Chapter 13
Saturdays were for weddings.
Juliette stood in the kitchen of the apartment with a freshly brewed cup of coffee while the earliest rays of dawn peeked in through the windows and stretched across the hardwood floors.
The sky was still muted shades of lavender and blue, not yet awake, but downstairs her mother’s heels clicked noisily across every surface of the shop.
The woman had already been up for hours.
Juliette let the first sip of hot coffee soothe her soul when her mother’s stilettos clacked up the staircase.
She appeared on the landing to the apartment a moment later.
Her hair was pulled back into another perfectly smooth chignon, and she wore her famed delivery attire—a black pencil skirt with a pale blue satin blouse and a strand of sparkling black pearls.
She was always completely put together, no matter the occasion, and Juliette winced.
Perhaps one day she’d feel the need to dress desirably again.
Until then, her leggings, black boots, and burgundy sweatshirt would have to work.
Her mother stalked into the kitchen, waving her hands aimlessly, and muttering to herself in French. Juliette caught a few phrases. Something about wilted roses, a disgruntled bride, and a flower crown for a cat.
She took another drink of coffee to hide her smile.
Gigi helped herself to a large mug of coffee, then yanked open a set of cabinets. She grabbed a bottle of whiskey and poured a four-fingered shot. Maybe more.
Juliette snorted.
Her mother’s head snapped up and her steely, sharp gaze focused on her daughter, as though she suddenly realized Juliette was standing there. She blinked.
“Bonjour, Juliette.” Mama’s accent was stronger when she was irritated. And she was definitely irked at someone or something.
Juliette nodded in kind. “Bonjour, Mama.”
Gigi closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and rolled her shoulders back. When she opened her eyes, she took her sauced cup of coffee downstairs and didn’t look back.
Her mother was definitely in a foul mood, so Juliette opted to stay upstairs in the apartment, and out of her mother’s way.
She focused on sketching out some new designs for the beach house and working on color boards for the spare bedrooms where the wedding parties would stay.
Multiple times she considered texting Brock to get his opinion on one of her ideas, but it was still early, so she thought better of it. Especially after last night.
She’d gotten a little too comfortable with him.
It had been far too easy to fall back into her old habits.
Sure, they’d been high school sweethearts, and really, they were most likely too young to even know the meaning of love, but something about him always pulled her back in. After all, they’d grown up together.
When she fell off her bicycle and busted up her knee, Brock had been the one to carry her all the way home.
She went to all of his baseball games and just sat with him in silence when he broke his arm and couldn’t play in the championship series.
He asked her to the eighth-grade formal.
She let him sleep in her bed, on top of the covers, when he snuck over one night upset about his father leaving…
again. Brock knew almost everything about her, save for these last thirteen years. He was a piece of her. He was home.
And home was somewhere she couldn’t stay.
Her phone buzzed with a text from Anders, letting her know Brock was out at the beach house starting solo on some of the updates.
Good.
Distance was good.
It was better to keep as much space as possible between them.
Besides, she hadn’t been enough for him when he left for boot camp.
She hadn’t been enough to make him come back home.
She certainly wouldn’t be enough now. She didn’t have her life in order like Gabrielle.
She wasn’t Insta-worthy like Vivianne. She didn’t tell stories through photography like Adrienne.
And she definitely wasn’t as fashionable as Anne-Sophie.
Silence had blissfully fallen on the shop below, and Juliette cautiously ventured downstairs.
Vivianne lounged against the front counter and inspected her nails.
They were painted a violet glitter this time.
Her dark brown curls framed her face, and her makeup was flawless.
She resembled a goddess fallen from the heavens, dusted in shades of gold and pink.
Geometric shapes dangled from her ears, and she wore at least three necklaces.
Her white sweater was knotted in the back, and her black jeans were embroidered with stars.
She perked up when Juliette approached. “Morning, Jules.”
“Hey, Viv.” Juliette glanced around the shop, ensuring her safety. “Is the coast clear?”
Vivianne smiled broadly. “Yeah, Mama left a bit ago to set up the flowers for some wedding in Virginia Beach. Can you believe this bride wanted a flower crown for her cat so it could walk down the aisle with her? Then she had the nerve to get mad when her cat literally made itself a bed out of the roses.”
Juliette couldn’t help but grin. There were bridezillas, and then there were the crazy ones. “Where’s Adrienne?”
Vivianne mimicked clicking a camera. “She’s the photographer today.”
“Oh, I bet that’ll be fun.”
“She’s got a whole thirty minutes devoted to the cat.”
“Stop.” Juliette gaped at her sister. “She does not.”
Vivianne tossed her head back and laughed. “Oh, she does. I saw the time slot in her calendar.”
“I can’t wait to hear that story.”
“You and me both.”
Glancing up at the large wrought iron clock on the wall, Juliette checked the time. “Do you have to stay here the rest of the day?”
“Sadly, yes.” She nodded toward the street. “But you should go check out some of the shops. The wind isn’t too bad this morning, and we’ve had a lot of new places open up since you left.”
“Might as well.” It wouldn’t hurt to take a small break from work, plus, if it meant keeping her mind off things that couldn’t be and never were, then she was all for it.
Thirty minutes later, Juliette had bundled up in a peacoat, tugged a beanie over her head, and was wandering down Shoreline Drive.
Vivianne was right. The wind wasn’t too brutal, but it was still frigid outside.
She didn’t mind it too much, though. She’d missed the quiet calm of the beach, the luring call of the ocean.
In the city there was always some smell, some dankness to life.
There was noise and chaos, the constant movement of people and the need to always be in a hurry.
To always rush off to some store or some party or some event.
It was exhausting to the body and mind. But here, there was serenity.
The crashing of waves was a balm to her senses, and the ever-present kiss of sea spray clung to the air the same way a certain smell could unlock memories of the past.
Lost in her thoughts, Juliette paused in front of a window display. Something about it caught her eye. Double palm trees were carved into the wooden and weathered sign. It hung from a bright blue awning, and the faded paint on the letters read Lovely Mud.
Instantly curious, Juliette walked in. The smell of fresh clay permeated the air, and there were shelves lined with gorgeously handcrafted pieces of pottery art.
There were vases and bowls, many of which had been painted to resemble the colors of the sea, and some were nearly as tall as her.
An entire bookshelf was filled with mugs.
Designs had been etched into quite a few of them, and others were glazed with metallics.
Plates hung on the wall, and a glass display case held clay pieces of jewelry embedded with gems of turquoise, quartz, and jade.
She wanted every single piece of it.
A well-loved pottery wheel was on the far side of the connecting room, placed smartly in front of another window.
An artist at work was bound to draw in customers.
She was about to call out to see if anyone was in the store when a woman appeared from one of the back rooms. Her smile was wide and welcoming, and her eyes were bright.
Clay splattered her khaki pants. Her button-down blouse was rolled to her elbows, and stacks of bracelets clinked together on both her wrists.
It was as though the woman had walked out of one of her memories. “Erin?”
“Hey, Jules.” Erin Branhill pushed back a few loose pieces of hair from her ponytail, and her grin widened even further. “I was wondering when I’d get to see you.”
“I didn’t know you were back in Mystic Cove.” Juliette rushed forward and threw her arms around her former best friend. “I thought you went to study art in New York?”
“I did.” They released each other and Erin gave a shrug, almost like the weight of the world had fallen onto her shoulders. “My dad got sick, so I came back to help my mom.”
The unknown hung between them, and Erin saved Juliette from having to ask. “He passed away about two years ago.”
Regret suffocated Juliette. If she’d been here, she would’ve known.
If she’d stayed in Mystic Cove, she wouldn’t have fallen out of touch with Erin.
She would have been there when her friend needed her the most. But she’d cut everyone out of her life when she left.
She’d burned every bridge, even those who tried to meet her halfway, all because she thought she was doing better for herself.
She’d been so inconsiderate. So selfish. And she’d missed so much.
“I’m so sorry, Erin. I had no idea.” Distance seemed like the best option back then. Distance between her past and her future. Now she wasn’t so sure.
“It’s okay. Time has slowly healed that wound, but it helps to keep my hands busy.” She spread her arms wide and encircled the pottery shop.
Juliette glanced around the space in awe once more. “This is your place?”