Chapter 24
The morning service for Yaya was small and intimate, exactly as she would have wanted it. The skies stayed clear for her, brilliant blue and cloudless, and though it looked decently warm outside, there was a definite chill in the air.
Once the evening rolled around, Brock headed to the beach with Aidan, and as more stars came out, more people from Mystic Cove arrived for the bonfire.
The blaze of orange crackled and shot sparks into the sky, and all around him, people he’d known since he was a boy arrived to celebrate the beauty of his grandmother’s life.
There were picnic baskets situated on plaid blankets with full spreads of hot sandwiches, containers of steaming soup, and dishes of fruit.
Even Miss Bobbie showed up with a table where she had thermoses filled with hot chocolate and bowls of mini marshmallows.
For Brock, the painful loss of Yaya was fresh, and the ache hadn’t quite gone away.
He knew he should be grieving her, but once the fire was lit, a different kind of warmth filled him.
And it was Juliette who captivated his attention.
Throughout the celebration of Yaya’s life, his gaze was constantly drawn to her.
He liked to think his grandmother would’ve approved of him finally making a move.
He wanted nothing more than to take Juliette into his arms and kiss her until there was no one else, until only the two of them were left, until only the two of them mattered.
Today was about the memory of his grandmother, not about thinking like a teenage boy again, yet nothing could change his constant awareness of Juliette’s presence.
She wore skinny black jeans with boots that came up over her knees.
A puffy coat wrapped around her, keeping her curves disguised beneath layers of warmth.
Her makeup was light. Her lips were a deep plum and she wore her hair down.
All he could think about was running his hands through it the moment they were alone. Which, unfortunately, never happened.
Brock was constantly surrounded by people, and even when Juliette and her family approached him, their interaction was fleeting. Which was fine, because he wasn’t the best at handling condolences.
For a split second, when he had a moment alone, he considered snatching Juliette by the hand and running off with her toward one of the sand dunes as they’d done so often as kids.
Beyond the rise of sand, they would be out of sight from any onlookers, and he could steal a few kisses before returning to the bonfire.
But just as he started to take the first few steps over to her, Miss Bobbie stepped directly into his path. She leaned in conspiratorially, her gaze shrewd, her face a deep raspberry shade from the cold. She sniffed once. “I saw Juliette earlier today.”
“That’s actually who I’m on my way to speak with now.” Brock tried to sidestep the kindhearted busybody. “If you’d excuse—”
“She seemed rather preoccupied.” Miss Bobbie’s white eyebrows rose with suspicion.
“I’m sure she’s busy. She had a meeting with—”
“Of course, it’s not my place to say, but if you ask me, she was looking awfully cozy with another man.”
That stopped him, gut-checking him to his core.
He glanced past Miss Bobbie to where Juliette stood on the opposite side of the bonfire, her face wide with a killer smile and her eyes bright. Firelight danced off her features, casting half of her in an ethereal glow and the rest in mysterious shadows.
There was no way Miss Bobbie’s information was correct.
“I’m sure it was nothing. Juliette knows plenty of people, and she’s only recently come back to town.” He attempted to slide past her. “She was probably just catching up with an old friend.”
“You were an old friend once too,” she huffed, then buried herself deeper into her peacock blue coat. “But all of that is beside the point. Seeing how you don’t seem to care about another man kissing her.”
He balked and stepped back.
“Maureen was the loveliest of people.” Miss Bobbie rerouted the conversation in record time, not even giving him a chance to process what she had just said.
She pushed her purple glasses back into her fluff of white hair, then wiped her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief.
She pulled Brock in for a bear hug, her grip incredibly strong for a woman of a certain age, and he held his breath against her onslaught of powdery perfume. “We’ll all miss her terribly.”
Miss Bobbie released him, and he tried not to cough.
“Thank you, Bobbie Jean.” Aidan stepped up to Brock’s side and clapped him soundly on the back. “We appreciate your thoughtful words.”
She readjusted her glasses, perched them on her nose, and smoothed her coiffed hair. If Brock wasn’t mistaken, her cheeks had turned a peculiar shade of pink.
“Well.” She sighed dramatically and eyed Aidan like he was a piece of candy. “I’m just speaking from the heart.”
Brock silently groaned. Miss Bobbie was actually flirting with his father.
“If you’d excuse us, Bobbie Jean.” Aidan steered Brock away from the overly sympathetic woman. “Brockton and I have some personal matters to discuss.”
“Oh, of course.” She planted one hand on her chest. “I wouldn’t dream of overstaying my welcome.”
Yeah, right.
Brock ducked his head to hide his smile. Only Miss Bobbie would act as though she’d been invited out to a party and not to a funeral. But her words echoed loudly in his mind, so loudly they drowned out his own thoughts.
Seeing how you don’t seem to care about another man kissing her.
She could only mean one thing, and it wasn’t like Miss Bobbie to insinuate or spread rumors without probable cause, at least not without having a general knowledge of the absolute truth. All of which caused his mind to spin with damning possibilities.
When she toddled away through the sand, Aidan turned to him. “I thought maybe now would be a good time to discuss Yaya’s will.”
Brock cast one long, regretful look at Juliette.
Adrienne and Vivianne surrounded her, all three of them flashing lit-from-within smiles.
He would have to find time to talk to her later.
Maybe hedge the conversation about her kissing another guy, because that was definitely uncharted territory between them.
“Brock?” His father’s concerned voice splintered through his head.
“Right. The will,” Brock repeated. “You mean the beach house?”
It was really the only thing left to discuss. Her money had been divided evenly between the two of them. And her actual home had been left in Aidan’s care. The only possession of worth remaining was the beach house and its surrounding property.
Aidan nodded and pulled his coat tighter around him. “Originally, you and I had sixty days to reconcile.”
Leave it to Yaya to give them an ultimatum even after her death.
“Or else the beach house would be turned over to the town,” Brock added, swallowing hard. He couldn’t imagine losing it, not like that. It was one thing to battle his father. It was something else entirely to take on a town council. “But we’re good now?”
“We’re good now.” Aidan smiled warmly. “The beach house is yours. It always meant more to you than it did to me. I know you’ll take good care of it.”
They stood together in silence and stared at the fire spitting orange sparks into the night.
The wind was gentle and carried the smoke away from them and out to sea.
Crashing waves sounded over the crackling of the fire.
He glanced over at his father, who was illuminated in the bright glow.
It was interesting how he could see their similarities so clearly now.
“Why did you want to sell the property and build that huge strand of condos, anyway?”
“Honestly? For the money.” Aidan shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat. “I didn’t realize you had such an attachment to the place because I never did.”
“What do you mean?” Brock toed the sand between them. “I thought you grew up here.”
“I did. Just not in the beach house.”
Brock frowned.
“I grew up in the house on Mermaid Avenue.” The house Yaya lived in after his grandfather passed away.
“But I thought the beach house had been in the family for years?” Brock asked.
“It has.” Aidan shrugged, ducking his head against the bite of wind. “Usually they rented it out during the summer season. The only reason they lived there full-time was because you loved it so much.”
No wonder his father never had any kind of attachment to the beach house. He’d never lived there. It held no meaning for him.
“So,” Brock ventured, choosing his words carefully. “We agree the beach house will be used as a wedding venue?”
“On one condition,” Aidan countered.
Awareness prickled down Brock’s spine. Maybe things weren’t as good between them as he had hoped. “What’s that?”
He shoved his silver-touched auburn hair back from his face. “You lend me Juliette so she can design the interior of the office buildings over on Shoreline Drive.”
“I thought those were empty.”
“Not anymore.” Aidan grinned. “I’m moving my company here. I’ve missed out on so much already. I don’t want to miss anything else.”
Brock didn’t know what to say. This was the most time he’d spent with his father in the history of, well, ever. To have him here permanently would be…great. It would be more than great.
“That is,” Aidan edged, his voice hushed with expectation, “if you think there will be space for me.”
“There will always be space for you here.” Brock surprised them both by hugging his dad. “And it’s Kelly.”
Aidan pulled back. “What?”
“You can call me Kelly.”
His father’s eyes filled for a quick moment, and he hastily blinked the unshed tears away. Clearing his throat, he shoved his hands back into the pockets of his coat. “Speaking of Juliette, where is she?”