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I stop half a block behind him.

The car behind me honks.

I ignore it.

The light turns green. Roman moves.

I count to three, then follow.

This is going remarkably well. Maybe I have natural surveillance skills. Maybe I've been wasting my talents on author branding.

Roman turns into a parking lot. I drive past because I'm not an amateur.

I circle the block, then park across the street.

Roman gets out. He’s wearing a black jacket, dark jeans, and sunglasses.

Ahh. He obviously got some new clothes since I spilled coffee on his.

I stare at him like he’s an all-you-can-eat buffet and I’m starving.

Mmmm. Mmmm. Mmmm.

Six-foot-four inches of brooding male perfection. My stomach does something stupid.

Focus, Callie.

He starts down the sidewalk.

I grab my purse and get out. A gust of wind immediately tries to steal my wig. I slap both hands onto my head. “Not today.”

I tug my cap lower, straighten my sunglasses, then follow him from a safe distance.

Roman crosses the street.

I cross half a block behind him.

He turns his head.

I immediately stop and stare into a store window like I’m browsing.

I wait ten seconds, then glance toward Roman.

He's gone.

“Shit.”

I hurry to the corner and look left. Then right. Nothing.

My stomach drops.

Dammit.

Then I spot him farther down the sidewalk. Relief rushes through me.

I follow him another block.

He turns.