Chapter 18
Brock wasn’t expecting Juliette to still be in the guest bedroom when he woke up. But maybe a small, slim part of him had hoped to find her curled under the comforter, sound asleep in the bed, like she belonged there.
Which was why he knew when he saw the bedroom door cracked open, she was already gone.
He peeked into the room to find the bed made, like she’d never been there at all.
Her clothes were still sitting in the dryer, and his were missing.
The image of Juliette creeping out of his house wearing nothing but a thermal and flannel pants made him grin.
There were some things he had to take care of this morning, but once he finished his errands, he had every intention of finding her so they could talk about what happened last night.
If she wanted to act like it was nothing, like it didn’t mean anything, then he would let her.
He knew she had just got out of a relationship.
It was unlikely she’d want to get tangled up in something with him, but he couldn’t get her out of his head.
It was already going to be absolute agony having to face her again, remembering the feel of her soft skin against his calloused palms. Those breathy little moans echoed in his mind, making it impossible to think clearly.
But he would have to maintain a boundary with her. Because once Juliette found out the real reason he left her all those years ago, there would be absolutely no reason for her to stay. She would do just as her mother said. She would leave him. She would break his heart.
Brock showered and dressed, then headed toward Yaya’s house.
He sent a quick text to Anders, checking in on the standing of their current projects.
Gigi’s apartment was complete, and all they had on the current schedule were a few basic renovations, and then their focus could be on getting the beach house ready for weddings.
On the drive to Yaya’s, he couldn’t focus on anything that didn’t involve Juliette.
She was at the forefront of his mind. Last night replayed again and again in his mind like a movie with the controls set in slow motion.
He’d memorized every inch of her. Every curve, every incline of her head, every tilt of her lips.
And those eyes—the pale, silvery blue of them kept him frozen in place like an early winter’s frost.
I waited for you.
Her words echoed in his mind, and anger caused his muscles to bunch and tighten.
His fists closed around the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.
She had waited for him for who knows how long, and he’d left her alone.
He’d abandoned her. He was young and foolish and had absorbed every word Gigi said to him all those years ago.
You’ll end up just like your father, Brockton.
You simply aren’t good enough for Juliette.
His growing frustration only amplified when he realized his father was already at Yaya’s house.
His sleek Mercedes took up most of the driveway, so Brock parked along the side of the road.
The cloud of anger hung around him as he climbed the steps to his grandmother’s house, and his mood darkened when he walked in, looking for a fight.
But when he stepped through the front door, there was no one to be found.
Yaya’s kettle wasn’t on, but her fuzzy pink slippers were gone from beside the floral print couch.
A book was left open on the oak side table, its page marked by a pressed flower bookmark, and stained by a small drop of tea.
He was about to call out to her when voices drifted toward him from down the hall.
He crept toward Yaya’s bedroom, where his father’s low baritone was strangely quieter. Softer. “What do you want me to do, Ma?”
“You and Kelly have to get the beach house situation sorted out, Aidan.” Yaya sounded tired. Her gentle words stretched into a long yawn. “Otherwise the property just goes to the town.”
They must have been discussing her will. It was the only explanation.
Aidan sighed. Heavily. Like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “Ready then?”
Ready for what?
Brock peered into her bedroom, careful to keep himself out of view.
“Okay.” Yaya snuggled down into her bed, and his father laid a lavender quilt with tiny little white roses across her. “I’m ready.”
Aidan smoothed back a few strands of her graying hair, then settled onto the edge of the bed, opening a book with a frayed spine and yellowed pages.
The pictures had long since faded, going from gloriously bright colors to muted pastels over the years.
“This is the story of the dragon and the golden egg. Once upon a time…”
Brock jerked back and silently swore to himself.
His father was reading Yaya a book. But not just any story. It was Brock’s favorite fairy tale from when he was a little boy. He didn’t realize his father could be so caring. He didn’t know the man who never raised him was actually capable of love.
His chest was heavy. His heart ached. Suddenly feeling like the odd man out, Brock left his grandmother’s house as quietly as he had come in, refusing to look back.
Without even thinking about it, he drove straight to Mystic Florals.
To the one person he was sure could help him sort through his tumultuous emotions.
They threatened to break him from the inside out.
Brock grabbed Juliette’s pile of clothing from the passenger seat of his truck and strode into the flower shop.
Vivianne caught his eye and waved. She was Adrienne’s identical twin, the only difference was Adrienne had freckles and Viv did not.
She wore too much makeup for his liking, but she wore it well, and he remembered Juliette saying it took a lot of time, so he certainly couldn’t fault her there.
Her heels were so high, he wasn’t even sure she could walk properly.
But Viv proved him wrong, as she often did, when she came over to greet him.
She flashed a wide smile. “Hey, Brockton, long time no see.”
He was sure he had seen her just the other day, but he shrugged it off and nodded toward the loft. “Is Jules upstairs?”
“I think she’s around here somewhere, but I haven’t seen her in a while.” Vivianne’s gaze dropped to the bundle of clothing in his arms, and one pointed brow lifted. “Do those belong to Juliette?”
“Yeah.” He held them out to her.
Vivianne’s smile was tainted with mischief.
“She got caught in the rain,” Brock said quickly.
“Uh-huh.”
“And she was covered in mud,” he added in a poor attempt to deter her obvious suspicions.
“Oh right.” Her smile widened even more. “She couldn’t get herself cleaned up here?”
“She was locked out.”
“My, my.” Skepticism lined the pretty features of her face. “That’s quite the series of unfortunate events.”
Brock laughed off her insinuations. “See you around, Viv.”
She smirked. “Sure.”
Brock walked out of the flower shop, grateful to have avoided another run-in with Gigi Laurent, but disappointed not to have seen Juliette, when he heard his name being called.
He froze in the parking lot, wishing he had just ignored the voice and left.
Instead, he turned around and saw Evelyn, the barista from Latte & Bean, rushing toward him.
Her jet-black hair blew behind her in the cold breeze, and her bronze cheeks were flushed to a shade of deep berry from the wind.
“Brock.” She was breathless, like she’d run the length of Shoreline Drive just to catch up with him. She linked one gloved hand with his own while the other clutched his forearm like a lifeline. “I was hoping I’d catch up with you today. I was wondering when I was going to see you again.”
He was literally at the coffee shop with Juliette a few days ago.
“I’ve had a lot of projects keeping me busy recently.” Among other things. He attempted to unravel himself from her hold, but her clutch on his bicep only strengthened. “You know, work.”
“Oh, sure. Of course.” She glanced up at him, fluttering her false lashes. Her painted lips stretched into a sugary smile. “But I thought maybe we could see each other sometime.”
“You mean, like when I come in for coffee?”
“No, silly.” She playfully swatted at his arm, but a flush was creeping up her neck, and her dark eyes flashed briefly with panic. “Like on a date. As a couple.”
“Look, Evelyn…”
He was going to tell her he wasn’t interested, that work was taking up too much of his time, and that there was someone else in the picture. A half-truth, but it wasn’t entirely false either. The words died on his tongue as Juliette walked out of Mystic Florals with Adrienne right beside her.
Humiliation burned through him.
This would not look good.
“Oh good, you’re still here.” Juliette’s smile faltered for a faint second when her gaze landed on the dark-haired female wrapped around him like a vine.
“Oh, hi. I’m Evelyn.” As though she sensed prey, Evelyn went in for the kill. She tightened her possessive hold until her grip was ironclad. “Brock’s girlfriend.”
“Not my girlfriend.” He removed her claw-like hands from his bicep, slowly unraveling himself from her hold.
“Look, Evelyn. You seem like a really great girl, and I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that I wanted more.
The truth of it is, I don’t. We just have some nice conversations when I stop in for a cup of coffee. Nothing else.”
Evelyn’s face crumpled. Her large brown eyes blinked up at him with unshed tears, and her bottom lip quivered. Guilt seeped into him, but he was quick to disregard it.
“Brock, I…” A single theatrical tear slid down her cheek. “I thought…”
“Nothing, Evelyn.” He filled in the empty spaces for her. “There’s nothing there. We’re just friends.”