Today was one of those days when she couldn’t get Roman out of her head. Samuel toddled over and wanted to climb onto her lap. She worked that way for a while and set him down to play again. A few minutes later, he came back. Grace closed her laptop and lifted Samuel. “Okay, little man.” She kissed his warm neck and breathed in his sweet, baby scent. “How about a bike ride, Rapscal?” He loved bike rides and flapped his arms, making her laugh.
Closing the garage door, Grace pocketed the remote and set off down the street. They wore matching neon helmets, the only brand-new things she had splurged on so far. By the time they returned, she was tired and Samuel was sleepy from the cool wind in his face. She put him down for a nap in his race car bed and was intending to go back to work when the phone rang.
“Hey, girlfriend!”
“Hey, back atcha.” Grace laughed. In addition to frequent texts and e-mails, Shanice called every few days to check on her.
“How are things going?”
Sprawled on the sofa, Grace sighed. “Right now, I’m done in. I just took Samuel out for a bike ride.”
They carried on their usual friendly conversation for fifteen minutes before Shanice admitted she had another reason for calling. “I wanted to talk to you about Roman, honey.”
Grace’s heart started to pound. “What about him?”
“Well, he’s not the man I met in Topanga Canyon, that’s for sure. He and Brian have become good friends. Roman sold his house and moved into the apartment complex where Brian lives. He just finished a project for the church. You should see it, Grace. It’s drawing a lot of attention. Some reporters showed up, and there have been a couple articles on the piece. Check it out on YouTube. It’s amazing!”
“I’m glad to hear he’s doing so well.” Grace tried to keep her tone neutral, despite the wild beating of her heart and the surge of hope she needed to crush.
“Do you want me to tell Roman where you are?”
“Did he ask you?”
“No, but I’m sure he’d like to know.”
Grace closed her eyes tightly, unable to speak for a moment. “I think it’s better to leave things as they are.” If Roman loved her, wouldn’t he have asked about her by now? She left Los Angeles months ago.
“Are you sure, honey? He might have reasons for not calling you.”
Just as she had reasons for keeping her silence. God, am I doing the right thing? I don’t know anymore.
“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.”
Brian shook his head. “I just offered Roman the wall. He and God did the rest.”
Tuck Martin gave Roman a wry look. “Do you agree with that statement? You think God had something to do with it?”
“Yes and yes.”
“Are you a Christian?”
Roman gave him a sardonic stare. “Don’t I look like one?”
Brian laughed. “A young disciple.”
“How did that come about?” Tuck looked at Brian for an answer.
Brian tilted his head toward Roman. “Ask him what happened in Santa Clarita.”
When Roman didn’t speak up, Brian rose. “I’m going to get another cup of coffee. Need anything, gentlemen?” When neither answered, he strolled away. Roman knew what Brian wanted him to do, and he knew what response he’d get.
“I had a heart attack, died on the sidewalk, and went to hell. Jesus got me out.”
Tuck Martin laughed. “Yeah. Right.” He grew serious again. “Great joke, but now, I’d like to know what really happened.”
Roman just looked at him.
Martin frowned and searched Roman’s face. “You weren’t kidding, were you?”