“Let’s see, she’s about to turn fifty, has no kids and never married, and she’s an event planner,” she added. “Worked for the Ritz for years, but just started her own business and is, no surprise, very good at it.”
He drank some coffee again, processing. “Never married?” he asked, as if that fact stuck with him. “Why not?”
“She claims no man has ever matched up to her father, who I never got to meet, so?—”
“How did you meet her? When?” He frowned. “It seems like you’ve known her a long time.”
“Only a few months,” she admitted. “But my mother knew her as a kid. It’s a long story, but the short version is that they vacationed in Destin together as kids. They reconnected after a long separation, and now my mom and I are living with Tessa in?—”
“Tessa? That’s her name?”
Dang it!She grunted at her mistake. “Yeah, Tessa. Short for Theresa.” She closed her eyes. “Goodness, I hope I’m doing the right thing.”
“You are,” he said quickly. “For me, at least. What about my dad?”
Ouch. She just sighed and shook her head. “She, um, doesn’t really know…him.”
His eyes flickered, then softened. “Hey, we all make mistakes. God knows I’ve had my share of dumb overnights.”
She sighed with relief because he clearly wasn’t going to hold Tessa’s decisions against her.
“I mean, it would be cool to know him, but I’ve always felt more connected to her.”
He’d always felt connected to her? Again, Lacey wondered if he’d given the whole thing a lot more thought than he’d admitted.
The server returned, giving Lacey a much-needed break from the conversation. They both ordered omelets and bacon, and just as they were alone again, a middle-aged man came up to the table.
“’Scuze me, but can you settle a bet?” he asked Roman. “My kid says you’re Matteo, number 14? For the Jags?”
Roman’s expression slid into a smile that Lacey bet had stopped a few hearts. Hers might have even fluttered a bit.
“Yeah, man. He’s right.” He leaned back and looked at a boy about ten years old, pointing right at the child. “Go, Jags, buddy.”
“Can you…” The man made a gesture of writing.
“Sure, sure.” He waved the kid over. “Come on.”
Instantly, the boy was up, scrambling over with a pen and paper napkin. “Hi,” he said shyly.
“What’s your name, big guy?”
“Tyler.”
“You play football, Tyler?”
He nodded. “Yeah, but I’m not very good.”
“Neither am I or I’d be first string,” he joked, taking the pen and scribbling his name and #14 next to it. “Don’t give up,” he added. “Some of us are just late bloomers.”
“Thanks. Thank you.” The boy beamed at the autograph. “Roman Matteo. Wow. This is so cool!”
His father nodded and backed away. “Thank you, Mr. Matteo. Sorry to bother you.”
“Not at all.” Roman gave an easy wave. “It’s all good, man.”
The other man slowed his step. “You should be first string.”
Roman laughed, revealing a set of teeth that would make an orthodontist cry with envy. “Tell the coach.”
