Chapter 17
Juliette didn’t wait for the sun to rise.
She was awake well before the gold of the morning illuminated Brock’s guest room.
Her mind had been reeling all night, leaving her in a constant state of half-consciousness.
Borderline delirious, if she was being honest. Her body still tingled in all the places he’d touched.
She replayed last night in her mind, over and over, remembering the feel of his lips, the taste of his tongue, the absolute expertise of his experienced fingers.
She rubbed her finger over her lips, remembering all the places the tip of his tongue had traced.
Mouth. Neck. Shoulder. Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing, and even now heat pooled between her thighs again just thinking about it.
Sure, letting him give her an orgasm while she was seated on his lap was definitely a mistake. But at least they both agreed to it.
Besides, they were both adults. There was no need for it to be awkward between them this morning.
Except Juliette knew she wanted more of him. And she knew if she asked, he would give it to her willingly. All the more reason she had to leave his house now, before he woke up.
Because there was no way she could face him.
No way she would be able to lie to him if he asked her to stay.
Not after what they shared, not when she knew she wasn’t ready for anything serious.
Their little interlude had been a momentary lapse in judgement—she was upset and tired, and in the mood for a distraction.
And Brockton Gallagher was a damn good distraction.
Frantic, she scrambled out of the bed.
She still wore his pajamas from the night before, and while she could probably scavenge her own clothing, the laundry room was right down the hall from the master bedroom.
A risk she definitely wasn’t willing to take.
Instead, she grabbed a blanket off the back of the sofa, silently promising to return it to him as soon as she recovered from her brief spell of mortification, and texted the only person she knew who wouldn’t ask any questions.
Twenty minutes later, standing at the end of Brock’s driveway and trying not to freeze to death, a pair of headlights pulled up to the house, and a sporty red BMW rolled to a stop.
Anne-Sophie had arrived.
Juliette jumped in the car without looking back, barely waiting for Anne-Sophie to put the car in park.
Without saying anything, her baby sister handed her a Michael Kors backpack.
Tucked neatly inside were a pair of black jeans, a bronze turtleneck with shimmery thread, and a cream-colored beanie to hide her frizzy, messy hair.
Anne-Sophie shifted into drive and circled the cul-de-sac. “Check the outer pocket.”
Juliette unzipped it to discover a pack of cleansing cloths, some mouthwash, and a neutral pink lip gloss.
“You’re the best.” Juliette breathed a sigh of relief. “How did you pack all of this so quickly?”
“I didn’t.” Anne-Sophie winked. “I’m always prepared. I keep a spare set of everything in the car, just in case.”
She stole a glance at Juliette as they headed toward Shoreline Drive. “Coffee and breakfast?”
“Yes, please.”
Juliette changed quickly in her sister’s car, cramming Brock’s thermal shirt and ill-fitting sweatpants into the backpack.
She ran her fingers through her rumpled hair, smoothing the tangles, then pulled the beanie over her head.
She freshened up and dabbed on some of the lip gloss, painfully aware she looked as though she’d just completed a walk of shame.
“Good enough,” Anne-Sophie said with a knowing smile. “Boots are in the backseat.”
Juliette reached back and discovered a pair of gorgeous Cole Haan black leather booties with silver studs.
How in the hell was Anne-Sophie able to afford all of this?
Granted, Juliette had been out of the loop for a while, but certainly Adrienne or Vivianne would’ve mentioned if Anne-Sophie was working some high-end job.
Whatever it was though, it was good enough to outfit her in designer everything.
Juliette grabbed the boots, eyeing her sister with one arched brow.
Anne-Sophie smirked. “You don’t ask questions, and neither do I.”
Fair enough.
Morning Glory Cafe was the only breakfast spot open before seven.
The coffee was mediocre but the food was some of the best around.
One time, when she was younger, Juliette wanted a donut stuffed with buttercream and covered with chocolate frosting on top.
They were fresh out of her favorite and offered to fill a long john full of buttercream for her instead.
The donut was so heavy and so full of vanilla frosting it sagged in the middle.
Juliette had never been happier, or survived such a sugar high.
Now, however, she preferred to order a flight of mimosas.
The cafe was quaint and cozy, with just enough seating and a comfortable atmosphere to make anyone feel at home. Mellow music floated from the speakers, the furnishings were rustic and made to look worn, and there was an entire mural of morning glory flowers painted on the far wall.
“If anything could make me stay in Mystic Cove, it’s definitely these cinnamon churro pancakes.” Juliette shoved a forkful into her mouth.
Anne-Sophie arched a polished brow and said nothing as she sipped her coffee, which was heavy on the sugar but light on the cream.
Juliette suddenly felt the need to defend herself. “Nothing happened.”
It was a blatant lie and her sister saw right through it. Anne-Sophie spread a spoonful of cream cheese on her everything bagel, then hummed to herself. “I’m not so sure I believe you, Jules. You’ve got that whole…je ne sais quoi thing going on."
Juliette blinked. “The what?”
“You know.” Anne-Sophie pointed at her with the butter knife, moving it in a small circle. The corner of her mouth twitched into a nefarious smirk. “The post-sex glow.”
“Sophie!” Juliette squeaked her sister’s name and cast a hasty glance over both shoulders to make sure no one else overheard their conversation.
Anne-Sophie flitted her fingers in the same dismissive way as Mama. “Don’t be such a prude.”
“I’m not,” Juliette objected. She dropped her voice though, just in case. “But I don’t want Miss Bobbie spreading any rumors, either.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Anne-Sophie muttered with a wink. “So, tell me about the beach house.”
Juliette wasted no time. She started at the beginning and told Anne-Sophie all about how Aidan Gallagher wanted to tear the place down in favor of chain hotels and a strand of condominiums. She discussed the layout of the beach house, their plans to morph it into a boutique, high-end wedding venue.
The renovations were coming along and would hopefully be finished before the end of spring.
The decor had already been ordered, and they’d even made plans to pave the driveway, giving guests easier access to both the venue and the beach, while offering a more polished look. It was going to be fantastic.
They were going to save Brock’s family beach house. All they needed was to lock in an influential wedding to launch their marketing campaign, and someone to run it on the inside.
“You know, you’d be really awesome at this sort of thing.” Juliette eyed her sister over the rim of her coffee cup.
“What, like a wedding planner?”
“Absolutely.”
“I don’t think so.” Anne-Sophie laughed and shook her head. She stared at the half-eaten bagel on her plate.
“What do you think about helping me get the first wedding in the books?” Juliette asked, hoping she wasn’t being overly rash. She had only just reconciled with her sister, and already she was asking for another favor. Picking her up early from Brock’s to avoid a walk of shame was number one.
Anne-Sophie tilted her head, intrigued. She ran the tips of her fingers along the simple gold chain hanging from her neck. “Who’d you have in mind?”
“Charity Rhodes.”
“I mean, I do have an in with her,” Anne-Sophie considered her words. “But I’m not her best friend.”
“You don’t have to be,” Juliette put in quickly.
“She’s got money. She’s got influence. She’s the perfect bride.
And you said so yourself, her wedding is supposed to be the event of the season.
With Mama doing the flowers and Adrienne as the photographer, it would only make sense for her to have her wedding here. She just needs some convincing.”
“All valid points,” Anne-Sophie mused.
Juliette finished off the rest of her churro pancakes. The sweet cinnamon sugar melted across her tongue, leaving her fully satisfied. Another tiny white lie she told herself. Brock took the cake on that one. “Who is Charity marrying, anyway?”
“Some rich boy from the city.” Anne-Sophie shrugged and cut off another chunk of her bagel. “They’ve known each other since they were kids, but I haven’t actually caught his name.”
Juliette frowned. “Weren’t you there when she announced her engagement?”
“Yes. But I didn’t say I was paying attention.” A rosy shade of pink crept into Anne-Sophie’s cheeks. “Besides, she was mostly just showing off her ring. I’m sure we could Google him if we really need to find out.”
“Of course.”
Just then, Erin walked in. Juliette would’ve known it was her by the tinkling sound of the bracelets stacked along her wrists. Today she was in black leggings with a jade sweater, and for once there was no splattering of clay marring her fabulous wardrobe choices.
She glanced over at them and waved. “It’s nice to see you two aren’t killing each other.”
Juliette winced. “I am so sorry about last night.”
“Me too,” Anne-Sophie chimed, ducking her head. For a moment, it reminded Juliette of when they were younger, when she would always try to cover for her baby sister so Sophie never got in trouble.
“It’s totally fine. You might be surprised to hear this, but it’s not the first time a clay fight has broken out at my shop.” She flashed another of her blinding smiles. “The last one involved two elderly ladies. And let’s just say the clay was already dry.”
“Oh no!” Anne-Sophie gasped. “There must have been shattered bowls and vases everywhere.”
Erin winked, and her blue eyes lit with mischief. “There’s a reason I uphold a very firm ‘you break it, you buy it’ policy.”
“Oh!” Juliette dug through the contents of her bag and pulled out her phone. “I wanted to show you. I drew up some ideas for the commissions we discussed. Would it be okay if I texted them to you? At least until we grab that coffee?”
“Absolutely.” Erin smiled easily. “I’d love to check them out.”
“Great, I’ll send them now.”
“Sounds good.” She nodded toward the counter for to-go orders. “I’ve got to pick up my breakfast. I’ll see the two of you later.”
Erin waved and as soon as she was out of earshot, Anne-Sophie leaned across the table.
“So,” she drawled. “You’re really serious about this wedding venue business?”
“Yes.” Juliette nodded. “Definitely.”
“Alright, then I’ll see what I can do to make sure Charity books her wedding with us.” Anne-Sophie smoothed her golden waves back from her face. “I suppose there’s only one question left.”
“What’s that?”
“Are you going to leave?” She inclined her head. “Or stay?”
And that really was the question, wasn’t it?
Originally when she left Rodrigo in D.C.
, she’d come back to Mystic Cove as a last resort.
Because she had nowhere else to go. But over the past couple of days, she hadn’t felt so strongly about leaving.
Things had changed. She wasn’t counting down the days until she could finally escape again, instead she was looking forward to each new one because she was finally doing what she always wanted.
Of course, it helped tremendously that she actually enjoyed working with Brock. She loved designing and sketching room layouts, making colorways, and choosing decor. Plus, she’d reconnected with her sisters. The only issue remaining was what had been left unsaid between herself and her mother.
Oh. And whatever was going on with Brockton.
She told herself it was nothing. Just a lapse in judgment. A mistake. One she might accidentally make again.
“Jules?” Anne-Sophie’s voice drew her from her thoughts. “Are you going to stay?”
Juliette ran her teeth along her bottom lip. “Well, you left.”
“True, but I come back to visit.” She tapped her manicured nails along the side of her coffee cup. “Often.”
“I…” She couldn’t lie. But she didn’t have an answer. “I don’t know yet.”
“Okay. Well, that’s better than nothing.” Anne-Sophie nodded and pulled her designer wallet from her overly expensive purse. “Just promise me if you leave, it won’t be like last time.”
“I promise.” At least this was one Juliette could keep.
At some point, she would be forced to have a conversation with her mother.
To be honest, she’d been dreading it, even though she knew the time was creeping up on her.
Their relationship was a conundrum of expectations and hurt feelings.
Gigi preferred full control of situations.
She was analytical, precise, and knew exactly how to get her way without any objections.
Men feared her, women respected her. She was ruthless when it came to demanding respect, and her gaze could slice a person’s ego in half.
Her demeanor was cutthroat, and her praise, if warranted, was minuscule at best.
Despite that, Juliette still thought approaching her mother might be easier than having to face Brock again.
Brock, who knew her better than anyone. Brock, who went off to boot camp and never spoke to her again.
Brock, whose touches and kisses made her feel like home.
It was almost as though no time had passed at all, except that he’d become increasingly talented—if his fingers were that impressive, she could only imagine how good his tongue would feel.
And she wanted it. She wanted to find out, she wanted to share that side of herself again.
Hell, she wanted him. She wondered what he looked like beneath those rough jeans and layers of flannel and Henleys.
Probably all hard, solid muscle. Maybe a few battle scars.
Trying to balance her delicate relationship with Gigi and her increasingly unexpected feelings for Brock was like walking along a tightrope.
One slip, one accident, one mistake, and she’d fall.
Sure, Juliette would have to mend things with her mother, and she would…
eventually. But in the meantime, she was going to have to figure out a way to keep things as professional as possible with Brock, something that was going to be increasingly difficult since she couldn’t stop imagining the feel of his fingers between her thighs.