Chapter 21
Juliette was grateful Erin picked her up from the hospital.
It felt wrong being there with Brock, in the middle of his private trauma, which was why she’d texted Aidan.
She didn’t want Brock to be alone, but no matter how painful their dynamic, Aidan was his father.
And she was…well, she wasn’t really anything.
Just a friend who possibly wanted more, but who also happened to be in the right place at the right time.
It had broken her to hear the doctor tell them Yaya had passed, but other than a customary hug and kiss, she wasn’t sure what else she could offer Brock in his time of need except for space.
He would have to make arrangements, speak to his father, let extended family know what happened, and she didn’t think he’d want her hanging around for it.
She wouldn’t know what to say or do, or how to make him feel better.
But she could help Anders run the business and keep projects moving.
She could help make life a little bit easier for Brock by giving him one less thing to worry about.
Death was a strange thing for her, mostly due to the fact that when her father died, she hadn’t handled it well.
She didn’t cry. She was on an emotional roller coaster, but the pain, the loss of him, filled her with a void.
She didn’t know how she was supposed to feel.
All she knew was one minute she had a father, and in the next he was gone.
Juliette knew she loved him. How could she not?
He doted on his daughters and bought them everything under the sun.
He adored their mother. His smile was contagious and his laughter was loud and boisterous.
He drew the attention of everyone in the crowd, making it so that everyone wanted to be around him, to be a part of his energy.
But she found it more and more difficult to remember him as the years went past. Once the image of him, of his handsome face, was crystal clear in her mind.
She had his eyes, after all. So pale blue, they looked almost silver.
Yet now he was blurry. The edges of her memories of him had faded over time, and she could no longer pinpoint the exact sound of his voice or the shape of his jaw.
“If you need anything, let me know.” Erin’s voice drew her from the cacophony of her thoughts. “Anything at all, I’m happy to help Brock and his family."
“Thanks, Erin.” Juliette reached out and gave her friend’s hand a squeeze. “I appreciate it.”
With a cloud of disappointment hovering above her, she climbed out of Erin’s car and walked into Mystic Florals.
Adrienne was immediately by her side. “Oh, Jules.” She looked her up and down, noting the large sweatshirt and too-loose pajama pants, but said nothing. “We’ve been so worried about you.”
Juliette blinked. “What for? I’m fine.”
A few customers eyed her speculatively. She did look as though she’d just rolled out of bed. There’d been no time for proper clothing when Brock received the call from the hospital. Perhaps she ought to change into something more appropriate for the flower shop.
Vivianne appeared from the back of the shop and rushed toward her. “We’ve been trying to get a hold of you for hours!”
“What?” Juliette dug through her purse and pulled out her phone. She had fourteen missed calls, twenty-eight text messages, and four voicemails. One from each of her sisters. “I’m so sorry. I forgot I put my phone on silent last night when we went to the Ugly Crab.”
“Speaking of.” Adrienne pulled her aside and dropped her voice so the browsing customers wouldn’t overhear their conversation. “We want details on that, but first, are you sure you’re okay?”
“You know…” Vivianne’s voice lowered to what could only be described as an obnoxiously loud whisper. But at least she leaned in close. “Because of the whole Rodrigo marrying someone else thing.”
Adrienne cut her a menacing look.
Oh, right. Rodrigo was marrying Charity Rhodes.
She’d almost forgotten. Brock and Yaya were more important.
Maybe it was a sign she was further over their breakup than she thought.
She’d been rightfully upset last night but after spending the evening with Brock, she hadn’t thought of Rodrigo again. And it felt nice.
“I’m fine, I promise.” She meant it, could feel the words she spoke pushing out her own troubles until they were nothing more than glimpses of another time. “But I have awful news.”
“What is it?” the twins asked in unison.
“It’s Yaya, Brock’s grandmother.” Juliette glanced up at the sound of clicking heels. Gigi was walking past at her usual brisk pace, but she slowed at the mention of Yaya’s name. “She passed away this morning."
In an instant, a flurry of arms came around her and all the questions she couldn’t answer were asked.
“Poor Brock. How’s he doing?”
“How terrible! Was it unexpected?”
“Is there anything we can do?”
“Girls, come with me.” Gigi’s voice was the calm amidst the chaos.
She steered her three daughters away from the entrance and toward the worktables in the back of the shop.
“Maureen was a wonderful woman. Exceptional. We should make a sympathy arrangement for Brockton to send our condolences. Juliette can deliver it.”
“I should probably change first,” Juliette admitted.
Gigi gave her a quick once-over and her brows furrowed. “Indeed. Be quick and then come join us back downstairs. We’ll use only the best flowers for Maureen.”
Juliette darted upstairs to the apartment and switched into her own clothing.
She laid Brock’s sweatshirt and pajama pants aside while replays of last night filtered through her mind.
The way his hands coasted and cruised over her skin, his kisses still thrilling her the way they had all those years ago.
There was definitely something between them, a rekindled spark from their past. All the attraction and all the chemistry, it was as though it never faded away.
Still there. Lingering. Waiting to be rediscovered.
Which was unfortunate because Juliette felt distinctly ripped in half.
Part of her wanted to stay in Mystic Cove and give herself a fresh start.
She had a good thing here. A job. A place to live.
And she was finally on good terms with all of her sisters again.
Granted, her mother was still a work in progress, but there was time for that.
But that was her heart talking, her head claimed it made more sense to leave.
If she put some distance between herself and the life she always knew, she’d be giving herself the chance to find something just for her.
Leaving meant she wouldn’t have to deal with her mother every day, leaving meant forging her own path.
A few weeks ago, she knew exactly what she wanted, but now the choice wasn’t so obvious anymore.
Juliette shook her head, clearing her mind. She would have to figure all of it out later because her mother and sisters were waiting for her downstairs.
She pulled on some jeans and a pair of boots, then tugged a purple sweater over her head. After brushing her teeth as fast as possible, she headed to the back of the shop.
Gigi was already laying out some of her finest, most prized flowers along the worktable.
There were dozens of pure white roses, dahlias in a beautiful shade of blush, fully bloomed peonies, sprigs of lavender, and sprays of eucalyptus.
Lilies were laid out individually due to their size, and Gigi even brought out one of her most treasured orchids.
They set to work cutting stems and arranging the blooms. Adrienne measured and cut yards of white satin ribbon, then shaped them into beautiful bows.
Juliette and Gigi layered the flowers until every blossom seemed to overflow into the next.
Together they worked in blissful, harmonious silence, already knowing what the other was thinking and imagining before it was done.
“You’ve always been exceptional at design,” Mama murmured.
The compliment was not wasted on Juliette, but it felt too much like bait.
She was good at design, yes. Maybe even in her wildest dreams, she’d be brave enough to call herself exceptional.
But Gigi’s motives were meant to coerce, to remind, to cause guilt.
Juliette loved interior design, not floral design.
And no matter how many times it was brought up or cautiously ignored, Gigi was still furious she hadn’t wanted any part of the flower business.
She knew it pained her mother with frustration as well as disappointment. But it was Gigi’s dream, not her own.
She was saved from having to deliver a response when Anne-Sophie burst through the front door of the shop, causing the bell to clang obnoxiously.
“What’s all this?” Gigi asked as Anne-Sophie rushed toward them, her cheeks pink from the cold, her chest heaving.
“Charity Rhodes is marrying Rodrigo.” Anne-Sophie stole a panicked, apologetic glance at Juliette.
“It’s okay.” Juliette glanced down at the bundle of white roses in her hands, at the tiny cuts on her thumbs. “I found out last night.”
Gigi huffed. “He is of no more concern to Juliette. Why should she care if he is marrying another woman?”
Anne-Sophie tucked her hands into the pockets of her puffy coat. “Um, because he’s coming here. With her.”
Juliette bit down on her bottom lip. She’d forgotten about that part.
“Why is Rodrigo coming here?” Gigi’s sharp gaze narrowed in on her daughters.
“To check out Brock’s beach house,” Anne-Sophie offered. “As a wedding venue?”
Gigi blinked. Slowly.
Maybe it would have been best if Juliette had told her mother about the plans for the beach house sooner. Well, better late than never.