“If he does ask, can I tell him? I have no doubt he’s a Christian now, Grace, or I wouldn’t bring him up at all. I know how much you grieved over the guy. You still love him, don’t you?”
It wasn’t really a question. “All the more reason to keep my distance, Shanice. Roman never said he loved me.” Grace put a shaking hand to her forehead. “Can we not talk about him? Please. I’ve been trying hard to move on.”
“Doesn’t sound like you’re having much luck with that.”
How could she forget a man like Roman Velasco? Or was he Bobby Ray Dean now? Was he still the Bird, out painting walls at night? Roman Velasco, Bobby Ray Dean, or the Bird, she was still in love with him. “Keeping busy helps.”
They talked for a few more minutes and ended the call.
Samuel came toddling into the living room and climbed up so he could sprawl on her chest. She remembered how he’d slept on Roman this same way at the cottage. Lord, how long before this ache goes away?
That night, Samuel snug in his crib, Grace lay wide-awake. At midnight, she gave in to temptation, went to her office, and opened her laptop. She did a quick search on YouTube and found Roman’s most recent work. She drew in a soft breath when she saw Jesus on the back of a white stallion. The clouds painted at the building foundation line made the church look like it was floating. The wall was magnificent, but it was the man obviously avoiding the camera who held her attention. She pulled up other YouTube clips. Seeing him, even on a computer screen, increased her painful longing. She switched to Google and found a recent newspaper article. Talia Reisner must have supplied the reporter with a public relations package.
Images produced a screen full of pictures of Roman Velasco: at the gallery opening, working on the San Diego mural, in a nightclub, dancing with a beautiful blonde. She closed her laptop. Covering her face, she cried. God, make these feelings go away. Please. She took a Tylenol PM and went back to bed. Lying on her side, she looked across the hall at her son sleeping peacefully in his crib. Roman had been clear about what he wanted and didn’t want.
I’ve done everything possible to avoid ever having a kid.
It wouldn’t be wise to open the door to Roman again. Samuel needed a man who would love her unconditionally . . . and love her son no matter how he was conceived.
NOW THAT THE PROJECT WAS DONE, Roman found himself inundated with interview requests. He agreed to meet Tuck Martin, a freelance reporter, at Common Grounds, and asked Brian to join them. Talking about Brian and the crew was easy. Roman wanted them to get the credit they deserved. Martin was more interested in Roman’s personal history, life, and career as an artist. Roman stopped talking.
Brian smiled at Martin. “Roman is a little reticent about his personal life.”
“I gathered that.” He looked at Roman. “Is there a reason?”
Roman wished he hadn’t agreed to this. “Too many people have an unhealthy interest in other people’s business.”
“I’ve done considerable research on you, Mr. Velasco.” He talked for the next ten minutes while Roman squirmed. Tuck Martin had managed to dig out information from public records and interviews with retired social workers. He’d spent several hours with Talia Reisner and got an earful about Roman’s temper, bohemian ways, and reputation as a player, which led Martin to the nightclub Roman used to frequent and a few other shorter interviews with women he’d hooked up with. Jasper Hawley and the Mastersons were noticeably absent from Tuck Martin’s list, nor did he mention Grace Moore.
Roman pushed his chair back. “Seems to me, you have more than enough information to write your story already.”
Brian gave him a look that reminded Roman of Jasper Hawley. Hear the man out.
Roman remained seated. “Just what are you after, if that isn’t enough to write a juicy piece for People magazine?”
“I’m interested in the man behind the art.” Martin leaned forward. “A year ago, you were a loner living the good life on a mountaintop, and now, you’re down in the flatlands working with a crew of gang kids and painting a masterpiece on the wall of a church that meets in an industrial park.” He gave a soft laugh. “How did that happen?”
What could Roman say? “People change directions all the time.” He felt Brian’s glance.
Tuck Martin looked unconvinced. “Why did you bring a pastor to the interview?”
“He’s a close friend.” He jerked his chin at Brian. “He’s the one that came up with the idea.”