by Reina Torres
A rather loud and opportune *ding* rang out from the kitchen. “I think I need to see about my meatloaf.”
Before Roman could stop him, Stan disappeared, leaving him alone in the room.
#
Coming back to St. Helena hadn't been so much a choice as it was a Hail Mary pass for Finley Thomas. And it wasn't anyone’s fault but her own that it felt like a foreign country instead of home. After all, she hadn't set foot in the United States for almost a decade.
And as she stood in the center of the living room, her two suitcases still at the door, she wondered if this was a big mistake.
It wasn't the easiest decision, but she had to go somewhere and the house was empty. Her father had passed away a few years before and she had yet to decide what she wanted to do with it. When he'd passed, Russ had been stationed in Peru in a remote village where regular mail service wasn't even a dream. But once they'd had a chance to visit a town near a main road and get their messages, she'd already missed the funeral and from there it had been easy to stay away. But the house had suffered. The structure was the same age of the others in the neighborhood, but her father had taken about as much care with the house as he did with himself. Now it was old and scruffy. Too hard to rent in an area where people wanted quaint and homey.
So she'd come back to St. Helena and wondered if there was anything left for her after she'd put it behind her so many years ago, besides the canvas-covered furniture and cobwebs.
And was now knee deep in dust and canvas covered furniture. “At least I have Halloween decorations aplenty.”
The house remained silent.
It hadn't bothered her before.
Finley had spent most of her childhood trying to be quiet and stay out of her father's way, but she'd lived for years in bustling and out of the way places, learning to find worth in herself. Coming home was a mixed bag of emotions for her. She'd come to realize what she'd left behind hadn't been as bad as she'd thought, but to a young woman determined to make something of herself, it had seemed too limiting. She'd come to realize that traveling about as much as she did, had endeared St. Helena to her more than she'd care to admit.
But there was no time to flop down on a couch and relax. What she really needed was cleaning supplies and food. And that thought took her to the garage, hoping to use her old car. That, she realized as soon as she managed to yank the door open, was pure folly. “Good one, Finley.” She stood there and stared at the old sunflower yellow VW Rabbit left uncovered in the musty garage. There was no way that the car would run. She'd never been able to understand the workings of the engine under the hood. Sure, she'd let Roman explain it to her a time or two as he'd tinkered with the gadgets and gauges, but nothing had ever sunk into her head.
She couldn't even tell someone where the battery was, but she knew it had to be dead. The battery in her car in Bogota had died after they’d only been gone a week, but her father had been gone for a few years. She'd be lucky if the poor baby hadn't rusted through.
But first things first. She needed to get a new battery, or a tow to Stan's and then figure out what else might be wrong with it.
Shaking her head, Finley brushed her hair back from her face and sighed. “Simple.” She didn't remember if Stan had a tow truck, but that would be easy to find out. Pushing away from the doorframe, she moved back into the kitchen and flicked the switch under the counter.
A quick round of calls a few days before her arrival had started the electricity, phones, and water. And the emergency list she'd compiled was still taped up on the cabinet door. Fishing her cell phone from her jeans pocket, she dialed the number from the paper list and waited.
The phone rang a few times and then picked up in a rush of sound.
“Stan’s Soup and Service Station. How may I-”
“Hey, Stan."
#
Roman watched Stan pick up the phone and offer his usual greeting. The man had a smile for everyone, even on the phone. “Why no, I don't have a tow truck.”
Another sip of water tided Roman over as his old friend continued his conversation. “Goodness,” Stan chuckled and turned back to Roman with an apologetic gesture, “I wouldn't even know who you'd call.” Stroking the beard that made him the reigning Santa Claus at the community center for the last few years, Stan’s expression turned pensive. “Chance took over the tow service from his grandfather last year, but his wife just had her baby last week. I'm not sure he’s gone back to work yet.”
Roman picked up his spoon and had another scoop of chili in his mouth.
“But you know what, Finley, I’ll give him a call and see.”
Choking down the mouthful of chili, Roman drank a gulp of water before he could manage to breathe.
Stan set the phone back in its cradle and gave him a cautious look. “You need me to call 911 and get you some help?”
Waving off the concern, Roman turned the conversation around. “That was Finley? Finley Sattler?”
Stan’s grin said he hadn't missed anything that had happened while he was on the phone. "Didn't you two know each other way back when?”
Roman’s lips pulled into a tight smile. “We were best friends.”
Stan lifted the yellow pages and made a big show of thumbing through the latest edition. “Hmm. Good to know you remember her.”
“So that’s what Jonah was going on and on about.”
A few more pages turned. “Maybe.”
Roman set down his spoon and sat back on his stool, folding his arms across his chest. “Why do I get the feeling you already knew she was back?”
Stan’s impressive performance of shock and surprise was only marred by the twinkle in his eyes. “May, who works in the Library, said her cousin at the water company said something about the Thomas house starting up service.” He continued to turn the pages without even looking at what was printed on them. “But I’m wondering why you haven't asked what she was calling about.”
Roman opened his mouth and Stan held up his hands, the yellow pages dangling from one.
“Alright, you don't have to break out the hoses. I’ll tell.” Stan set the yellow pages down when he didn't see Roman smiling. “You kids are a tough crowd these days. She needs to have someone go out and change the battery in her car or tow her here so I can do it. Chance will be happy to go over tomorrow," he chuckled to himself as Roman slid from the stool and dropped a few bills on the counter. "Maybe a friend could go over and see if she needs help. Or I could call a cab-”
“Don't bother, Stan.” Roman walked to the front door and stopped with his hand an inch from the glass. “You weren't even going to call, were you?”
Stan shrugged and gave Roman a grin big enough to split his snowy beard. “I would've. If you'd dawdled a little longer. Oh, I'll call and set something up for tomorrow so I can get her old clunker running.” He tossed the book down on the side counter with a bang. “But it's not like I needed the book. I have Chance’s number memorized.”
Roman swung the door open and stopped when Stan called out to him again.
“If you need an excuse to spend some time with your old friend, I'm sure she has a long list of things that need doing around the house.”
A tight nod was the only answer Stan received before the door swung closed.
Chapter Two
When the doorbell rang Finley was in the middle of running water through the shower to clean off the soap scum she'd just scrubbed off the walls. She'd managed to find some kind of ancient powder cleanser beneath the sink and made a good start on making the house habitable. Not expecting anyone, she let it go, until the next ring and then she reached over and turned off the tub, managing to get some water in her hair by accident. “Figures,” she muttered to herself.
By the time she snatched one of the old scratchy towels from the drawer and scrubbed at the back of her head to dry off, someone was knocking on the door, rather insistently.
“Wow, okay.” She threw the towel down on the couch and shrug
ged. “Maybe they’re selling cookies or something, and I could use something to eat.” She had discovered a ton of canned goods in the pantry, but considering how out of date they were, they wouldn't be of any help.
Another knock made her move a little faster, taking the doorknob in her hand and wrenching it open. “Hello, I- Oh!”
She wrapped her mouth around a few other words but none of them managed to make it past the lump which was now firmly lodged in her throat. A lump that just might have been her heart, if her brain was even willing to consider the idea.
But her heart, Finley reminded herself, was dead and buried in the sands of Giza.
Either way, she had no words.
Thank goodness he did.
“Hi, Fin.”
The old nickname brought a pang of pain and regret with it.
But instead of offering a similar greeting, all she did was stare. She had not expected to find Roman Brady on her doorstep. The very idea smacked of a dust induced hallucination. Mold in the walls, maybe?
He was gorgeous, no, he was beyond gorgeous, he was… lickable.
Where did that come from?
Finley couldn’t help but notice that in the years that she’d been gone, he’d changed. He'd always been good looking; his parents had obviously consulted a crystal ball before they’d named their son. Knowing that he'd go from a lanky teen to godlike, they'd given him a worthy name.
In high school, he'd been athletic, but not focused on any one sport. If there was a game happening anywhere near him, people invited him to play. People just wanted to be around him, and Finley had been happy just to be there on the sidelines, because she felt the same way about Roman. She just wanted to be there with him.
But as an adult, a full grown man, the broad line of his shoulders nearly filled her open doorway and his arms, beneath the fabric of his St. Helena Fire Department polo, rippled with muscles.
Her childhood friend was drool worthy and she was pretty sure she was about to embarrass herself by doing just that. She struggled to find something to say.
He beat her to the punch.
“Welcome home.”
And right then, she felt her world tip and tumble around her. For those two words, formed by Roman’s firm kissable lips, had her knees melting and other things heating up.
“Are you busy?” Roman looked inside, curiosity getting the better of him. “I was at Stan’s when you called.”
“Oh!” She latched onto the lifeline he'd thrown to her unknowingly. “Yeah, I didn't catch the ‘soup’ until I’d babbled on about the car thing. Boy, you can tell how out of touch I’ve been…”
The words and her voice dropped away. A little Freudian slip. He knew how out of touch she'd been. Lord knows she'd ignored him after she left St. Helena.
But she realized he was still waiting for an answer. And while he deserved to hear a lot more from her, she could at least give him that.
“No,” she swallowed and the lump in her throat was easing down, “I'm not busy,” she stepped back and gestured at the living room, still shrouded in canvas covers, “but I don't have anywhere for you to sit. And I certainly don't have anything to offer you to eat unless you want botulism from ancient canned food.”
Smooth.
He shrugged, and the grin that pulled at his lips warmed her a few degrees, all over.
“That's okay,” he stepped back and gestured at the SUV idling at the curb, “I was going to take you to get something to eat.”
She opened her mouth to beg off. She knew she wasn't ready to talk to Roman. Talking to him meant she'd probably end up admitting all kinds of embarrassing things.
But her stomach had other plans. It growled like a jungle cat on the Nature Channel and answered for her. Snatching her shoulder bag from the table beside the door she looked down at her outfit. She looked like she’d wrestled with the vacuum and lost. “I need to change.”
She didn't give him a chance to argue. Dropping the bag back on the table, she opened the suitcase still standing in the living room and rifled through her things before choosing a few items and running for the bathroom.
#
When Roman pushed open the door to the Spigot, his jaw tightened a bit. He'd deliberately avoided going back to Stan’s just because he knew the older man would likely report everything to Jonah like a gossiping old lady, but the idea to go to the Spigot might just have been worse. Finley took one look at the flat screen on the back wall and gave a low whistle. "There used to be three of those big TVs up there, blocking half the wall."
One of the waitresses gestured to a table.
He held out his hand and Finley walked ahead of him, her hips swaying gently under her long cotton blouse, the hem skimming the backs of her knees. She'd been skinny before. Lucky to get three full meals a day if she wasn't having meals at his house, but now, her body had filled out. It wasn't just muscles. Curves had been added to her form, and his body appreciated those changes. A lot.
He was already having an issue keeping his mind on the platonic scale of things. After Finley had picked out some clothes from her suitcase to change into he'd leaned into the foyer wondering if he should try to pick up what had fallen onto the carpet. But he'd stopped short when he saw little bits of silk and lace mixed in with the cotton and denim in her open suitcase.
Silk and lace. As Finley slowed to look up at him he couldn't help but wonder what exactly she had on under the loose fitting tunic and narrow skirt. He had a few stern words for the hardened length pushing against his zipper. Words like ‘married’ and ‘cold shower’ popped up in his head.
“Hey, Roman,” a server stopped him a foot from the table, leaving Finley to pull out her chair and sit down. A menu was in his hands before he had even put his butt in a seat, and Suzie focused her eyes on his face, “long time no see.”
And damn if Suzie didn't make it sound like there was a whole lot more to her greeting than there was.
Roman felt the hard chair under him and looked over at Finley, noticing her empty hands. Her gaze had been on the young woman leaning against the table just beside his arm. Now she looked away, and ignored his eyes.
He didn't like that. Not one bit.
It may have been pure folly on his part, like picking at a scab until it bled, but he liked it when Finley looked at him.
He liked it a little too much.
“Here.” He handed the menu across the table and put it into her suddenly outstretched hand. “I know what I want.”
He hadn't meant the words to have meaning beyond the surface, but he felt the truth all the way in his gut.
Finley, thank goodness, didn't seem to have a clue, but Suzie sure did. Her perfectly painted lips pressed so tightly together that they lost all color.
“Well,” she sighed the word and halfway turned toward Finley to give her a good look. The gesture was lost as his best friend was pouring over the menu in her hand. “I guess I’ll give your ‘friend’ a few minutes.”
And then Suzie was gone.
“Oh wow,” Finley sighed and his stomach tightened, his abs going as hard as he was just south of his belt, “fried pickles. I haven't had those in so long!”
“Then we’ll get them.” He saw the instant smile on her lips. “Anything you want, Fin.”
She tensed up and he mentally shook himself.
“But you don't like pickles.”
“I could hate everything on the menu, but if you want it, Finley, you're going to have it.”
She bent back over the menu, studying the page, and he saw it for what it was. Finley Sattler, world traveler, was hiding her face from him. She'd done it back when they were children, but he was sad to see her do it now.
He'd much rather have her look him in the eye so he could see her face. But maybe it was just nerves. He knew he was suffering from that on his end. Just having her this close, old emotions surged up from the past and seemed even stronger than they'd been before. To keep his mind off of what he couldn't change, h
e looked his fill, eager to commit her face to his memory all over again. But, lines around her lips and eyes, which most people might not notice, worried him… a lot. He knew he had to get to the bottom of a few things, tonight. It was only a matter of time before he'd lose her again.
#
An hour later, Roman was only sure of a few things. One - Finley was keeping things close to the vest. She'd become a master avoider. He doubted the CIA, the FBI, or Homeland Security could get information from her if she didn't want them to. Two - Finley’s taste for alcohol and her tolerance for alcohol had both increased in her years away. Three - if he thought he'd ‘gotten over’ Finley after she'd married that dipstick of a civil engineer, he'd not only been lying to himself. He was certifiable. Just sitting there, across the table from her, watching her devour her fried pickles and his onion rings, he realized that he’d mortgage his house and trade in his SUV to have her devour him just like that, especially when she cleaned off her fingertips… with her tongue.
He'd been a chicken, trying to hint around, trying to ask about her husband without saying the words. Every time he got close, she'd change the subject. He knew that he'd have to change his tactics to get to the heart of things, but he just didn't know how.
Finley got up to use the ladies room, and nearly fell over her beaded sandals and into the arms of some guy who was walking by. Roman had been on his feet in a second, reaching out to help her, but Finley had waved him off and grinned at the man holding her a little too close for Roman’s comfort. It also didn't help that she was holding onto his arms, and wasn't showing any signs of letting go.
He wanted to tell the guy to back off, to get his hands off of her, but Finley was getting chatty with her rescuer, her eyes slightly dazed and her lips parted in a breathless smile.
He tried to chalk it up to harmless fun and plastered a smile on his face as he stood there as useful as a sidecar on a jet plane. But a little snippet of their conversation had him staring.
