"Actually, Tom and Michelle live only a few blocks away from your neighborhood." Victor was studying her, a question in his eyes.
"We do? That's perfect! Why don't you stop by your house, drop your car off, and Vic can pick you up from there. We'll get the pie and meet you two back at our place in about a half an hour. Will that work?"
"I can do that," Victor agreed. Juliette nodded, feeling a little short of breath, and she didn't think it was all because of her terribly stuffed up nose.
"Perfect. And when you get to our place, you can explain to me why you, sir, know where this young lady lives." Michelle winked at Juliette and took her husband's hand. "One French Silk and one Key Lime pie coming up. Any objections?"
"Nope."
"Sounds delicious," Juliette agreed.
"Are you sure you're okay with this?" Victor asked quietly, once the older couple was out of hearing.
"It's fine," she replied. "Especially since I can go home first and make myself a little more presentable. You don't need to pick me up, though; I can drive myself. If you give me the address, I'll meet you there."
"But I'd like to pick you up." He said it quietly, but it sounded to Juliette like he really meant it.
"Oh. Okay. Well, that would be nice." She smiled shyly and turned away. "Um, I guess you know where I live."
"Where are you parked?" Victor scanned the parking lot for her little PT Cruiser. "I'll walk you to your car."
When he fell in step beside her, Juliette felt a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Things were turning out far differently than she'd imagined when she'd decided to attend church that evening. The parking lot was large, and the elongating silence between them made them both begin talking at the same time.
"So how long have you been coming to church here?"
"Have you been a policeman for a long time?"
"You go first," Victor laughed, reaching over to place a hand on her back as he steered her between two vehicles. How different the careful weight of his palm felt compared to Frisky Frank's octopusing fingers. It was the first time he'd intentionally touched her, other than a handshake, and she secretly hoped it wouldn't be the last.
"I just started coming here about a month ago. In fact, I just started coming to church, period. My friend, Sharon, the one you met when you pulled us over, this is where she and her husband go, so this was the obvious choice for me. I usually come with them on Sunday mornings, but I needed to be here tonight." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and glanced up at him. "It hasn't been an easy Saturday for me."
"I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?" His voice was gentle, sincere, attentive.
You can marry me. The thought startled her so that she stumbled, and he reached out to steady her. This time, his hand lingered a little longer.
"You're doing it now," she said, referring in part to his palm sending a delicious current up and down her spine. "Thanks for not letting me go home to drown my misery in a tub of chocolate ice cream."
"My pleasure. The misery part, not so much the ice cream. Especially since there's probably ice cream involved anyway, if I know Tom. And I've been on the police force in this town for twelve years." He changed subjects so seamlessly that it took a moment for her to remember that she'd asked him about his work.
They arrived at her car, and she dug in her purse for her keys. "That's a long time. Do you like it? I mean, is Midtown a good place to be a policeman?"
"The salary isn't great for Southern California, but the benefits are. I like what I do, I like the folks I work with, and I like this town. That's worth far more to me than a couple extra bucks on my paycheck."
"So are you the good cop or the bad cop?"
"You'd have to endure the hot seat to find that out." She could hear the smile in his voice.
"Actually, I think I've already been on the hot seat with you. Let me just say that the verdict on you is still out." She turned and looked up at him just before unlocking her car door. "I think I'm going to enjoy listening to you try to explain how you know me to your friends."
"Yes. That. Maybe we should compare stories first?" He reached out and opened the door for her.
"No way! You're on your own, Officer." She slid into her seat and dropped her purse and Bible on the passenger side floor. "These are your friends. I'm just showing up to defend myself, should you try to throw my fuzzy pink duck butt under the bus."
"What is it with you and ducks?" He asked, bemusedly, peering down over the open door at her.
"Ah." She clambered back out, stood straight, and gestured at her turned out toes. "Ducky."
He laughed, and waited until she was comfortable behind the wheel before closing the door. Then he headed back the way they'd come, his long legs quickly covering the distance to his own car.
She sat still for several moments, both hands wrapped around the steering wheel, just breathing, willing her heart to slow its pace. Could this really be happening? Was this a kinda-sorta date? Did he ask her out tonight? Or was it the Petersons' idea? Did she dare get excited?
Unable to contain it all, she let out a tiny "Squee!" Turning the key in the ignition, she murmured, "Okay, God. Whatever this is, help!"
She pulled into her garage, waited for the door to close completely, just as her grandfather had taught them, before heading inside. She'd just dropped her purse and Bible onto the kitchen table when she heard the knock on her front door.
Opening the door wide, she found Victor standing on her doorstep, grinning down at her, looking just the way she'd imagined him over the last several weeks. Except tonight, he wasn't in uniform. And he looked even better not in uniform, she decided. The pine green, long-sleeved shirt he wore followed the contours of his torso. Chest. Definitely more chest than vest. Closing her eyes briefly to curtail her wayward thoughts, she stepped back and held a hand aloft. "Do you want to come in? I just need a minute."
He stepped inside, and her entry instantly shrunk.
"Please make yourself comfortable," She pointed into the living room before hurrying down the hall toward her bedroom.
VICTOR COULD HARDLY believe he was standing inside Juliette's home. Over the last few weeks he had waited in vain for a call that would send him here again, but Mrs. Cork seemed appeased by the cessation of Juliette's blind dates. He still felt like a stalker as he slowed his car in front of Juliette's condo while driving his route, hoping to catch her coming or going. Once, he'd made eye contact with Mrs. Cork, who was out front. She'd quickly scooped up her unleashed dog and waved. But now, here he was, inside, at her invitation, not on the job.
"Lord, help me not to make a fool of myself tonight." His muttered prayer was heartfelt. He hadn't planned any of this, and he wasn't accustomed to winging things, especially when it came to relationships, and in particular, relationships with women.
He glanced around, appreciating her simple, sensible furnishings. There were a few feminine touches of color and texture here and there, and the books on her shelves were definitely not what he would read, but all in all, he liked how comfortable he felt in her home. The walls were painted a soft caramel, the furniture in varying shades of earth tones, and the lighting was pleasant; soft, but not too dim. The bookcase and picture frames matched, all painted a low-sheen black.
He peeked into her kitchen, his appreciation growing. There were a few dishes in the sink, and her coffee pot still had the remains from earlier in the day. A soup pot was upside down on a towel beside the sink, evidence she'd recently cooked something. He was glad to see she used her kitchen, unlike so many single people he knew. Amanda, as gracious as she was, hated to cook, and she referred to her kitchen as the room where she kept the refrigerator and microwave. Juliette's refrigerator was covered in magnets, photos, and handwritten notes.
"I'm ready," Juliette said from the doorway, startling him. He turned; embarrassed that she'd caught him wandering.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snoop."
"I told you t
o make yourself at home, Officer. Besides, I have nothing to hide," she quipped, spreading her arms wide. "No illegal gambling club, no hotbed of iniquity, no secret smuggling ring. What you see is what you get."
"Well, if it makes any difference, I like what I see." He meant it, too. He liked what he'd seen of her little home, but he also liked seeing her in it. He could hardly tell she'd been crying. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed, and she had put some shiny stuff on her lips that made him notice how pretty they were. Her hair was swept up in a clip at the back of her head, leaving her long neck exposed, and she wore all black, except for a silver choker encrusted with chunky stones, all blues and greens, making her eyes look like deep waters. His gaze drifted back to her lips and stayed there.
"What?" she asked, bringing a hand up to her mouth. "Is there lipstick on my teeth?"
"No." He reached over and drew her hand away from her face, letting her fingers slip slowly through his. He saw something in her eyes, a flicker of uncertainty. "No, Juliette, your lipstick is perfect." He suddenly wanted to taste those lips; to kiss the shimmery pink right off of them. He had to stop looking at her mouth. He had to get out of her house. Now. "You look...great." Edible. "Let's go eat some pie."
He waited while she locked up, noticing the slight tremble of her hands, and he wondered—hoped—it was in reaction to his touch, because he was certainly a little shaken up himself. His eyes drifted along the curve of her neck, and he thought he could see her pulse fluttering in the hollow just above her collarbone. His fingers ached to touch her there, and he swallowed hard.
He felt like a live wire around her. Every sensation was heightened, standing this close to her. He could smell her hair, the soft floral fragrance she wore. He could hear her shallow breaths, even though the sound of his own heartbeat thundered in his ears. And he couldn't stop looking at her, her skin, her eyes, her mouth, the slope of her shoulder, the arch of her back where he wanted to test the fit of his hand again.
Shake it off, man. Slow down.
But he rested his hand on her back anyway as they walked down the sidewalk to his car. Perfect fit. Even the way his fingers curved toward the indentation of her waist was just right, as though his hand belonged there. He held the door for her, and hurried around to his side.
Ten minutes later, they were pulling up in front of the Petersons' home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
THEY SAT AROUND THE square dining room table, having indulged in pie, ice cream, and too much coffee, while Victor regaled them with his version of how he and Juliette met. He described pulling her over, not once, but twice in so many weeks, and when he teased her about quacking at him the second time, she explained her recent duck obsession to all of them, right down to the fuzzy, pink bathrobe part.
"It's my favorite outfit on you," Victor remarked. Juliette rolled her eyes.
"Only because it's practically the only outfit you've ever seen me in."
Beneath the table Victor's knee kept bumping hers, and she thrilled at the sensation that swept through her every time it did. She wondered if she'd be able to stand on her own two feet by the time the evening was over. Perhaps she'd just float instead.
"Aren't you glad we didn't let you talk us into leaving you at church?" Michelle toyed with her fork, making swirling designs in the remains of the chocolate mousse on her plate.
"I was pretty pitiful, wasn't I, all curled up in a fetal position, crying like a baby."
"Church is a good place to cry, Juliette." Victor reached over to brush her cheek with the back of his fingers. She froze at his unexpected gesture, and a brief silence fell around the table.
"Okay, then." Michelle laughed and pushed her chair back, preparing to rise. "I think I'll wash up these dishes."
"Oh! Let me help," Juliette said, pushing her own chair back. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her cheek felt singed where he'd touched her, and she could tell by the look on his face, that he was just as startled as she was over his caress. Michelle carried the pies, while Juliette gathered up the plates and forks and took them to the sink. She was glad to put a little space between her and Victor. She needed to catch her breath.
"So Juliette," Tom called from the table. "Victor tells us you have sisters."
The sink was in the kitchen island, so she stood facing the men while she rinsed the dishes. "I do. Three of them. I'm the oldest, then there's Renata, Phoebe, and Gia, in that order."
"Any brothers?"
"No brothers. Just us Gustafson girls."
"Hear that, Vic?" Tom raised his wiry brows at his friend. "Victor here is afraid of sisters. Especially his own."
"The big brave policeman is afraid of a couple of girls?" It was easier to talk at a distance, she decided.
"Sisters in particular," Victor clarified. "My sisters, your sisters, even sisters in habits and head gear. They all scare me."
"Oh dear." Juliette wondered if he wasn't just a little bit serious. She could imagine the G-FOURce might intimidate a man.
"He also mentioned that you know Trevor Zander," Michelle said from behind her. Juliette glanced over at Victor in surprise, wondering how much he'd told them before tonight. His just smiled and shrugged.
"Yes, my sister, Gia, is friends with Ricky Nolan, Trevor's cousin."
"Your sister introduced you two?"
Juliette blushed, wondering just how much Victor had said. Why was Michelle asking about her connections to Trevor? "Well, not exactly." She didn't know how to explain the Monday ManDates; it was a subject they'd skirted around all evening, but now she didn't see how to avoid it. "She kind of set us up on a blind date."
"A blind date? With our Trevor Zander? Really?" Michelle questioned, her tone laced with disbelief.
"Is there more to this story than you're telling us?" Tom was taking his cues from Victor now, who was nodding and rolling his eyes.
"Okay. That's good enough, ducky," Michelle teased, taking the dishrag from Juliette. "Come sit. If this story is half as good as how you two met, then I want to hear it."
So over the dregs of the coffee, Juliette told them very briefly about the termination of her relationship with Mike and the subsequent forced participation in her sisters' family trips, date nights, and parties. "It would have been much less awkward if I had children, or a date of my own, right?"
By the time she had explained the Monday ManDates intervention plan, and was indulging them with details of her evening with Frisky Frank, they were laughing uproariously.
When she got to her date with Trevor, however, she became shy, not sure how to describe one of the most pivotal nights of her life.
"It was one of the nicer dates I've had in a long time," she explained lamely, trying to come up with a word besides 'amazing' to describe it. "I rode on his motorcycle, and that was a first for me. It was very exhilarating. Anyway, at the end of the evening, we went back to my condo to share a box of desserts I had stashed just in case it was a lame date."
Victor was eying her, the look on his face incomprehensible.
"We were sitting outside on the front steps. Just...just talking. About stuff. About Gia and Ricky. About his music. And then...." She faltered.
"Then I showed up and sparks flew." Juliette had opened her mouth to continue, but snapped it shut at his admission.
"Oh my!" Michelle murmured, her eyes wide with interest. "Did you two boys duel?"
"Unfortunately, no. I wasn't honorable enough. I had made some assumptions about Juliette." He slid a reassuring hand over to rest on her knee where it warmed her flesh through the fabric of her pants, but this time his expression assured her the gesture was intentional. "And I made a fool of myself. Trevor came by later that night. Needless to say, it was a pleasant time had by all."
"Well, Victor, you really know how to ruin a party, don't you?" Michelle reached across the table and patted his cheek. "I'm glad to see you've eaten some humble pie, not just French Silk and Key Lime. And I'm glad you, Juliette, decided to forgive h
im his bad behavior. Otherwise, we might never have met you and that would be the biggest disaster of all. We already like you a lot more than we like him," she said, tipping her head toward Victor.
Juliette smiled and tentatively placed her hand on top of his where it still rested on her leg. He turned his over and laced his fingers with hers, and she held her breath as a delicious sensation coursed through her.
"I like her a lot more than I like me, too," Victor agreed.
Half an hour later, Juliette noticed Tom yawning. She and Victor said their goodbyes to the Petersons with the promise of future pie-fests, and as Michelle gave her a quick hug, she tucked a slip of paper into her hand. "This is my phone number if you feel like you need to talk to someone. I'll be praying for you, for wisdom about the things that the Holy Spirit was whispering to you tonight in church."
Juliette thanked her again, and Victor helped her into his car. She smiled to herself at the sensible charcoal interior, thinking how well it suited him.
He pulled up along the curb in front of her place and turned off the engine, then shifted in his seat to face her. "Juliette." How she loved the way he said her name. "I had a great time tonight."
"I did too. And I like your friends. They're good people."
"I'd like to see you again," he said, without further preamble. He reached for her hand, twining his fingers with hers, tracing small circles on her palm with his thumb.
"I'd like that, too." She thought she should say more, but she couldn't concentrate while his thumb was doing that.
"I work nights, so it's not very convenient for dinner dates."
"That's good."
"What do you mean?"
Juliette tugged her hand out of his. "I—I'm sorry. I can't think when you're doing that," she admitted, fumbling for the door handle. "I think I need some air."
Victor grinned and came around to her side of the car, locking it up once she was out. "You okay?" he asked, standing a little too closely for comfort, but she nodded. There was more room out here, more air.
Juliette and the Monday ManDates Page 16
