Chapter 3
Of course it was Brockton Gallagher.
Because her mother couldn’t possibly hire anyone else to do the work instead. Gigi had to choose the guy who had broken Juliette’s heart.
She’d hoped to avoid seeing him for the duration of her stay, but apparently that was out of the question. He was the last person she wanted or expected to see this morning, and yet there he was, standing in the front entrance of Mystic Florals with a bunch of blueprints in his hand.
Unfortunately, the years had been very kind to him.
His rich auburn hair was short on the sides and longer on top, but it was wild and unkempt, as though he had just run a hand through it and gone on about his business.
His amber eyes followed her every move. Silent and watching, like always.
Fresh stubble lined his jaw, and he’d gained an age line or two along his brow.
“Just give me a minute,” Juliette muttered without looking back at him. She didn’t need to, the heat of his gaze burned into her. Stalking down the hall to the small bathroom, she slipped inside and shut the door.
She took a deep breath, letting her lungs expand, then blew it out low and slow.
Her hollow reflection stared back at her, and she cursed herself for not grabbing those damn cucumbers like Viv suggested.
Her eyes were rimmed with red, the lids puffy and swollen from useless tears.
She leaned forward, pressing lightly on her cheeks, her whole face splotchy from exhaustion and lack of sleep.
The absolute mess of a bun on top of her head would take forever to detangle.
Gripping the edge of the counter, Juliette squeezed until her heart stopped its erratic beating.
She could do this. She could face him. There was a tremble in her hands when she switched on the faucet, and the icy water she splashed on her face did nothing to soothe or calm her.
If anything it left her looking pink and flushed.
Not a bad thing, but definitely not the look she wanted.
Giving her face another good scrub, she tried to wash away the memories, but the freezing water simply stung her skin until it was numb.
She patted her face dry with one of her mother’s fancy embroidered hand towels, the sort never meant for actual use, and tried to focus on something other than the fact that the one man she never wanted to see again was just on the other side of her bathroom door.
But her mind was a useless thing.
All she could think about was the last time she saw Brock.
The night before he left for boot camp, he’d kissed her under a blanket of stars while the warm summer tide swept over their ankles.
There’d been so much promise, so much hope.
She could remember every detail, from the way his thumb brushed across her cheek and wiped her tears, to the way the wet, squishy sand rushed between her toes.
But then he was gone before sunrise and she never saw him again.
Her letters went unanswered. Her texts were left on delivered. The bastard had ghosted her. Abandoned her. He’d left her behind.
Juliette stole a breath of air and shoved out of the bathroom.
Brock had spread the blueprint for the apartment over the island and had a measuring tape running from the kitchen cabinets to the edge of the living area.
His cobalt blue Henley did nothing but enhance all the hardened muscle beneath the soft fabric.
He glanced up, and when their gazes met, a small frown marred his forehead.
All in all, he was painfully handsome—if one preferred the rugged, rough-around-the-edges sort of look.
Which she absolutely did not.
He stood up and clipped the tape measure back onto his belt loop. Pretending to look over the plans spread out before him, he cleared his throat. “No one mentioned you were coming back to visit.”
Small talk was overrated.
She shrugged, tugging on the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “No one knew.”
Brock shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned against the island.
He was so handsome and it was brutally unfair.
She looked like she’d barely survived New Year’s Eve, whereas he looked like he’d just stepped out of an adorable Hallmark Christmas movie.
The warmth in his amber gaze lingered while he drank her in slowly.
His voice was rough and a bit gritty when he said, “I take it you didn’t know you were coming back.”
“Something like that.” She wrapped her arms around herself and let her gaze drift to where the beautiful windows faced the nearby street and glimpsed the winter-kissed ocean. “Do I have a bad breakup written all over my face?”
“I’m sorry, Juliette. I didn’t know.”
“Neither did I, apparently. But it’s fine. I’ll be fine.” Eventually. She glanced back at him over one shoulder, noticing the way his hands were clenched into fists, the way he locked his jaw. “Sorry I snapped at you. I didn’t sleep well.”
“You shouldn’t be the one apologizing.” He stepped closer, and out of habit, she stepped back. He didn’t falter, but he didn’t reach for her either. “I was the one who—”
“Can we not talk about this right now?” She tucked a fallen wisp of hair behind her ear in an effort to distract herself from the complete and utter sense of emptiness smothering her, the kind that made it impossible to breathe.
“I just wasted seven years of my life with a man who I thought loved me. Forgive me if I don’t feel like talking about making the same mistake twice. ”
It was a cruel dig and she knew it. The insult must have hit because Brock stiffened, then rocked back onto his heels, like he’d been physically struck by the verbal blow.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to hear Brock’s apology, it was more that it didn’t really matter anymore.
If he really wanted to say he was sorry for how he ended things, he could’ve done so years ago.
Her number hadn’t changed. Why try to apologize now just because she was back in town?
She hadn’t been enough for Brock. She was never enough for her mother. It was foolish of her to think she’d be good enough for someone as successful and charming as Rodrigo Mata.
“So.” She gestured to the blueprint occupying most of the island’s counter. “What’s the plan for this place?”
Brock ran a hand through his auburn hair, letting the longer pieces fall and swoop over his brow.
“Well, a complete overhaul of the bathroom to start. A total renovation of the kitchen.” He pointed to the wall separating the living area from the rest of the loft.
“We’ll take down this wall here and open up the space, which will also give us more room to extend the bathroom. ”
“Nice.” She could see it all clearly. The vision was definitely there, she had to give him that. “And you need my help doing what, exactly?”
“Gigi put you in charge of design.”
“I see.”
Design. The one thing she’d actually loved, and the one thing her mother had ruined for her.
Juliette ignored the painful twinge in her heart. “Did she at least say what kind of look she was going for?”
“No. She just gave me her budget and told me to come up with something worthy.” He waved his hand around in a pathetic attempt to mimic Gigi’s impeccable mannerisms.
“Of course she did.” Juliette couldn’t help it when a small smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. “I can come up with some color boards to go over with you later this week. I guess we’ll have to pick out cabinets, granite, and flooring. All the important things. ”
“How’s tomorrow?” Brock scribbled a note on the corner of the blueprint, then flipped the pencil between his fingers. His gaze slid to her, dipped to her mouth once, then darted back up to her eyes.
She ran her teeth along her bottom lip, fiddling with the hem of her sweatshirt, wanting nothing more than to crawl back into bed. “I can go whenever. Just let me know.”
Brock nodded, but his gilded amber eyes continued to watch her, analyze her. “You plan on staying?”
Another haphazard shrug. “I don’t know. I suppose I don’t have any plans anymore.”
All of her life plans had failed miserably so far.
Her dreams had gone up in smoke. She’d constantly chased the next best thing, wanting so badly to achieve something, to be someone.
Yet everything was always just out of her grasp.
Just out of reach. Like the fruit dangling from the tree and each time she jumped for it, she fell.
And for what?
There was that tiny, insignificant voice. The one she blatantly ignored. The one she pretended she couldn’t hear when the fire between her and Rodrigo had dwindled down to barely a spark.
What would she do after they got married? Let him support her?
No matter how hard she tried, she bounced between jobs. She changed her mind about what she wanted to do with her life as often as a first-year college student. The one thing she wanted, the one thing she desired more than anything else, had caused the fallout between herself and her mother.
Brock continued to watch her. Calm and even. Steady. She wasn’t even sure if he blinked.
She didn’t see pity in his eyes, but there was a shred of sympathy. A shadow of remorse. Maybe even some interest. Not that she would entertain any of it. He’d had his chance once before, and no matter how well time had aged him, she wasn’t going back down that road.
Her stomach gave a small growl, and she grabbed a banana from the wire basket of fruit on the counter. At least it gave her something to do while awkward silence heavy with long-forgotten tension occupied the space between them.
He slid a business card out of his coat pocket and set it on the island. She stole a quick glance at it, not surprised to find that his phone number hadn’t changed. “Well, if you’re looking for a job, or something to occupy your time until you figure things out, I’m looking for a designer.”