Chapter 12
Brock’s phone buzzed in his back pocket, but he ignored it.
It was probably Anders again, calling to see why he’d kicked Cody off the job.
It wasn’t because he was doing crappy work.
On the contrary, Brock had trained Cody himself, so he knew the kid was fully competent.
But sometimes he just needed to work. He wanted to keep his mind and his hands busy and feel like he was in control.
Brock could control the installation of a claw-foot bathtub.
He could control how much caulk to use, which hardware was put in place, and even the angles were guaranteed thanks to the wonders of mathematics.
All he wanted was something to do with his hands, something to keep his mind off everything Yaya had said about his father and mother.
Unfortunately for Brock, the construction fates had not looked favorably upon his dismissal of Cody.
Already Brock had smashed his finger between the porcelain and the wall, and smacked his head on an open cabinet.
His finger was bruised and throbbing, and it felt like a jackhammer was pulverizing his temples.
A stream of colorful swears escaped his clenched teeth.
If he’d been smart, he would’ve just gone home.
A quick knock sounded against the open bathroom door.
“Don’t bother, Cody.” Brock stood up and scrubbed his hands against his jeans. “I said I’ve got it—” The words died in his throat.
Framed in the doorway, wearing a purple long-sleeve shirt and a pair of jeans that hugged her curves, stood Juliette.
Her dark hair was piled high on top of her head and bound with a black satin ribbon.
Her pale blue eyes looked almost silver in the light, and the traces of a smile pulled at the corner of her lips. In her hands were two beers.
She was like heaven on earth.
“Juliette. Hey.” He stepped toward her and rubbed the back of his neck, like he could erase the embarrassment building there. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. I thought you were someone else.”
Her cool gaze flicked around the bathroom, then landed back on him. “You done?”
He stood back, admiring the job. It was mostly complete. There was some cleaning to do, and some polishing, but for the most part the bathroom was finished. At least the tub was in place.
“I think so.”
“Good.” She handed him a beer. “Come on.”
They went out into the living area in the loft, where she had completely redone the decor.
There were plush teal chairs, a soft geometric black and white rug, and burnished gold beaded pillows.
The sofa was a neutral gray, but there was a patterned, jewel-toned throw slung over the back of it.
Every part of the living space was classy and elegant.
It screamed of exquisite sophistication. And it was entirely Gigi’s style.
Juliette nailed it.
She sat down on the sofa next to him, and he tried to ignore the way the scent of her dragged him back to all those years before, when it was just the two of them.
Sweet vanilla and tempting florals hung in the air, clouding his thoughts with memories of her and all of their firsts.
The first time they held hands. The first time they kissed.
The first time they made out in a darkened movie theater.
And the first time they had sex on the beach.
Hell, all of his firsts were with her.
He took a hasty swig of cold beer and pushed all of it out of his mind.
He couldn’t get caught up in that sort of foolishness again.
It wouldn’t lead anywhere. He was better off alone.
He’d grown used to it over the years, and it suited him fine.
Never having to rely on anyone, never caring about anyone, made it so when they left—as they always did—the pain was far more tolerable.
“You picked out some great finishing touches.” Brock gestured to the black-framed paintings of brightly colored flowers on the wall.
“Thanks.” Juliette gave an insignificant shrug. “It almost felt like I was back in my element.”
“Speaking of elements…” Brock took another drink and hoped he wasn’t crossing an invisible line. “You never did tell me why you quit design.”
“You’re right.” She nodded, taking a sip of her beer. “I didn’t. Miss Bobbie had too much to say.”
He let out a low laugh. “She always does.”
Juliette ran her teeth along her bottom lip, twisting the beer bottle in her hands. “Well, I suppose now is as good of a time as any.”
Brock spread his arms wide. “I’m all yours.”
Her dark brows lifted, and the heat of mortification stained his cheeks. Crap. That was definitely the wrong thing to say.
“I mean, you know.” His gaze zeroed in on the plush carpet beneath his boots, and he downed a few more gulps of beer. The cold, hoppy liquid froze his throat, but he didn’t care. “I’ve got nothing but time.”
“Right.” Juliette tucked her legs under her and got comfortable beside him. Her knee just barely grazed his thigh, and it was almost too much for him.
Her closeness was overwhelming. He couldn’t believe he’d almost forgotten how pretty she was, how often he was struck by her beauty, by her mind, by literally everything about her.
She spoke again, and her words drew him back to the present.
“Let’s see, it was after you went to boot camp.
After Gabi ran off and got married. I figured I wanted more out of life than putting together bouquets of flowers.
I loved color, shape, and texture. I loved mixing textiles and mood. I still do.”
“But?” Brock prodded.
“But Mama hated that I wanted more for myself.” A sliver of pain lanced through Juliette’s voice, and her eyes clouded with distant hurt. “She couldn’t understand why I didn’t love flowers, why the shop couldn’t be my calling, why I wasn’t more like her.”
Brock ran one thumb along the scruff of his jaw, considering her. Juliette was nothing like her mother. She was the absolute polar opposite. Then again, there weren’t many women in the world like Georgina Laurent and for her to press those kinds of expectations on Juliette seemed terribly unfair.
Juliette sipped her beer and stared off across the room, like she was back in a memory, a place where he wasn’t invited.
“So, one day I told Mama how I felt. I told her I wanted to go to school, to enroll in some interior design courses. I’d gone to community college already so I had credits that would transfer. But she didn’t understand.”
There was a shift in her expression, like a mask of sadness covered her face.
Her mouth pulled to one side and when her gaze lifted to his, regret banked deep in the silvery blue of her eyes.
“I told her I didn’t want to be mediocre for the rest of my life.
She told me I’d never amount to anything either way. Then I said I hated her.”
Juliette brought the beer bottle to her lips, but she didn’t drink.
Instead, she sighed, her shoulders rising and falling with despondency.
“At some point, I must have figured she was right. So, I quit design. This is the first time I’ve been back home since I left.
The first time I’ve even spoken to her.”
“Damn, Jules.” He sat back, stunned, and fully aware he called her by her nickname. But she didn’t reprimand him this time, and so he let it go. “I had no idea it was that bad with the two of you.”
Another half-hearted shrug. “It’s fine.”
Except it wasn’t. He could tell by the look on her face that what happened between her and her mother was anything but fine. “Still, it can’t be easy.”
“Of course not. Nothing with Georgina Laurent is ever easy.” She angled her body toward him and smiled brightly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “But that’s enough about my pathetic sob story. What about you?”
Brock didn’t look at her, because he knew she could see right through him. “What about me?”
“Don’t even.” She lifted one slim hand, waving it between them. “I saw how you stormed in here, pissed off at the world.”
He leaned back against the couch and took another drink of beer, brushing off her concern. “I was just agitated.”
“Why?” Juliette pressed, inching closer.
There was something about her. About the way her eyes softened when she looked at him, whether she knew it or not.
In the way she tilted her head when she listened, like she was completely invested in whatever he had to say.
There was a time when he could tell her anything and she would listen.
She knew all of his secrets, and for a long time, he kept all of hers.
He’d lost track of the number of nights they spent together on midnight beaches, gazing up at a sky full of stars, making wishes and sharing dreams. So long ago, she was his everything.
He’d catch the moon and chase the stars for her, if she asked.
He hadn’t felt that way about anyone since…well, since her.
Brock roughed a hand over his face. “I was agitated with my father.”
The admission eased some of the weight crushing his chest.
“What’d he do this time?”
“Same thing as always.” Brock scowled. “Nothing.”
Juliette laughed, full and rich. And his heart stuttered. Stumbled. Because damn, he’d missed that sound.
“It’s actually something Yaya said,” Brock continued before he lost his nerve. “About my mother.”
“Your mother?” Juliette’s smile vanished. Her lashes fluttered back. She knew his mother wasn’t in his life as a child, knew she was even more nonexistent than his father. A tiny frown crinkled across Juliette’s brow. “What about her?”
“That’s what I can’t figure out.” Brock’s knee bounced, an anxious habit, and he finished off his beer. “Yaya told me to ask my dad about her.”
“Then you should ask him. If Yaya thinks the two of you need to have a conversation, then you do. She’s never been wrong.” Juliette settled back against the couch, the corner of her mouth lifting. “Open conversations are important in relationships.”
Brock grinned. “Says the girl in a seven-year-long fight with her mom.”
“Shut up,” she muttered and bumped her shoulder into his. He nudged her back in return.
But the teasing motion put them a little too close.
The space was suddenly a little too intimate.
Her legs were still tucked and her knee was resting on his thigh.
There wasn’t a shred of space between their arms, and he could feel the warmth radiating from her.
When Juliette glanced up at him, he knew she was thinking the same.
It would be too easy to kiss her. To pull her into his lap and see if she’d feel the same, taste the same, as she had all those years ago.
“I need to ask you something.” Her voice sounded uneven. Unsure. A little breathy and it made his cock jump.
Clenching his jaw, Brock gave a slight nod. “What is it?”
“Why did you leave all those years ago?” She lifted one slim hand before he could answer. “And please don’t say the Marine Corps took you away. I knew that was coming when you joined, but I was supposed to go with you.”
Brock said the first thing that came to his mind. “I met someone else.”
The lie gutted him. But the way Juliette looked at him just then, like he ripped out her heart and crushed it with his bare hand, was enough to make him sick.
She shifted. Away from him. “Oh.”
Brock stood abruptly, swallowing down the bitter bile of remorse. “I’d better go. I’m sure Anders is going to give me an earful for kicking Cody off the jobsite today.”
“Yeah.” Juliette set her beer on the end table and pushed up from the couch. Her face was flushed, her eyes were downcast. “Sure.”
She was still too close. The enticing scent of her drew him in, leaving his brain fogged with desire and regret.
She was barely a breath away. So close, yet so far.
Golden light spilled over her through the large windows, dousing half of her in shadows, leaving her raveled in a ribbon of mystery.
Icy eyes. Hair like velvet. Full, rosy lips.
All he had to do was lean in…Brock took a deliberate step back. “See you later, Juliette.”
“Jules,” she corrected quietly, and tucked her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. She looked up at him from under a set of thick lashes. “You can call me Jules.”
He didn’t trust himself to speak. He just nodded and left.
The whole way home, he couldn’t think of anything else. His mind was occupied with Juliette and how dangerously close he’d come to kissing her. How badly he’d wanted to touch her, hold her, make her his all over again.
Brock shoved a hand through his hair and shook his head. He needed to snap out of it. They’d had their chance, and it was gone. In fact, he knew for certain they would never get it back.
This was Juliette Laurent. She wasn’t planning on staying in Mystic Cove, it was stupid to get attached.
To even consider a future. Plus, she was a coworker now, which would only make any sort of relationship, other than a professional one, a thousand times worse.
She would help him with the beach house, and in turn, he would give her a glowing letter of recommendation when she left.
Because eventually she would leave.
She was here for now, but for now wasn’t forever.