Chapter 9
Juliette sat at a dining room table with Brock and Anders.
They temporarily moved the office space out of the garage so they could eat and include a place for Juliette to work until they could purchase a desk for her.
The oak table was covered in building plans, sketches, a couple cans of soda, bowls of chips, pretzels, and a few different kinds of dip.
Juliette made a mental note to buy legitimate food for the next time she was in the office.
Brock was busy sketching out a couple of designs for the beach house, his head bent over his iPad in concentration.
From her vantage point, she could admire him without it being overly obvious.
She couldn’t help but notice the way his auburn hair stuck up a bit in the front each time he ran his hand through it, something she realized he did often while he was working.
The sleeves of his forest green sweater were shoved up toward his elbows, and she found her gaze drawn to toned forearms where a Celtic knot tattoo snaked up toward his bicep before vanishing from sight.
His hands were calloused and capable, his jaw was sharp and lined with scruff.
All pieces of him that were once familiar to her.
Time had shaped him from a boy full of dreams to a man with hard-earned goals, and she wasn’t even sure she recognized him anymore.
But one thing was certain.
She was slowly beginning to regret her decision to work with him, as Brockton Gallagher was proving to be the worst sort of distraction.
Unfortunately for her, even his coworker was handsome, but in a devil-may-care sort of way. Anders had a crop of wild and curly blond hair and a chiseled jawline accented with a well-trimmed beard and mustache. His brow always appeared stern, but his dimples lent him charm.
He must have sensed her staring at him because he immediately caught her eye. Juliette blinked and felt a distinctive heat crawl up her neck and bleed into her cheeks.
“So…” Anders drew the word out and tapped the end of his pencil on the tabletop. “Do you think Yaya will go along with the plan?”
“Convincing Yaya will be the easy part.” Brock looked up from his sketch and took a swig of Pepsi. “Convincing my dad to back off is something else entirely.”
The argument over the beach house and the land was something Juliette didn’t quite understand. “I don’t get it. If the beach house is family property, why does your dad want to sell it?”
“All he cares about is buying and selling. It’s all he’s good at. It’s all he knows. The property never meant anything to him.” Brock’s amber gaze turned cold, hardened like solid gold. “Because he was never around long enough to see its worth. To appreciate its value.”
Aidan Gallagher’s absence from Brock’s life was something Juliette very clearly remembered.
Growing up, Aidan’s constant disappearances then reappearances had taken their toll on Brock.
She’d watch him write his father off, vow never to speak to him again, then Aidan would show up out of the blue with meaningful words or some extravagant gift, selling Brock on a faceless dream.
And each time he would believe his father had changed, that he was actually staying for good.
Except he never did. Aidan always left him.
Maybe that was the reason why Brock left her.
Why he went off to boot camp and ignored all of her letters.
Why he never wrote her back.
By the time he’d finally come back to visit Mystic Cove, she’d already moved to the city with Rodrigo.
Anders shuffled some papers and set his tablet in front of him. Tapping on the screen, he directed his question to Juliette. “What do we need to do to turn the beach house into a wedding venue?”
Finally she could contribute something of worth.
“Well, if we make the kitchen big enough, then a catering staff would be able to have full use of it. Which would make a sustainable profit, considering they could either cook in the kitchen directly and not have to worry about transporting food, or they’d at least have proper storage if they opt not to utilize the kitchen.
Either way, we can have both options written up in a contract.
Eventually, we could maybe support our own kitchen staff. ”
“Whoa.” Brock raised his hands, and while his smile was kind, his eyes looked panicked. “We’re not opening up a business. We’re just laying out the groundwork.”
“Oh, of course.” She wasn’t sure why her mind had jumped so quickly into the chaos of the wedding scene, though it likely had something to do with her mother designing wedding flowers and Adrienne being a photographer.
“I’m just thinking out loud. If we keep it basic on our end, like a rental space, then wedding planners can take care of the more tedious details.
After all, we’re just providing the venue. ”
Juliette examined the layout of the beach house, the placement of rooms and bathrooms. “We can turn the master into a bridal suite. In order to make it more intimate, we can even have the bridal party stay here as well. The upstairs bedrooms can be used for the bride and bridesmaids, while the downstairs can be renovated for the groom and groomsmen.”
“You don’t think that would be an influx of people?” Anders asked.
“I think the key for us in making this work is to make it boutique. We need to offer them something they can’t find anywhere else.” She ran her teeth along her bottom lip. “Small bridal parties with exclusive weddings, but for couples and families who are willing to pay big money.”
“What about wedding guests?” Brock asked, and popped a chip into his mouth.
Juliette already had an answer. “They can either stay in town or make the drive down from Virginia Beach if they don’t book a room early enough.”
“Valid point.” Anders leaned back in his chair and stretched, tucking his hands behind his head.
“I think we’re off to a good start.” Brock closed his iPad and shuffled the papers in front of him. “I’ll take care of the permits and anything else we might need from the county.”
Juliette had her own homework, and she had a feeling it was going to involve jumping through more hoops than anything required of county permits. “I’ll make sure we have a wedding on the books for next June.”
Brock and Anders both shot her a look laced with skepticism.
“Trust me, I know someone.” She would just have to swallow her pride to make it work and ask Anne-Sophie to help her. Hopefully her youngest sister would agree.
She was debating calling her right then, when her phone vibrated on the table. She glanced down at the incoming call and smiled. Gabrielle’s face lit up the screen. “It’s Gabi.”
“Go ahead and take it.” Brock winked, and Juliette’s stomach did a little flip. Completely unnecessary. “We’ll finish up here. Tell Gabi I said hey.”
“Sure.” Not a chance. If Gabrielle found out that Juliette was spending time with Brock, even though it was strictly business related, she would never hear the end of it. Grabbing her phone, she headed toward the front of the house, away from the dining room. “Hello?”
“Hey, Jules.” Concern clouded Gabrielle’s voice. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, of course. I’m fine.” Juliette’s brow furrowed. “Why? Should I not be okay? Did something happen?”
“No, no. Nothing’s wrong. Viv was just telling me that you and Mama got into an argument.” She paused on the other line, muttering something about someone not being able to merge properly. “A new flower bar at the shop?”
Juliette groaned and rolled her eyes to the exposed beam ceiling. “Mama hated the idea.”
“Did she?” Gabrielle asked, that motherly, sage-like voice bleeding into her tone. “Or did she hate that you did it without asking her first?”
The knot of guilt twisting around in Juliette’s chest tightened further. She hated that Gabrielle was probably right. Why was the oldest sibling always right?
“I was only trying to help.” Annoyance flickered through her. The window display had been in desperate need of a facelift, and even though Juliette freshened it up without permission, even if she had asked, she could practically guarantee her mother’s answer would be no.
“I get it,” Gabrielle crooned softly. “And I love that about you. It never fails that you’re always the first to help. But that shop is Mama’s pride and joy.”
Something Juliette knew all too well. So many times she and her sisters had been put on the back burner because of the shop.
No after-school activities because Mama was too busy at the shop.
The last pickings for homecoming and prom corsages because the other clients got the best choices, and her girls shouldn’t outshine them.
No family vacations because they lived in paradise and weddings occupied almost every weekend.
Mama was always busy. Always preoccupied.
Always focused on everything and everyone else, except her children.
“She didn’t have to be so snippy about it,” Juliette muttered, recalling all the other things her mother said, none of which had anything to do with the flower bar.
“Be real, Jules.” Gabrielle’s voice cut through her thoughts and dragged her back to reality. “How do you feel when people help you, or think they are helping you, without asking first?”
“I get agitated,” she admitted. A fault she probably inherited from Gigi.
“Exactly,” Gabrielle laughed. “Give her a few days. I bet she keeps the flower bar.”
“Maybe.”
Juliette glanced down the hall. She could hear Brock and Anders’s laughter, and for a split second, she could picture Brock’s face.
The way the whole of it illuminated when he laughed.
The way tiny lines would crinkle at the corners of his eyes.
The way his broad, wide smile made her feel like it was solely for her.
She shook the crazy thought from her head. “Well, I appreciate the pep talk.”
“Good. But that’s not the reason I called.”