The Promises We Keep (Made for Love Book 1) (36 page)

“
So, are you going to tell me?
”

My eyes shoot to the man beside me as he finally speaks.
“
Tell you what?
”
I murmur.

“
Tell me the story behind the tears.
”

“
Oh, I get a choice this time?
”
I ask, lifting an eyebrow.

He turns toward me in his chair.
“
Look, sometimes I
’
m pushy. I would apologize for it if I was truly sorry, but I
’
m not. I
’
d like to be your friend, which is something else I won
’
t apologize for, and I already told you that I
’
m a good listener. I
’
m not hitting on you or trying to get in your pants, I
’
m just trying to offer you an outlet. It
’
s obvious that you
’
ve got a lot of things going on up there,
”
he says, pointing at my head,
“
and maybe if you talk about it you
’
ll stop crying. Maybe if you talk about it with someone like me, who is completely impartial, you
’
ll get a different perspective than someone like Sarah
—
who is obviously very close to you
—
can offer.
And
even if my impartial perspective isn
’
t helpful, I
’
ll at least know enough to be praying for you. Not sure if that
’
s your thing, but it
’
s my thing and I won
’
t apologize for that either.
”

So many thoughts. Absolutely no words.

Who is this guy
?

“
I
’
m Roman, remember?
”
he says with a grin.

Crap. I said that out loud. But his smile is back, which is actually very comforting.

I take a deep breath as I pull the hair tie from around my ponytail
—
it was suddenly feeling too tight. I rake my fingers through my hair as I try and collect myself. I feel like such a basket case. He's rendered me speechless twice in the last half an hour. He probably
thinks
I'm a basket case.
Yet, even if that is true, he said he wants to be my friend. Ha
—
what does that say about him?

When I manage to bring my eyes back up to meet his gaze, I find him looking at me. Oddly enough, his stare doesn
’
t make me uncomfortable.
“
I didn
’
t think you were hitting on me.
”
It was the first complete sentence to come to mind, and he seems to appreciate it, so I continue.
“
Why do you want to be my friend?
”

He grins at me before he answers.
“
Because you haven
’
t hit on me or tried to get in my pants.
”

I laugh and the familiarity of this moment fills me with relief.
He makes me laugh. That
’
s why I want to be his friend.
Whether or not I want to spill my guts about Beckham, though, is still up for debate. I decide to ease my way into it.
“
My boyfriend and I
—
we sort of broke up.
”

“
Sort of?
”

“
Well, it
’
s complicated.
”

“
I
’
ve got time,
”
he says, reaching for his chai.
“
Lay it on me.
”

I puff out a sigh and blow out my apprehension.
“
His name is Beckham.
”
Saying his name is like sticking my finger down my throat
—
gross, I know, but so true
—
because within the next hour, I
’
ve thrown up every last ounce of my broken heart and Roman knows everything.

As I walk into Cooper's, my nerves are on high alert. I know Roman will be behind the bar and, after our
“
conversation
,
”
I'm worried about seeing him. Turns out our
“
conversation
”
ended up being pretty one sided. I just kept talking and talking and he listened. His undivided attention made me want to keep talking. He only spoke when he wanted more details and, in my vulnerable state, I gave them to him. I can
’
t explain why, really, except for that it felt good to talk about it with someone who didn
’
t start tearing up every time I started to cry.
I could never get through this without Avery or Sarah, but sometimes their sympathy makes me feel worse.

When I was finished divulging the sequence of events that led to the awful day that was Sunday, he didn't have anything to say. He simply nodded as if he understood something I didn
’
t. His lack of response left me speechless
—
he
’
s apparently got a knack for that
—
and extremely self-conscious, which also made me emotional. Not that I think anyone can blame me. I mean, come on,
how could he not have anything to say?

I was placated only after he promised me that he would have plenty to say after he gave my story some thought. I couldn't argue with that; instead I spent the whole afternoon trying to read while I panicked over what I'm referring to as my
hour of temporary insanity
. As I sat around
not
reading, I also thought about the fact that while Roman knows every bullet point there is to know about my relationship with the
love if my life,
I know absolutely nothing about him. Nothing! Unless you count my knowledge of his yoga and bar tending skills
—
which I
do not
.

“
Addie!
”
Someone calls my name, effectively breaking my trance.

“
What?
”
I snap as I turn around to address the voice that beckons me.
Good gracious, I feel like I
’
m PMSing. I
’
m not, I know I
’
m not, but I kind of wish I was so that I could blame all these emotions on my hormones.
I don
’
t mean to bite, but now I
’
m so worked up about Roman that I can
’
t seem to control my temper.

“
Whoa.
”
Speak of the devil.
He takes a step back as I face him, his arms filled with a couple racks of glasses to restock behind the bar.
“
What
’
d I do?
”

My initial instinct is to calm down, but then he asks that question and the answer gets me all riled up again.
“
Friendship goes both ways, you know?
”
I say, pressing my fists against my hips.
“
I told you way more than you should know, considering how much I
don
’
t
know about you.
”
He raises his eyebrows in surprise and then I see it
—
that look he gives me that tells me he
’
s not trying to trick or manipulate me. He
’
s an honest guy who means what he says. I calm down, realizing that he
’
s never done anything to me that says otherwise. I smack my palm against my forehead.
“
I
’
m sorry. You didn
’
t make me tell you any of the things I did over breakfast. I
’
m just freaking out. I
’
m not usually so crazy.
”
I cough out a humorless laugh when it hits me that all he was trying to do was say hello.

Yeah. He may have just
thought
I was a basket case before
—
now, I
’
m sure he has no doubt.

I turn to go and find Henry, sure that if I stay I
’
ll only continue to embarrass myself, but then he starts speaking and I stop dead in my tracks.
“
My middle name is Cornelius. My favorite color is orange. I love pineapple on my pizza and hate tomato on my burgers. I was engaged to be married once and I can
’
t help but wonder if Beckham is feeling some of the exact same things I
’
ve felt before. That
’
s why I needed time to process what you told me earlier. Oh
—
I also hate coffee.
”

He was engaged to be married, once? Talk about withholding information.
I turn and face him, practically awestruck at his offering. I need a second to wrap my head around the idea that Roman
Cornelius
—
last name still unknown
—
was engaged.

“
You
hate
coffee?
”

He chuckles as he lifts his load and sets it on a nearby table before leaning up against it.
“
Yes. Considering the way you downed yours this morning, I guess it
’
s safe to say that
’
s something we don
’
t have in common.
”

“
What was her name?
”
The words tumble out of my mouth as soon as they pop into my head.

His smile shrinks.
“
Kathryn.
”
Earlier, after I spoke Beckham
’
s name, everything else just came out; apparently Kathryn
’
s name does not have the same effect on Roman. I start to ask for more but he speaks before I can.
“
No offense, but now
’
s not really the time to talk about her. Not that I don
’
t think it
’
s fair that you have questions,
”
he continues, lifting a hand to stop my protests before I can even begin.
“
But she
’
s probably a topic best broached over breakfast. In the meantime, though,
”
he pauses as he picks up the glasses.
“
I
’
ll make you a deal. Every time you come to the bar for an order, you can ask me a question
—
any question
—
and I
’
ll give you an answer. Even up the scales a bit. Fair?
”