Don't Touch My Petunia

by Tara Sheets

  “Maybe James can do an Aussie accent,” Juliette teased. “Have you asked him?” Molly spent the previous year fielding disastrous online dates, before finally settling down with the local bartender, James Sullivan.

  “Oh, please,” Molly said. “I love James just as he is, but come on. It’s Brock Templeton!”

  Gertie gathered her huge tote bag and stood. “So there you have it, ladies. Hollywood Houseboat’s coming to our tiny neck of the woods, and The Brock is coming with it. Who’d have ever thought they’d make it here?”

  “This is going to be one wild summer,” Molly announced as they waved good-bye and hurried out the door.

  Juliette’s mind strayed to Logan and how he was going to be hanging around for the next few weeks. All golden and gorgeous like he always was. Except now he was bigger and harder, and much more . . . well, more. She shook her head. Best not to think about it.

  “What?” Emma asked as she cleared the table. Juliette’s cousin could always tell when something was bothering her.

  “It just feels like there’s a lot of wild change in the air.” She felt unsettled. The way she did when she was out gardening and the wind changed, and she knew in her bones that a storm was coming. “First Logan O’Connor shows up and it turns out he’s Romeo’s nephew. And now Pine Cove Island’s going to get a hot dose of Hollywood’s B-rated celebrities stirring things up for the summer. What’s next?”

  Emma grinned. “I’m getting married soon?”

  A wave of happiness swept over Juliette, eclipsing all feelings of uncertainty. Emma’s wedding was a little over a month away, and they’d been planning a lovely ceremony at the gazebo overlooking the waterfront. Originally, Emma and Hunter just wanted something small, but it wasn’t every day someone got married on Pine Cove Island. By the time she and Juliette had worked out a guest list, it seemed like the whole town would be there.

  “Yes, you are getting married.” Juliette stood and gave her cousin a warm hug. “And that’s the biggest and best news of all. Let’s focus on that. Did you pick a dress yet?”

  Emma shook her head. “Want to go dress shopping with me?”

  “Of course. I can’t let you go alone for something that important.”

  They chatted and planned for a while, and by the time Juliette drove home she had almost forgotten Logan’s appearance earlier.

  It wasn’t until she pulled her car down the long road leading up to her cottage that she remembered. There was a black pickup truck stacked with lumber turning toward the other side of the woods beyond her house.

  Juliette rolled the window down to breathe in the crisp evening air mingled with the scent of roses that lined the path to her house. Something shifted in the air. There was an unusual breeze coming in from the north.

  Change.

  She felt it coming with absolute certainty, the same way she could feel the sun rise in the east every morning.

  She shivered and rolled up the window.

  Chapter Four

  “Oh, kiddo.” Logan’s uncle stood in the dusty living room, surveying the peeling wallpaper and water-stained carpet. “This place looks like it got hit with an apocalypse stick.”

  Logan propped his feet on the moth-eaten ottoman and took a sip of cold beer. True, the spacious living room of his grandfather’s old house had seen better days. There were gaps in the wooden floorboards, peeling wallpaper, and mold forming on the window ledges, but all of it was fixable. Even in its shabby state, the room still had remnants of the warmth and charm Logan remembered growing up. The fireplace was sturdy and functional, and the red area rug—though worn—was as inviting as it had been on his ninth birthday when he’d spent an entire weekend building a Star Wars city out of Legos. The couch, an unfortunate shade of avocado green, was lumpier than it used to be, but he couldn’t complain.

  “It’s not that bad, Uncle Ro,” Logan said. “Gramps just wasn’t big on decorating.”

  “Not that bad?” said a voice coming from the stairs. “Did you see the master bedroom? Who would paint such gorgeous crown molding that shade of mustard yellow? Who, I ask you.”

  “My grandmother?” Logan grinned as his uncle’s husband, Caleb, glided down the stairs with effortless grace. Caleb was tall and lean, with graying blond hair and sharp eyes that missed nothing. He was outwardly appalled at the state of the house, but Logan could tell he was doing his best to be polite. Poise, after all, was Caleb’s specialty. As an airline pilot of many years, he was used to being calm and cool in the face of chaos, even though he clearly thought the house was the equivalent of high turbulence.

  Romeo wrapped an arm around Caleb’s shoulders. “Don’t worry. Logan’s good at fixing things up.”

  Caleb sniffed. “Be that as it may, no amount of handiwork will help if he doesn’t alter the color schemes in here. And the wall treatments must go, Logan, really. Stenciled grape leaves are so last century. You need an interior designer to help you. Or at the very least, someone with great taste.”

  Logan turned to his uncle. “Know anyone like that?”

  “Hmm. Let me think.” Romeo wrinkled his brow in exaggerated concentration. “I can ask around. Old Mrs. Mooney down at the curiosity shop might have some ideas.”

  “I heard she’s good with stencils,” Logan agreed.

  “Oh, shut it, both of you.” Caleb gave them a look and walked to the front windows. He ran a finger along one of the dusty metal blinds. “Of course I’ll help you make this place look better, but it’ll have to wait until we get back from Florida. You’ll have three weeks to get it cleaned up. And, Logan.” He inspected the mildewed curtains. “You’re going to need industrial strength supplies.”

  “How about a flame thrower?” Logan asked. “Would that work?”

  Caleb took one last look around the room. “It wouldn’t hurt.”

  “Well, that’s it, then.” Romeo slapped his hands together. “You sure you’ve got what you need to start work on Monday?”

  “I’m good.” Logan rose from the couch and walked them to the front door. “And Juliette’s there if I have any questions.”

  “About Juliette . . .” Romeo stopped in the foyer and turned to Logan. “She prefers to work alone.”

  “Oh, does she ever,” Caleb said with a chuckle. “A real firecracker, that one.”

  “But she needs help,” Romeo continued. “I’ve asked her to hire someone part-time in the shop while I’m gone.”

  “Fine by me,” Logan said. “That’s her business.” He was there to build and clean things up. Whatever she wanted to do with employees wasn’t his problem. She could hire or fire whomever she liked, as long as she stayed out of his way.

  Romeo placed a hand on his shoulder. “Just keep an eye on things and make sure she has what she needs, okay? She’s excellent with the plants. The girl has a talent like I’ve never seen.”

  “Like no one’s ever seen,” Caleb agreed. “Pure magic.”

  Logan stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, glancing between them. “So you guys believe in all that?” As a kid growing up, his parents had whispered about the eccentric Holloway family and their odd lifestyle. “A bunch of fairy-tale nonsense,” his father had always said. He was a practical man, whose religion was more football than anything else, and his mom had been PTA president. Neither had any interest in the “woo-woo” stuff going on with the Holloways. They just rolled their eyes if anyone brought it up, giving it as much credibility as the Loch Ness monster or Sasquatch.

  Logan’s mother was nothing like her brother, Romeo. She was straitlaced and uninterested in change, whereas Romeo was a kinder, gentler person when it came to other peoples’ differences. It was one of the things Logan loved so much about him.

  “Of course we believe in the Holloway charms,” Caleb said, throwing on his jacket.

  “I’ve worked with Juliette for three years,” Romeo said. “Plants thrive around her. And those bath products she sells are like magic spells. I don’t know what she
puts in them, but they all do what they’re supposed to. Dried tea leaves for headaches. Lotions to relieve stress. Essential oil blends to help soothe.”

  “I once had insomnia after a long flight,” Caleb said. “She made me this lavender mist for my pillow, and I slept like a baby. Now I take it on all my trips.”

  “The girl has a gift,” Romeo said simply.

  Logan couldn’t argue there. Just seeing Juliette, all grown up and surrounded by flowers, brought back the memory of a night he’d long forgotten. They were just kids, and she’d been completely innocent. He was eighteen and heading off to join the army. The world was his to conquer, and nothing could hold him back. Not even the girl with pleading turquoise eyes standing in his garden in the moonlight, asking him to stay. For one brief moment, his decision to leave had wavered. She’d been like a magnetic force of nature, drawing him toward her, making him forget everything else.

  “Unfortunately,” Romeo said, “she’s not very good with the business side of things.”

  “How so?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s kind of... scattered. She just operates on a different wavelength than the rest of us. Juliette has systems around the shop and she knows where things are, but it doesn’t translate well to others. If there’s anything you can do to help make the place more organized and efficient, I’d be grateful.”

  “Just don’t step on Juliette’s toes,” Caleb whispered theatrically as they walked out the door. “You don’t want to mess with Mother Nature.”

  They said good-bye, Logan assuring them that everything would be fine. He shut the door and walked back into the living room, his thoughts straying to Juliette earlier that day. Hands on her hips. Blue eyes flashing. With long dark hair, graceful limbs, and sinful curves, she looked like some wild fantasy. And when she started speaking in that soft, melodious voice, a jolt of pure animal lust had rocked him to the core. Juliette Holloway, in a faded skirt and a flimsy tank top with a smudge of dirt on her cheek, was like a sucker punch to the gut. Stunningly beautiful. But she’d been clearly annoyed at him from the start, which was a damn good thing. There was no room in his life for trouble, and she was the most alluring, delicious bundle of trouble he’d seen in a long time.

  Logan shook his head, shoving away all thoughts of Juliette. His plans didn’t involve wild forces of nature. His plans were much more calm and domestic.

  He stretched out on the musty couch and rubbed his tired eyes. God, if only he could get a decent night’s sleep. He had spent so many years on high alert. Even now that he was far away from the heat and the turmoil and the nights spent on hard-packed earth, it was difficult to rest.

  He shifted on the couch and buried his face in a cushion. Bad idea. It smelled like mold and decay. Logan jerked to a sitting position and dropped his head in his hands.

  Caleb was right. This house looked abysmal. The floorboards were warped, the carpet was threadbare, and the stained furniture looked like thrift store rejects. It was going to be a long work in progress. But even under the veneer of neglect, the house gave him a sense of peace, and that was something. He remembered being a young boy here, visiting his grandfather. They’d spent countless hours talking about things that seemed so important to him back then. Baseball. Dogs. Fishing. If only things could be that easy again.

  Logan reached for his beer and finished it, reflexively rubbing the area just below his sternum. For more than a decade, he’d been a soldier, with a purpose and a country to protect. And he’d been a damned good one, even though he’d ended up leaving a piece of his soul back on that scorched desert.

  His phone beeped. A text message from his uncle.

  5:00 Sunday. Farewell dinner at my place. Brace yourself. Caleb’s cooking.

  Logan hesitated, then texted back.

  Should I bring McDonald’s, just in case?

  Romeo’s reply was instant.

  And risk Caleb’s wrath?

  Logan smiled. Three tours in Afghanistan were nothing compared to Caleb scorned.

  I’ll just bring wine.

  Chapter Five

  Juliette kicked off her sandals, tucked her skirt under her, and stretched out on the grassy bank overlooking Pine Cove Island’s waterfront. It was a sunny Thursday afternoon, with the kind of cool breeze and swirly white clouds that made her wish she was back at home working in her garden. She would have preferred to take full advantage of a day like this, cultivating her herb plants and maybe even fixing the broken rose trellis, but her friends had other ideas.

  Gertie sat cross-legged next to Juliette, scoping out the pier through a pair of binoculars. “Oh, there’s Vespa Kissman.”

  Molly rummaged through a picnic basket on the other side of Gertie. “Who’s that?”

  “Only the best actress in the nineties.” Gertie lowered the binoculars. “She played the zombie prom queen in Necromancer Two.”

  “Haven’t seen it,” Molly said, pulling a chocolate chip cookie from the basket.

  Gertie’s mouth fell open. “Necromancer Two: Undead Reckoning?”

  “I think my parents had it on videotape, but I wasn’t allowed to watch scary movies back then,” Molly added.

  “It’s official.” Gertie handed the binoculars to Juliette. “I’m old as dirt.”

  “I saw it,” Juliette said. “It’s the one where the girl turns into a zombie and tells her prom date ‘I want your body,’ and then she attacks and eats him.”

  “Yes,” Gertie said, brightening. “A true classic.”

  “No, the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice is a classic,” Molly said around a mouthful of cookie. “Zombie movies aren’t even in the same category. That’s like comparing filet mignon with street meat.”

  Gertie pressed her lips together and pointed to a food vendor parked on the corner. “We just ate lunch from that taco truck, so don’t get all hoity-toity with me. I’m not arguing that Mr. Darcy coming up out of that pond in a wet shirt isn’t a top sirloin classic. I’m just saying Vespa was a great actress in that movie. She had some serious oomph in her day.”

  Juliette peered through the binoculars at the bosomy blonde teetering down the pier in six-inch platform heels. She had a glossy bag on one arm and a scruffy little dog on the other. The bow in the dog’s hair was the exact same color as her orange dress. Even though Vespa had moved on from her role as zombie princess of the nineties, the woman definitely still had “oomph.”

  The small crowd of locals around the dock seemed to buzz a little louder as a man stepped off the houseboat onto the pier. He planted his feet firmly on the wooden planks and glanced around the wharf like a pirate surveying his latest plunder.

  Juliette grinned. “I think Brock Templeton just landed.”

  Molly gasped and yanked the binoculars from her. She shifted onto her knees and focused on the dock. “Oh, my god, look. It’s him, you guys. It’s really him. Look!”

  “I was trying,” Juliette said wryly.

  Molly made a cooing sound that ended on a giggle.

  Gertie poked her in the ribs. “What’s he doing? Tell us.”

  “He’s talking,” Molly breathed.

  “Here, let me see.” Gertie reached for the binoculars with grabby hands.

  “Wait.” Molly dodged away. “He’s coming down the pier. He’s walking!”

  “He walks and talks?” Juliette pulled a bottle of water from the basket. “The guy’s got skills.”

  “Oh, shut up. Wait until you see him up close. Here.” Molly shoved the binoculars back at her.

  Juliette peered through the lenses. She sat up straighter. Adjusted the focus, and . . . Hello, Hollywood.

  Brock Templeton looked like he just rode in on a wave from his show, Surfers Down Under. In cargo shorts and a T-shirt with the logo of his sports drink company, he moved with the practiced swagger of a man who was used to being in the spotlight. He had tousled dark hair, flashing white teeth, and a tan so golden, he practically glowed.

  “What’d I tell
you?” Molly said triumphantly. “He’s a surf god.”

  Juliette watched as a group of women gathered around him like clucking hens. “Complete with an entourage of worshipping mortals,” she said.

  In a flurry of swishy hair and laughter, the women held out phones to get selfies, and waved notebooks and magazines for him to sign.

  “Mmm, I wouldn’t mind getting his autograph,” Gertie said. “On my thigh.”

  Juliette threw her a look. “Walter might have something to say about that.” Walter was Gertie’s beloved husband of twenty-something years.

  “Oh, he knows me.” Gertie waved a hand. “He’d probably congratulate me for showing restraint and getting an autograph on my thigh instead of my chest.”

  “Well, if that’s your plan, get in line,” Molly said wistfully. “It looks like Brock’s going to be a little busy for the next few centuries.”

  More people gathered, and soon Brock was surrounded on all sides by eager fans. The Hollywood Houseboat production crew, dressed all in black, circled the crowd like vultures. They filmed and snapped pictures as Brock bantered back and forth with his admirers.

  “Juliette, you should go down there and talk to him,” Molly said. “We’re all spoken for. You’re the only one with skin in the game.”

  “Later,” Juliette said. “Because . . . cookies.” She reached into the picnic basket, selecting one of Emma’s latest creations. The chocolate chip cookies were supposed to instill feelings of goodwill toward others. Even though the Holloway magic didn’t work on her, Juliette had no problem appreciating the rich milk chocolate and brown sugary masterpiece. Her cousin was a baking goddess.

  She chewed in bliss as Brock and his entourage slowly made their way down the pier. Vespa followed alongside a stocky man in a white apron. Molly was quick to point out he was the lead chef on a cooking show, and he wore the apron for publicity. Behind them sauntered a strikingly beautiful woman in micro denim shorts and a flimsy scrap of fabric masquerading as a halter top. Her sullen expression did nothing to mar the perfect symmetry of her face.