Chapter 20 #2
“Shit,” she murmurs to herself, but he seems to hear.
“What?” he asks, sounding slightly panicked as he moves to stand adjacent to her.
She blows out a breath. “It’s just not what I expected.”
“Thanks … I think.”
She nods, sliding her hands into her back pockets, looking around with raw curiosity. The entryway smells distinctly of citrus.
He cleaned for me, she thinks, and the thought makes her head swim and her chest gallop.
He turns to face her, scratching the back of his head.
“House tour?” he asks, moving farther into the kitchen. She trails behind, brushing her hand against the mirror in the hallway as she walks.
“Sure. Is it okay if I wash my hands first?” She halts in front of the kitchen sink. “I read more about her syndrome after you told me that day.”
“You … read up on it?”
She shrugs as she turns on the tap to the hottest setting, pumping soap into her hands.
“Why the tone of surprise?” she asks over her shoulder to meet his eyes. He leans against the opposite counter, scratching his chin as he watches her move around.
“Just … not the most riveting thing to read.”
“It wasn’t too bad. I learned a lot,” she says with a shrug.
“You like reading?”
She tilts her head, contemplating his question. “I like learning. I like the act of gaining new knowledge. It doesn’t matter the type. Reading, videos, hands-on. I’m a continuous learner.” She rubs her hands together, then shuts the tap off, taking the paper towel from his hand.
She doesn’t miss the way his eyes track over to the bruise darkening on her wrist.
“Jesus, are you okay?” He grabs her wrist, cradling it in his palm. He sweeps his thumb over the mark tenderly, sending shivers through her.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
He gives her a hard stare. “Jahlani.”
“I’m fine,” she whispers, pulling her hand back. “Promise. Teryn and I went to a self-defense class.”
Clearing his throat, he steps back. “You should put some cream on that.”
“Sure,” she says, nodding. Waiting as his cheeks turn the shade of red she’s grown to crave. To watch for.
Roman moves down the hallway and she trails behind him, soaking in the wall of framed photographs of him and Lucy.
She lets out a soft laugh as they turn into a carpeted bedroom. “Cute.”
He shrugs, biting back a smile as she steps further into the room to inspect it.
The walls are painted in cerulean with hand-painted clouds and seagulls floating across the horizon.
It’s open and expansive, as if the sky and the sea itself stretched from one end to the other.
A whitewashed crib with gentle distressing stood in the middle of the room over a sandy, circular rug.
Lucy’s chest rises and falls evenly as they tread throughout the room.
The quilt features sea creatures—seahorses, whales, and starfish—their pastel colors soft and inviting. Above the crib, a driftwood mobile sways, its seashells and starfish catching the light. In the corner, a tiny rocking chair, painted in a soft mint green, sits beside a small bookshelf.
On the right wall, a large painting of the beach at sunset fills the canvas.
The gentle waves are captured intricately alongside the pink and orange streaks across the sky.
On the far right of the painting is the back of a full-length man gripping the hand of a small child.
A girl. Jahlani leans down, her fingers brushing the wall.
She turns to find Roman leaning against the doorway.
“Is this—”
“Yeah.”
She turns back to face the painting, continuing to run her fingers over the wall. “It’s beautiful.”
He clears his throat. “My mom did it.”
Standing to her full height, she faces him with wide eyes. “Your mom did this?” she repeats, keeping her voice low.
He nods. “She did the whole thing.”
She blinks. “She’s incredible.”
“Yeah,” he says, looking around the room. “She was an art major in college. She owns a studio downtown. She holds classes during the week,” he says, moving back out into the hallway.
“Does she freelance?” she asks, trailing behind.
Roman nods, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sometimes when business is slow,” he says, shutting the door softly, before leaning on the handle. “When she’s not watching Lucy.”
She turns to face him and folds her arms over her chest. “So, what happened to you? Where’s your talent?”
He laughs, pushing from the door so that he’s in front of her.
“You saw the clouds in there,” he says, hooking his thumb over his shoulder. “I did those.”
She hides a smile behind her fist, clearing her throat to sound serious.
“Wow, that’s something.”
He draws near her. “Are you making fun of me?” he asks, tilting his head down at her.
She lets out a soft laugh, turning away to pad down the hallway.
“Who, me? I would never.”
She thinks about him here late at night, staying up with a crying Lucy as he guides her through the rest of the house, his hand resting every now and then against her shoulder, her elbow to tug her here, her back to guide her there.
They return to the kitchen, and he pours her a glass of water, which she finishes immediately, her mouth apparently drier than she realized.
He says something, but she doesn’t hear.
Her eyes snap back to his. “I’m sorry—what?”
He leans forward, rocking on his heels. “I said you should come with us next time.”
“Come with you …” She trails off, her eyebrows scrunching.
“To the beach.”
“Oh, I—”
“Or not.”
She toys with the bracelet on her wrist, looking down. “Yeah, I’m just not a beach person.”
“Not a beach person?” He repeats slowly, his head leaning to the side.
She shrugs, blowing out a breath. “I don’t know how to swim.”
Now his lips part and his eyes widen. “You live in Florida, and you don’t know how to swim?”
“I just … never had time,” she says, sipping from the second glass of water he pours for her. “What?” she asks as he studies her, eyes clouded in thought.
“I could teach you,” he says. “I’m an excellent swimmer.”
Her mind wanders to a shirtless Roman at the beach. The salt from the sea, the grain of the sand, the heat from the sun, her legs around his waist, her in his arms—
“No time,” she whispers, and to her dismay, she sounds winded.
He tuts, finishing his own glass. “Make time, Jones.”