessert menu, she knew she was running out of time to do that.

  "They make an excellent chocolate lava cake here," Doug said. "Want to try it?"

  "I'm sure it's great, but to be honest, I never eat dessert out, unless I'm doing research into someone else's cake. I do so much tasting during the day; I have to save my calories."

  "You don't look like you need to watch your calories," he said, an appreciative gleam in his eyes.

  "Thanks, but I do. You should have some, though."

  "No, I'm full," he said, setting down his menu.

  "You know, I kind of remember you from when I was a kid here," she said, making a vague statement that wasn't true at all, but she had to find a way to open up the past.

  "Oh, yeah?"

  "Your father was the chief of police, wasn't he?"

  Doug nodded. "Yes, he was—for almost twenty years. He retired about five years ago. Now he and my mother spend their time traveling or in the desert heat of Palm Springs. He's a big golfer."

  "That sounds warm—relaxing."

  "It's nice. They have a condo there."

  "So they don't spend much time here in Fairhope?"

  "No, not really. They didn't even come back for Christmas this year. My dad could never travel when he was chief. He worked most holidays, so my mother felt she'd earned their retirement. And he'd earned it, too. He took good care of this town. Now it's my turn."

  "It's good that you care so much. That's one thing I've noticed being a business owner here—how much everyone cares about keeping the city great."

  "It's all about supporting each other." He paused. "I hope I'll have your support for mayor."

  "Of course," she said, even though she had no idea who was even running against him. She needed to get a bit more involved in town business, too.

  "Great. I'm happy to hear that." He gave her a beaming smile.

  She smiled back, knowing she was probably about to burst his happy balloon, but she was starting to feel like it was now or never. "There's something I want to ask you about."

  "Shoot. My life is an open book."

  She seriously doubted that, but she was about to find out. "It's about Roman Prescott."

  His open-book face immediately closed as he sat back in his chair. "What about him?"

  "I saw your tense exchange in the coffee shop on Friday. I asked Donavan about it. She said you and Roman were friends and then you weren't—that there was some mystery about a fire that started in a park and spread to a house."

  "There was no mystery. Roman was smoking in the park the way he always did. Drinking, too. He got careless and set the brush on fire and ran away, letting the Marsons' house go up in flames. Then he tried to blame me."

  She could hear the bitterness in his voice and the note of betrayal, the same note she'd heard in Roman's voice. "I spoke to Roman about it. He said he wasn't smoking that night, and he'd left the park hours before the fire started."

  "Why would you talk to Roman about that old fire?" Doug asked sharply.

  "We've become friends."

  "How did that happen?"

  "Well, he's remodeling the house I used to live in. I stopped by one day, and we started talking."

  "Being friends with Roman is not a smart idea. He's trouble. He always has been. We were friends once, and Roman led me down a lot of paths I should not have gone. A lot more happened than just that fire."

  "Like what?"

  "Roman got into fights on a daily basis. Did he tell you how a test he hadn't studied for suddenly went missing from Mrs. Stewart's desk? Or did he mention how money raised for the high school football team disappeared? Or how the high school mascot ended up on a raft in the middle of the lake?"

  "The bulldog?" she asked in surprise. "He put Billy the bulldog in the lake?"

  "Yes, right before the big game."

  She couldn't help the smile that teased her lips, but she could see Doug didn't appreciate her reaction.

  "Okay, maybe that wasn't a big deal," Doug said. "But he caused a lot of people a lot of trouble."

  "If you knew he was stealing tests and money, why were you friends with him?" she challenged.

  "I didn't know at the time. And Roman was…fun," he said, the word coming with great reluctance. "He shook things up. He was new to the school, and he was from California. He had ideas that I had never had. I was stupid to follow him anywhere. When he turned on me after the fire, I saw what he was really about. I could have lost my admittance to college because of him. And don't think it was just me he tried to take down. Our friend, Travis, also got thrown under the bus by Roman. He had a baseball scholarship that was put into jeopardy by Roman's actions. Roman was the only one who had nothing to lose, but still he pointed the finger at us."

  Doug was a completely different person in this moment. He was fired up. He was angry and bitter and there was real emotion behind his eyes. It was almost like seeing a different person. She actually liked this guy better than the one who wore the smooth, charming mask.

  "I don't know why we're talking about all this," Doug added, starting to pull himself together. "It was a long time ago."

  "What I don't understand is if Roman did it, why wasn't he arrested?"

  "There wasn't enough evidence to hold him. My dad had to let him go."

  "That's right. Your father was the chief of police."

  He frowned. "He did not try to railroad Roman to protect me—if that's what you're thinking. Is that what Roman told you?"

  "He actually didn't say that much about it, but I saw his face when Martha Grayson verbally attacked him in front of my bakery. She said some very hateful things."

  "Martha doesn't like anyone, and I doubt her opinion mattered to Roman."

  "I think it bothered him more than he might admit."

  Doug gave her a sharp look. "Am I missing something? Are you two seeing each other?"

  "No, we're just friends. We only met the other day." She felt heat run through her at the memory of their kiss in the park the night before, but she didn't plan on tellin
g Doug about that.

  "Well, good, because like I said, he is trouble you do not need to have. I'm just hoping he doesn't stay long. I heard he's recuperating from some injury and then going back to the Marines."

  "That's what he said," she agreed. "I don't know who's going to finish the house remodel when he leaves."

  "I saw the plans for the house when Vincent brought them before the planning commission. I'm interested in buying the place after it's done."

  "Really? Why?" she asked in surprise.

  "It's going to be a beautiful house."

  She frowned. "It was beautiful before."

  "And old. It needed massive updating."

  The last thing she needed were more practical opinions about her old house. "Well, we liked it—my parents and me."

  "It's a great family house," he continued. "I could see having a family there."

  "I can, too," she said, not caring at all for the idea of Doug in her house. He'd turn it into some centerpiece for town events and political dinners. "I'd like to buy the place myself. I just have to figure out how to pull some money together to do that."

  "Well, let's not get in a bidding war," he said with a smile. "Maybe we can work something out together."

  "Maybe," she said vaguely. She put her napkin on the table, relieved to see the waiter bring over their check. She was ready to be done with their date.

  Doug paid the bill, then escorted her to the car. They made some small talk on the way back to her apartment, mostly about how cold it was, which just showed how little they had to discuss when at the end of the night all they were talking about was the weather.

  He parked down the street from her apartment and insisted on walking her to the door. On the way, he said, "Do you have a date for the Sweetheart's Dance next Saturday?"

  "I'm actually going to be working the dance. The organizer talked to me about providing a dessert table."

  "So bring your desserts and then be my date. I'm a good dancer. I promise not to step on your feet," he added with a smooth smile.

  "I—I don't know," she said, not wanting to hurt his feelings but also not sure another date was in the cards. "It's hard to mix business and pleasure."

  "Just think about it," he said. "You can give me your answer later."

  "I don’t want to stop you from asking someone else."

  "You're the only one I want to go with."

  "That's very flattering and I'm sure quite untrue. Donavan and Sara told me you're one of the most eligible bachelors in town."

  He stopped in front of her door, the tension leaving his eyes at her comment. "You asked them about me?"

  She realized quickly that she'd given him the wrong idea, but she could hardly take it back. "Your name came up one day."

  "I'm single for a reason, Juliette. I've been waiting for the right woman, and I have a feeling you and I could be good together. You're a businesswoman. You're ambitious and hardworking, and I respect that."

  "Thank you. But we barely know each other."

  "It doesn't have to take long to know someone is right for you."

  She actually agreed with him. Unfortunately, things didn't feel right with him, and she didn't think they ever would.

  "Anyway," he said. "I know I'm rushing you. I'm just a man who likes to go after what he wants."

  He leaned over and kissed her. It wasn't more than a brief peck, but it still felt cold. She wondered if it felt that way to him.

  Apparently not. He lifted his head, gave her a smile and said, "I'll see you soon."

  After he headed down the street, she unlocked her door and stepped inside. She paused on the landing. She didn't feel like going upstairs to her apartment. She felt unsettled, not because the kiss had had any impact, but because it hadn't—because she'd wished that it was Roman's mouth on hers.

  She never should have gone out with Doug. Her real motivation had been to learn more about the fire, and she'd done that, but she'd also given Doug the wrong idea. She didn't want to hurt his feelings, but she needed to end things before they went any further.

  She'd like to do it now, but it seemed a little too cruel to run after Doug just to tell him she never wanted to date him again.

  But she had to do something with her restless energy, which meant she had to bake. It was the only way to burn off some steam.

  She opened her door and stepped back out on the sidewalk, shocked to see Roman walking away from her door. "Roman," she called.

  He turned around, giving her a wary look.

  "What are you doing here?" she asked. "Were you coming to see me?"

  "I was taking a walk. I was going to say hello, but I saw you kissing Doug good night," he said, a terse note in his voice. "I didn't want to interrupt."

  "Oh, I didn't see you."

  "It didn't look like you did. How was the date?"

  "It was all right."

  "Well, I'll see you around."

  "Wait," she said, not ready to let him go. "Do you want to come up for a minute? My apartment is upstairs."

  He hesitated. "It's getting late."

  "Not that late." Her restless feeling had vanished, replaced by excitement and anticipation.

  "I could come up, I guess," he muttered. "But weren't you just going somewhere?"

  "I was thinking about doing some prep work for tomorrow's baking, but I can leave it until morning. That's only a few hours from now anyway." She opened the door. "Come in."

  "What time do you start work?" he asked, following her up the stairs.

  "Five, sometimes four, depending on how much I have to do."

  "Seriously?"

  "How do you think all the cakes and cookies get made and put into the display case?"

  "I guess I didn't think about the actual baking part."

  "The most important part." She unlocked her door and moved into the studio apartment, taking a quick look to make sure she didn't have any underwear lying around, but thankfully she'd done laundry earlier in the day, and everything was neatly folded in the basket by the bathroom. "As you can see, it's not very big."

  "But it is very you," he said, his gaze sweeping the room, noting the double bed, the desk by the window, the dresser with the small, ancient TV on the top, the armchair and ottoman where she spent any spare time she had reading. There was a small bathroom off the kitchenette, which boasted an oven with stovetop, a refrigerator, a microwave, and a couple of cabinets. But while the furnishings were worn and simple in design, she'd added colorful throw blankets to the bed and the chair, a couple of plants by the window, and some family pictures on the desk to make it feel more homey.

  Roman wandered over to those framed photographs. "This is your family," he said, picking up the last picture she had of her family together.

  "Yes, it was taken the Christmas before they died. We always cut down our Christmas tree, which was what we did that day. Then we decorated it while drinking hot cocoa with marshmallows and listening to Christmas music. My dad loved the oldies. He'd sing along at the top of his voice with Dean Martin doing 'Baby, It's Cold Outside.'" She stopped, feeling the moisture gather in her eyes. She blinked it away, but not fast enough for Roman not to see.

  "Sorry, I didn't mean to make you sad," he said.

  "You didn't. I like talking about them. I don't get the chance very often, especially now that I don't see my aunt, who is the only one in my life who knew my parents."

  "What about your grandparents? What happened to them?"

  "My father's parents died before I was born. My mom's parents were divorced, and she never saw her father after she got married, so I've never met him. Her mom was around when I was a child. She was very cool. She was an artist. She painted beautiful landscapes. She died about six months before my mom did. I think it hit my aunt really hard to lose not only her mother but also her sister in such a short period of time."

  "But she had you—that must have helped."

  "I wasn't so great the first year. In fact, I was a pain in the
ass. But thankfully she let me get through it on my own."

  "What does she do?"

  "She works in finance for a commercial real estate firm in New York."

  "She never had kids?"

  "Nope. I used to ask her if that was because I was such a headache she couldn't think about having another kid, but she said no, she'd just never really wanted to fill a house with children. She and her husband travel a lot. They're very happy."

  "Not everyone is meant to have kids." He set down the family photo and picked up the one next to it—the one Donavan had recently given her. "I like this," he said with a smile. "You were born to be a baker."

  "Yes, and I finally grew into that hat. Donavan actually found that among her mother's possessions. I don't know how it got there, but she gave it to me the other day. I should put it in the bakery; I just haven't had a chance."

  "Your father would be proud that you followed in his footsteps."

  "I think he would be. We talked about it a lot when I was a kid. It was our thing. We'd bake together most weekends. He didn't cook anything else. My mom was in charge of all the other meals. But he was the king of dessert."

  "What was his favorite dessert?"

  "Chocolate soufflé was his favorite and his biggest challenge. Meringues are extremely sensitive to humidity, temperature, and movement—you have to delicately and carefully whip and fold the meringues and then be super patient and resist opening the oven door until the timer goes off. When it all goes well, it's heaven. When it doesn't, it's a flop."

  "Do you sell those downstairs?"

  "No, but I occasionally make it for a private party. Actually, I should think about doing that for Valentine's Day. I'm catering the dessert for four private dinners."

  "It sounds like you're going to have a working Valentine's Day," he commented.

  "It's a busy time for sweets, but I'm happy about that. And then there's Easter not too long after."

  "What's the slow season?"

  "Probably the summer. It gets too hot and people think more about Popsicles than cake. But it never falls off entirely."

  He set the photo down and took a seat on the ottoman in front of the armchair.

  She perched on the end of the bed. "So why did you really come to see me, Roman?"