“Noted.” Frankie nearly choked on her food. Having Holly Saxon as lead matchmaker wasn’t anywhere on Frankie’s wishlist. Speaking of her to-do list, Frankie polished off another mouthful of fries, drank some more shake, then left money on the counter. As she turned to leave, she cast a quick look over at the corner table, where Simon was busy reading to his baby brother and sister...and scribbling some serious notes in that journal of his, the set and determined look in his eyes all too familiar. “You’re going to keep an eye on him, right?” she asked Holly on her way out.
“Simon? Always.” Holly nodded.
“If you need help keeping him busy, let me know. I can always find something for him to do at the station.”
“Appreciate that. If I get too worried, I just sic Luke on him. Hubby is better at distracting him than I am. Oh, hey. Are you coming to Calliope’s for Thanksgiving next week?”
“I’ll be on duty,” Frankie said, ignoring the testosterone-laden image of Roman—make that Chief Salazar—that shot through her brain. “But I’d love one of your pumpkin pies.”
Holly laughed. “You got it.”
CHAPTER THREE
IT WOULD TAKE TIME, Roman realized the next morning, to get used to the silence. Silence that only gave way to the ocean at the bottom of the hill. He finally gave up any hope of sleep just after 4:00 a.m. and, after flipping on the anemic coffeemaker on the side table in his room, changed into his workout clothes and checked, as he always did first thing in the morning, his email and voice mail.
One thing he’d noticed—and appreciated—when he’d taken a leisurely self-guided tour of the firehouse yesterday after Chief Granger left, was that meticulous care and attention had been paid to the makeshift workout room just off the kitchen. The space included a weight bench with a good selection of free weights, an elliptical, bike, various toning machines and two treadmills that may have been enhanced by NASA, given their video challenges and advanced settings.
He poured the dark roast into a chipped mug that had been hanging beneath one of two cabinets and drank half of it before his foot hit the bottom stair. Ten minutes later, he had settled into an easy pace on the treadmill, the news on the small flat screen nearby. When his blood began pumping and the sweat began beading, as his muscles fell into their welcome daily routine, he actually sighed in relief.
All the knots inside him from the past few days began to loosen. Driving across country with nothing more than satellite radio for comfort gave a man a lot of time to think. About the future. About the past. And about his impulse to take a job in a town no larger than a pinhole on a map when his dream job had fallen through. He’d always known leapfrogging his way into the federal arson investigator’s office would be a challenge, and the odds of him getting a job after his first interview were slim, but that didn’t lessen the disappointment of not being chosen. Hopefully making a noticeable move and a big change would work to his benefit next time around. If there was a next time.
There were plenty of qualified people from ATF, the FBI and other law-enforcement organizations to fill the rarely open position, but none of them wanted it as badly as he did. He’d made a promise to do better, to go farther, to reach for the brass ring that had evaded his father’s determined grasp. Don’t fail like I did, son. Don’t surrender. His father’s voice, even after three years, still echoed clearly in Roman’s head. Don’t give up until you get to where you need to go.
He would not, Roman had vowed the day his father died, leave this world without having accomplished everything he wanted. Every thought he had, every decision he made was to get him closer to that goal of ticking off every box on his to-do list. If that meant spending months or maybe even a few years in Butterfly Harbor to reset his life, so be it.
His former commanding officer in Boston had been the one to suggest Roman beef up his résumé with something unexpected, something that showed future interviewing committees that he was willing to go wherever the job took him. He had three top-ten city fire companies checked off, complete with high-level recommendations, commendations and awards. The contract he’d signed with Butterfly Harbor was for six months. A short amount of time to Roman’s thinking, and a little odd, but it also came with an option for another six should all parties agree. After that...who knew? Six months, maybe a year in this quaint oceanside town should round out his experience, perhaps with bonus points for thinking outside the box.
And so, his first full day in Butterfly Harbor began.
He ticked up the incline on the treadmill, increased the speed and kicked his morning into high gear. Soon, all he heard was the rhythmic pounding of his feet against the mat.