Roan picked up the plates and took them to the sink. “More coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
He topped off my cup. “I could get used to this.”
He smirked. “What about your mother?”
“I never knew my real mother and father.”
He settled the pot on the burner and rested his hips on the lip of the counter. “I’m not sure if I’m supposed to tell you I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” I raked my fingers through my hair. “I grew up in an orphanage until I was ten. My father found and adopted me. I miss him, that’s all. He taught me to fish, to shoot a gun, plant a garden, that sort of stuff. He was a great dad.”
A tear sprang to my eye. I knuckled it away and heaved a shaky breath. I would not let my emotions get the better of me, which meant it was best to change the subject.
“Oh, I owe you money,” I said. “I need to pay for the room.”
Perfect. There was nothing like talking about money that killed any hint of romance in a conversation.
I punched my hand in my jacket pocket to fish out my wallet. “Holy shiznit!”
That stupid smile coiled on Roan's face again. “Is that a word?”
I rose and searched my other pockets. “I don’t like to cuss. It’s a thing with me.”
“Really? You look like the kind of girl who could tongue lash a sailor in a cussing contest.”
“Very funny. I make up words. It kills anyone’s idea that I’m not a lady.” I’d felt all the pockets. It was gone. Where the heck was it?
Roan chuckled. “Right. Because shiznit is so ladylike.”
“It is compared to the alternative. Son of a poopmonger! That little sneak. The boy at the bookstore. I bet he stole it.”
“What boy? Do I need to call the police?”
I waved him off. “No. The ghost boy. The one who lives there.”
Roan crossed to me and felt my forehead with the back of his hand. A jolt of lightning fissured down my spine. His gaze locked on mine, snapping my heart to the back of my spine.
My breath hitched. It wouldn’t come. Not forward nor backward. Never in my life had I experienced anything like that from a person’s touch.
“What are you doing?”
He was so close I could smell the musky scent beneath his aftershave. Gold flecked the brown in his eyes. Roan was like a force of gravity. I felt myself falling into him.
“Just making sure you don’t have a fever,” he said in low, gravelly voice.
I bristled. “Why would I have a fever?”
“You mentioned a ghost boy.”
“Oh, right. The man who doesn’t believe in ghosts would obviously have a hard time accepting that the bookshop has a spirit that steals things from people. I’m pretty sure the whole town knows about it.”
His expression darkened. “Look. I…” Roan exhaled and glanced away, breaking the trance that tied us together. “Never mind. Anyway. Maybe there is a ghost who stole your wallet.”
“Either way, I need my wallet if I’m going to pay you and not be cleaning rooms to settle up for my stay here.”
“I already have a housekeeper.”
