Until Forever, page 3
What she didn’t tell Brock was that her breakup with Rodrigo was her own fault. How could it not be? She hadn’t been enough for Brock. Or for her mother. It was foolish of her to think she’d be good enough for someone as successful and charming as Rodrigo Mata.
“So.” She gestured to the blueprint occupying most of the island’s counter. “What’s the plan for this place?”
Brock ran a hand through his hair. “Well, a complete overhaul of the bathroom to start. A total renovation of the kitchen.” He pointed to a wall separating the living area from the rest of the downstairs. “We’ll take down this wall here and open up the space, which will also give us more room to extend the bathroom.”
“Nice.” She could see it all clearly. The vision was definitely there. “And you need my help doing what, exactly?”
“Your mom put you in charge of design.”
“I see.”
Design. The one thing she’d actually loved, and the one thing her mother had ruined.
“Did she at least say what kind of look she was going for?” Juliette asked.
“No. She just gave me her budget and told me to come up with something magnifique.” He waved his hand around in a pathetic attempt to mimic Gigi’s incredibly French mannerisms.
“Of course she did.” Juliette couldn’t help it when a small smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. “I can come up with some color boards to go over with you later this week. I suppose we’ll have to make a trip to pick out cabinets, granite, and flooring.”
“How’s tomorrow?” Brock expanded his measuring tape and took note of the length of one floor, but Juliette was fairly certain it was all for show. He was waiting for her answer.
She ran her teeth along her bottom lip. “I can go whenever. Just let me know.”
Brock nodded, but his gilded amber eyes continued to watch her, analyze her. “You plan on staying?”
Another haphazard shrug. “I don’t know. I suppose I don’t have any plans anymore.”
She only had one plan, and it had failed miserably. She was going to marry Rodrigo, the love of her life.
And then what?
There was that tiny, insignificant voice. The one she blatantly ignored. The one she pretended she couldn’t hear when the fire between her and Rod had dwindled down to barely a spark.
What would she do after they got married? Let him support her?
No matter how hard she tried, she bounced between jobs. She changed her mind about what she wanted to do with her life as often as a first-year college student. The one thing she wanted, the one thing she desired more than anything else, had caused the fallout between herself and her mother.
Brock continued to watch her. Calm and even. Steady. She wasn’t even sure if he blinked.
She didn’t see pity in his eyes, but there was some sympathy. Maybe even some interest. Not that she would entertain any of it. He’d had his chance once before, and no matter how well time had aged him, she wasn’t going back down that road.
Her stomach gave a small growl, and she grabbed a banana from the wire basket of fruit on the counter. At least it gave her something to do while awkward silence heavy with long-forgotten tension occupied the space between them.
He slid a business card from out of his coat pocket and handed it to her. His phone number hadn’t changed. “Well, if you’re looking for a job, or something to occupy your time until you figure things out, I’m looking for a designer.”
Juliette tried not to choke on the chunk of banana lodged in her throat. Forcefully, she swallowed it down. “Did my mom put you up to this?”
“Definitely not.” He lifted both hands in surrender. “I just remember how things can get between you two. You’re free-spirited and artistic, and your mom is—”
“An obsessive control freak with an eye for austere perfection?” she interjected for him.
“That’s one way of putting it.”
Brock grinned, and the whole world tilted. Juliette almost lost her balance. She wanted to blame it on the way the morning light made his eyes to appear gold. She forced herself to look away, leaning casually against the counter for support. She’d forgotten his smile, how it caused her heart to give a little flip. How the simple upturn of his mouth could be promising and captivating all at once.
She shook the nonsensical thought from her head. Those types of whimsical imaginings were what got her into trouble in the first place. She had to be more aware. She had to do better. Be better.
He shoved his hands back into the pockets of his coat and gave a small shrug. “You’ve always had a good eye for design. So if you want it, the offer stands.”
Juliette pressed her lips together and forced herself to acknowledge him. “Thanks. I’ll consider it.”
He nodded again, and another wave of suffocating silence smothered them.
“I just have to double-check a few more measurements and then—”
“Perfect.” She tossed the banana peel in the trash. “I’ll just get out of your way.”
Brock’s mouth opened like he wanted to say something, but Juliette flashed a soft smile and headed down the stairs. She needed to put some distance between them. Being in the same room as Brock was too easy. Too easy to forget, too easy to forgive. She nearly sprinted down the staircase and headed toward the back entrance of the shop.
“Jules!” Adrienne called out to her, but she didn’t turn. She couldn’t. She could feel the burn of tears and the heat of shame and remorse.
She heaved the heavy metal door open from the back of the shop and stumbled out into the brutal January wind. The sun was eclipsed behind a blanket of gray clouds, and the wind cut through her sweater, chilling her to the bone. Her teeth chattered, and the cold air slapped her face. But at least this way she could blame her tears on the weather. What difference did it make if she was crying, or if the gusts coming off the ocean caused her eyes to burn?
Juliette leaned back against the solid brick building. Her heart ached. Her head throbbed with a dull, pounding sensation at the base of her neck. Her mind was exhausted, and her nerves were frayed. She was teetering on the edge of a breakdown, but she had to back up. She had to walk away. This place was too much. The memories. The anguish. The frustration.
She had to leave.
But she had nowhere to go. That was how she ended up back here in the first place. She had no money and only two options for work so far.
Oh, she could work at Mystic Florals. She was certain her mother would let her take on a gig at the flower shop, but the last time she did that, the final outcome was terrible. They had both spoken awful things to one another, things Juliette still heard in the darkest corners of her mind. She never wanted to live through that night again, which left her with the second choice that had only been presented to her ten minutes ago.
Juliette’s chest heaved, and she winced against the bitter cold and salty tang of the air.
She had to decide.
She could work for her presumptuous, overbearing mother, or she could work for the one man she’d sworn to hate.
Or she could find something else. Someone had to be hiring. Maybe she could put in some applications, make a few phone calls. It was never too late to learn a new skill.
Juliette squeezed her eyes shut. There had to be another way, and she was going to find it.
Chapter Four
Brock wasn’t much for loitering, but even though he took his time finishing up the final measurements for Gigi’s apartment, Juliette never came back. So he said goodbye to the twins downstairs, left Mystic Florals, and headed toward his next project of the day.
The beach house.
It was outside of town, further south, and one of the only homes situated on a skinny stretch of peninsula that curved outward to the Atlantic Ocean. It sat upon its weather-beaten stilts, surrounded by shimmering sand and beautiful blue water. Patches of sea grass popped up over rising sand dunes, revealing and hiding pathways to the shoreline on the whim of the wind. In the distance he could see the house clinging to its last bit of life.
Regret turned in his stomach.
He should’ve come out here sooner. He should’ve fixed it up before his father found a way to try and steal it out from under him.
The road faded from smooth pavement to cement roughened by sand and gravel. Not many other cars came out this way, usually only those looking for a good time, or those looking for trouble. But today a familiar car was parked in the driveway of the beach house.
Lounging against the door of a black Jeep in the frigid winter wind was his good friend and business partner, Anders Sorenson. They’d served together in the Marine Corps, and after Brock got out, Anders planned on continuing his career. But fate had other plans. When an injury forced him out and the prospects of a job back home were bleak, they teamed up and created Silver Eagle Construction.
Over the years, their two-man team had grown to include a full crew and some of the largest projects in Mystic Cove. They’d made a name for themselves renovating and restoring residential properties and had most recently been hired to build a few bungalows from the ground up closer to town.
Unfortunately for them, they’d always had to outsource whenever it came to interior design. So maybe he had a slight ulterior motive when he’d offered the position to Juliette.
Brock climbed out of his truck and gave a one-handed wave.
Anders lifted his sunglasses to the top of his head and squinted up at the house. “How much do they want for the land?”
“More than you want to know.”
They exchanged a look.
Brock angled his head. “Little over a million.”
Anders let out a long, low whistle. “And tell me again why you don’t want to sell?”
Because a long time ago he made a promise to his grandfather that he’d make something of himself. That he’d never back down from a challenge. That he’d keep the property and return it to its former glory, something time had stolen from his grandfather.
“Just an old promise.”
“Any ideas?” Anders nodded to where the steps looked to be decaying with rot. “We fix it up and then what?”
“I don’t know. I was kind of hoping we’d figure it out as we go along.” He grinned, climbed the slightly unstable stairs, and unlocked the door.
Thankfully, the outside of the house was worse than the inside.
The hardwood floors were scuffed and scratched, worn away from their original luster after years of sandy abuse. Grime clung to the massive windows, and the few remaining belongings were covered in a thick layer of dust. Hideous blue carpet ran up the stairs to the upper bedrooms, and some of the balusters along the banister were dented or missing completely. Room by room, they walked through the old house and inspected the flooring, noted holes in the wall or busted fixtures, took pictures of anything they wanted to tear out or replace. All in all, the inside of the home was fixable and livable. It seemed as though the outside had taken the brunt force of neglect. Those repairs would be costly.
Anders eyed the tall ceilings in the living area. “It’s got good bones.”
“Yeah.” Brock walked through the area, remembering when his grandfather would sit in the wide leather chair and smoke a pipe while his grandmother scorned him from the kitchen, the scent of freshly baked cookies overwhelming the smell of cherry tobacco.
“The inside is easy enough. New flooring. New bathrooms. Update the bedrooms with hardwood and paint.” Anders wrenched open the sliding glass door leading to the back patio. He looked it up and down. “This thing has got to go. It’s complete garbage.”
“Agreed.” Brock added new doors to the list.
His gaze lifted to the back were the dilapidated patio stretched its tired legs to the sea. Sparkling blue waves crashed along the shoreline before disappearing in a wash of foam. Afternoon sunlight spilled in through the windows, leaving the room in haze and illuminating every fleck of dust and dirt.
He was imagining a bed and breakfast. There was plenty of space, but it was almost too much work. He’d have to find someone to manage it, someone to cook and provide for the guests, plus there were all kinds of laws and regulations on the business side. But a private beach would be a plus. Plenty of people out there were willing to pay top dollar for a view like this one.
“We could rent it out weekly,” Anders mused. “Charge peak prices during the summer season and attract a bit of tourism.”
A rental could work. The view and the property were worth it during the winter season as well, when time seemed to slow. Brock should’ve called Juliette and asked her to meet him here. He certainly could’ve used her eye for style. She managed to make everything look good. When she was still working at Mystic Florals, she’d spent her free time sketching and designing. He wondered why she ever stopped.
She ran off as soon as she could and didn’t look back. Of course, he’d been the one to leave town first.
Anders’s voice pulled him from his wandering thoughts. “Something on your mind?”
“I was over at Georgina Laurent’s shop this morning.” Brock toed the edge of some fraying carpet with his work boot. “Finalizing plans for the renovation of her apartment.”
“Oh, yeah.” Anders’s face remained impassive. “Any issues?”
“No.”
Anders arched one brow.
It would be easier if he just said it. “Juliette was there.”
“Uh-huh. And who’s that?”
Brock had nearly forgotten Anders hadn’t grown up in Mystic Cove. He was so accustomed to him being around, the fact that Anders hadn’t always been here had slipped his mind.
“Juliette is Georgina’s daughter.”
Anders’s eyes widened and he leaned forward. “She’s got another one?”
“Five of them.”
“Wow.” Anders shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Five girls. I bet their father was thrilled.”
Brock winced. “He died some years back. Bad car accident.”
“Damn.” Anders’s gaze fell to the floor.
The death of Marcel Laurent was an uncomfortable subject, most especially around the Laurent women. Rumors surrounded his untimely demise, specifically those regarding his fidelity. All Brock remembered from the awful event was Anne-Sophie, the youngest Laurent, had been riding in the back seat at the time. Marcel died at the scene of the accident and Anne-Sophie survived.
Anders broke the heavy silence between them. “So, this Juliette? Are you two friends or something?”
“Or something.” Brock grinned. “We were friends when we were kids. We dated for awhile. A long while. Then I went off to boot camp and left her behind.”
No need to go into any of the details. At least not yet. It was not his finest moment, and he sure as hell wasn’t proud of it. But it had been the right decision at the right time. At least, he’d consoled himself with that much over the years.
Anders laughed. “Sounds complicated.”
“Yeah,” Brock drew the word out and rubbed his hand along the back of his neck. “I may have just made it worse.”
Anders leveled him with a solid look. “What’d you do?” he asked, his voice carrying the barest hint of panic.
“I offered her a job.”
“You did what?”
“She just got out of a bad breakup, and I figured she could use a little help getting back on her feet.” Brock steamrolled the words to make his point seem valid. “Plus, we’ve been talking about how we could use an interior designer so we don’t have to constantly outsource for our projects.”
“Yeah. But dude, you offered her a job, with our company, without even running it by me first?” A slight frown furrowed Anders’s brow. “We’re supposed to make those decisions together, as a team. We’re business partners. We at least could’ve interviewed her.”
“It was wrong of me, I know.” Brock would be the first to admit fault. He hadn’t even taken Anders’s opinion on the matter into consideration. He’d been too distracted by Juliette, distracted by her seemingly effortless beauty, by her temper, by the glimpse of crushing heartbreak in her eyes.
Brock cleared his throat. “I jumped the gun.”
“Yeah, you did.”
“I’m sorry, I won’t do anything like that again. Next time, I’ll make sure we’re both involved, in the entire process, from the start.”
“Good, I’m glad we’re on the same page now.” Anders ran his thumb along his jaw. “So…when does she start?”
“I’m not even sure she will. She said she’d think about it.” Which was a shame. “She’ll probably just stay at the flower shop, working for her mom.”
Which was a mistake.
Anders set his tablet down on the counter and started running the numbers for an overhaul on the beach house. “New lumber for flooring. Some slabs of granite. New appliances and fixtures. New deck and patio, plus stabilizers. The bathrooms. Siding and a remodel of the downstairs fireplace.”
Brock’s jaw clenched. “You’re making me nervous.”
“Since we don’t have a deadline yet, that makes things a bit easier.” Anders glanced up, his face unreadable. “It might be a stretch in terms of crew…”
“Give me numbers, Anders.”
“With current finances, we should be good—”
He was interrupted by the sound of tires crunching over loose gravel.
They shared a glance. Anders shrugged. Brock scowled.
No one came out here.
He stalked to the front of the house and pulled open the door.
No one except his father.
He recognized the sleek silver Mercedes from this morning. Except his father wasn’t the only one in the vehicle. Three others climbed out.
The first was a rotund man with a ruddy expression and pinched lips, as though he’d recently bitten into a lemon. He continuously tugged on the sleeves of his overcoat. The second man was leaner and pasty white with a crop of snowy silver hair. He hobbled as he walked, and a distinctive limp caused his left foot to drag. The third was a female, bundled head to toe in a rich, jewel-toned coat. Her lips were painted a vibrant red-orange, a stunning complement to her deeply bronzed skin. Of the four of them, her smile was the only genuine one.
