Grace entered the kitchen and checked inside his refrigerator. “What would you like?”
“Whatever you find. Might be some roast beef in there.” Roman walked to the windows.
Grace put bread and an unopened package of deli roast beef on the counter. “This is the first time I’ve seen you enjoy your view.” She looked for other things to add to the sandwich. “It would make a beautiful painting.”
Hooking his thumbs into his pockets, Roman glanced back at her. “Not my thing.”
“Too bad. What do you like on your sandwich? Mustard? Mayo? Nothing?”
“Anything and everything available.”
She found lettuce, cheese slices, a tomato, a red onion, and bread-and-butter pickles. “Hector called. His work is almost finished. He went to the zoo. He loved it.” She slathered mayonnaise on a slice of bread. “Talia won’t bother you, but she wants to set a date for the show. And you got a call from the mayor of Golden. He’s interested in commissioning you to paint a mural for the town.”
“Never heard of the place.”
“I googled it. It’s a new community born out of a ghost town that was once a boomtown during the Gold Rush.”
“You can’t believe everything you read on the Internet.”
“I know.” Grace cut the thick sandwich in half and put it on a plate. “Someone named Jasper Hawley left a message.” She slid the plate across the counter. “I hope he’s a friend because he said he wants a bed to sleep in and a home-cooked meal.”
Roman laughed. “Yeah, well, he was my teacher at Masterson Mountain Ranch. It’s a group home in the Gold Country, probably not far from the newly invented old town of Golden.”
Group home? A dozen questions popped into Grace’s head.
Roman sat at the counter. “Not even curious enough to ask?”
She knew she needed boundaries with this man. “Your checkered past is none of my business.”
Roman took a big bite out of the sandwich. Raising his brows, he made a sound of male pleasure that brought a tingle she hadn’t felt in a long time.
Grace couldn’t help but be curious about Roman Velasco, but his surroundings were enough to tell her he valued his privacy. She poured him a tall glass of orange juice.
He looked amused. “Trying to take care of me?”
“I know which side my bread is buttered on.” He’d already finished the first half of his sandwich. Was it that good, or did it mean he was starving? He was taller than Patrick, and her ex-husband could put away two sandwiches, an apple, and a bag of chips without effort. Of course, he’d spent most of his time working out. “Shall I make you another sandwich?” He nodded, and she laid out two more slices of bread. “Okay. I’ll ask. Why did you end up in a group home?”
“It was that or jail.” He picked up the glass of orange juice and washed down the last bite of sandwich.
Jail? “What did you do?”
“Got mad. Tagged a few buildings.”
Grace didn’t know what he was talking about, and he didn’t elaborate.
Roman watched her make the second sandwich. “Hawley still keeps tabs on me. Calls me one of his lost boys. He’s making sure I walk the straight and narrow, I guess.” He finished the orange juice. “End of story.”
She took that to mean the end of the subject, and didn’t press. “How long have you been up here?”
“Here? As in Topanga Canyon? Just over a year. I lived on a beach before this.”
With his looks, she could easily imagine him on a surfboard in Hawaii. The big kahuna with a bevy of beach bunnies trailing after him. “I can see you in a beach shack.”
“One beach is like any other. I got tired of all the people around. I wanted space and quiet.”
“Well, you certainly have that.” She put the second sandwich on his plate. “It’s quiet up here.” She closed the packages of roast beef and cheese, wrapped the lettuce, and put everything back in the refrigerator. Dampening a cloth, she cleaned the counter. “Are there any close neighbors?”
“Other than you? No.”
She hadn’t really thought about the remoteness or that he was the only human being close by.
“Don’t get nervous, Ms. Moore. I don’t have any ulterior motives for offering you the cottage. It just seemed the best solution for both of us.”
She relaxed. “Well, it was certainly the answer to my prayers.”
“Prayers.” He gave a telling laugh. “I hate to disillusion you, Grace, but prayer isn’t what got you the place. You’re good at your job. I wanted to keep you around. That’s all. There’s no one out there listening or intervening on our behalf.”