by Tara Sheets
“Gertie’s down there,” Molly said, adjusting the neckline of her pink top. “She slipped past the guards about twenty minutes ago.”
“Of course she did.” Juliette looked over at the two crew members near the roped-off entrance to the beach. They were surveying the crowd like gods of Olympus, peering in boredom at the lowly mortals.
“All right,” the man said. “We’ll take five more people.”
A squeal of feminine voices went up and Juliette found herself caught in a sea of fruity perfume and floaty hair. They pressed toward the front of the rope, and she had to shove against the crowd to breathe. This was ridiculous.
“You.” Someone poked her on the shoulder. The bouncer guy motioned her toward the rope. “In.” He didn’t mince words.
The woman with the clipboard barely looked at her. “Sign here, then print your full name and phone number.”
“Why?”
“In case you’re chosen for the camera footage.” Her tone was short and clipped, just like her hair. “Do you want to go in or not?” she asked impatiently.
“I’ll go if she doesn’t want to,” someone called behind her.
“Yeah, take me instead!” a giggling teenager said.
Juliette signed her name and information on the clipboard. Because . . . why not? She wanted to have fun and it was a bonfire, after all.
Once out of the crush of people, she turned back and saw Emma and Molly waving through the crowd.
“Make me proud,” Molly called, laughing.
Juliette followed the thumping music to the bonfire down on the beach. The film crew was out in full force, weaving in and out of the partygoers with cameras and bright lights. People laughed and drank, some standing in small groups with beer and plates of sticky barbeque, others mingling near the fire, swaying to music.
Brock Templeton was sitting on a log with his back to the water, holding court with a group of fans. They were all listening to him talk with rapt attention. As expected, most of his admirers were women.
“Drink?” Kat appeared out of the crowd and handed her a wine cooler. She gestured to Brock and his groupies, tilting her head sideways and staring at them like they were aliens from another planet. “Everyone’s always so fascinated with him. I don’t get it.”
“What, you’re not dazzled by the surf god?” Juliette teased, taking a sip.
Kat snorted. “When you have to live with the guy day in and day out, the luster wears off fast, trust me.”
“Oh, Kat,” a low, sultry voice called out. “You’ve made a friend. How fabulous, darling.”
Vespa Kissman swayed toward them with a beer bottle in each hand. Her stretchy red dress accentuated her body in a stunning display of perfectly tanned flesh. Even at her age of fifty-something, Vespa was a force to be reckoned with. Up close, she was exactly the bombshell Juliette expected. Sure, there were lines at the corners of her eyes and she had that distinct wrinkling around her mouth that indicated years of smoking, but she still knew how to work her assets. She was like a big red fire engine. Bright and shiny and impossible to ignore.
Vespa stumbled, then straightened. She laughed, tipped her head back, and drained one of her beers.
“Double-fisting it tonight, Vespa?” Kat asked.
“It’s a bonfire.” Vespa waved her empty bottle. “We’re going wild like the natives. You should try it, sugar.”
Kat held up her drink. “Working on it.” She introduced Juliette to Vespa.
“Ooh.” Vespa’s charm bracelets jangled as she gestured to Juliette’s dress. “I love this whole bohemian chic thing you’ve got going on here. Who are you wearing?”
Juliette wanted to laugh. Was she kidding? She didn’t have the money for designer clothes. All her money went straight into savings so she’d have enough to buy the florist shop when Romeo retired. She’d even lined up a loan, finally managing to save enough to make him a competitive offer. Designer clothes—even regular new clothes—weren’t high on her priority list these days. She’d bought the dress at a thrift store and sewed the broken straps to fit her.
Before she could answer Vespa, a loud drumbeat picked up and dancers cheered, forming a circle around the bonfire.
Vespa tossed her now empty bottles in the sand and held her hands out. “Ladies, come dance with me.” She bounced to the beat of the drums, her spandex dress working overtime to keep her assets from popping free.
“Oh, I was just—” Juliette began, but Vespa grabbed her hand and pulled her into the dancing circle.
Kat waved them off, and Juliette barely had enough time to set her drink on a log before being swept up in the group of twirling, laughing people. Four men with hand drums kept the beat going strong, and soon Juliette was whooping and jumping with everyone else as they circled the fire.
Juliette lifted her hands and tilted her head up to the sky, grinning at the canvas of stars. The crowd’s laughter was intoxicating, and soon she was moving with them, spinning in circles and laughing with wild abandon. She whirled until she was dizzy, until she couldn’t catch her breath. This was exactly what she needed. Just pure, carefree fun. It was impossible to worry about anything when you danced around the fire under the stars. Finally unable to continue, she spun out of the circle and staggered to a log beyond the fire, giggling like a fool.
And then she saw Logan.
He was sitting across the circle, watching her. Firelight glinted off his tawny hair, casting shadows along the sharp, masculine angles of his face.
A pretty blond girl sat beside him, chatting away and staring up at him like he was single-handedly responsible for inventing the sun. Her hair was sleek and shiny, and her clothes were simple but elegant. In khaki shorts and a pastel blouse, she looked like the type of girl who played tennis at the country club and enjoyed yachting. Boring and basic. Perfect for someone like him.
Juliette felt a stab of some emotion she didn’t care to examine.
The girl leaned in to say something and he tilted his head, but his eyes never left Juliette’s face. His mouth curved up in that secret smile.
Juliette couldn’t tell if it was meant for her, or if he was reacting to something the girl said. Who even cared? Definitely not her. She tore her gaze away. She did not share secret smiles with Logan O’Connor. Or anything else.
She sprang up and walked down to the water’s edge, kicking off her sandals in annoyance. Why did he bother her so much? What did it matter if some girl was hanging all over him? All those old feelings she’d had for him in the past needed to stay just where they were. In the past. Hiking the skirt of her sundress high on her thighs, she waded barefoot into the water, letting the ocean breeze soothe her heated emotions. She closed her eyes and focused on the gentle sound of the waves, wishing for a distraction. Anything to get her back to that happy place she was, moments before.
“So it’s true,” said a voice with a smooth Australian accent. “Mermaids do exist.”
Juliette turned to see Brock Templeton standing on the shore, smiling like an official heartthrob should. His teeth were bright white against his tanned face.
She smiled back. Perfect timing. He was just the distraction she needed.
He lifted his beer in salute and took a drink, then waded barefoot into the water to join her. “You must be a local mermaid.”
She blinkety-blinked her eyelashes. “Yes, but very wild. You should be careful.”
He studied her for a moment with interest, his gaze dipping appreciatively to her chest, then back up to her face. “Maybe I like wild women.”
Molly was right. He was a player, but a charming one. “I’ve heard that about you.”
He jerked his chin, urging her to continue. “What have you heard?”
“That you’re all about living on the edge.”
“It’s my favorite place.” He gave her another once-over, his gaze lingering on her exposed thighs where she held her dress in her hands. “Maybe you should join me sometime.”
A smal
l wave caught her off balance and she faltered.
He reached out a hand to steady her, then leaned close and said, “What’s your name, mermaid?”
Juliette could feel his warm breath against her cheek. He smelled like beer and sporty men’s cologne. Axe? Surely not.
Before she could answer, the camera crew was upon them. Several women splashed into the water, squealing and laughing as they caught up to Brock. They wrapped their arms around him from behind, coaxing him to join the party again. One of the girls slid her hands up his chest and whispered something in his ear. He grinned, then gave Juliette an apologetic smile as they pulled him back to the bonfire.
“What’s your name, miss?” A cameraman stood in the water, filming as she watched Brock leave. “Was that your first kiss with Brock?”
Juliette glanced at him. “We weren’t kissing.” And even if they were, she wasn’t the kiss-and-tell type. Especially not with a TV camera aimed at her face.
“Are you upset that he left you?” a crew member called from the shore.
She frowned. “Why would I be?”
“What were you two arguing about?” The cameraman stepped closer.
Juliette squinted against the bright light.
“A lovers’ quarrel?” the man on shore called hopefully.
“Of course not,” she said in exasperation. This was getting stupid. She splashed back toward the shore.
The camera guy followed behind her. “Does it bother you that he left you for another woman?”
Juliette rolled her eyes. “I don’t care what he does, or with whom. I just met him.” Back on the beach, she located her sandals and yanked them on.
The guy on shore peered at her through thick, tortoiseshell glasses. “Is Brock seeing someone else behind your back?”
Unbelievable. It was as if they didn’t have ears. “Look.” She gave them both a level stare. “Just because he talked flirty to me doesn’t mean we’re engaged. Got it?”
“Talked flirty to me,” the cameraman repeated. He looked at the other guy. “That’s good. We should use that.”
“So how long have you and Brock been secretly engaged?” the man with the glasses asked.
Juliette jammed her hands onto her hips. “Are you kidding me right now? What is wrong with you guys? It’s like you’re physically incapable of hearing the words coming out of my mouth. There’s nothing going on between me and Brock.”
“We’re just trying to get the story,” the cameraman said defensively. “It’s our job.”
“But there is no story here.” She flung her hands in the air. “Nothing to tell.”
“Then it’s our job to make a story,” the other guy said.
“Juliette.” Logan was suddenly standing beside her. “Everything okay?”
She took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. “I’m fine.” As much as he annoyed her, she had to admit hearing his voice snapped everything into perspective. His was a voice of reason. At least he was capable of listening when she spoke. These two idiots made her feel like she’d fallen down a rabbit hole. It was like trying to reason with Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum.
The man with the camera nudged his buddy. “Her name’s Juliette.”
“What’s going on?” Logan asked. It was a casual question, but there was an edge to it that made the men shift on their feet, glancing at him nervously.
“We’re just trying to get the story between her and Brock,” the guy with the glasses said.
Juliette gritted her teeth. “And I keep trying to tell them, there is no story.”
“We saw you two kissing out in the water,” the cameraman said. “Clear as day.”
“No, you didn’t.” Juliette seethed. “Because we weren’t.”
“Gentlemen,” Logan said in a voice that brooked no argument, “if she says there’s no story, there’s no story. Let it go.”
For one shining moment, she felt a wave of gratitude.
“Not every woman wants to sweep Brock Templeton off his feet and fly off into the sunset with him,” Logan added.
Aaand the moment was gone. He was making fun of her. Typical.
Tweedle Dee’s forehead creased, as though he were thinking hard. “I believe it’s ride off into the sunset.”
“Yes,” Tweedle Dum agreed. “Ride, not fly.”
That’s it. She’d had enough. Time to climb back up the rabbit hole. She whirled and marched away without a backward glance. A familiar male chuckle may or may not have followed her up the path. It was hard to tell over the music. Either way, she ignored it.
Chapter Seven
For as long as Juliette could remember, she rose with the sun. It was both a blessing and a curse.
On a good day, she was happy to get up early so she could tiptoe out into the quiet, damp garden and breathe in the fresh scent of green things growing. She loved to feel the grass under her bare feet, run her hands over the soft petals of the rhododendrons that grew in the corner near the woods, revel in the sharp scents of pine and damp moss mingling with roses and lilies.
On a not so good day, getting up this early was a pain in the butt because she had too much time to think.
She had declined Romeo’s dinner offer the previous night, preferring to say her good-byes over the phone. The idea of sitting down to dinner with Logan had been too much, and the last thing she wanted to do was participate in a family gathering with them. It would be easier to keep a professional distance if all interaction remained in the workplace, where it belonged.
Juliette sipped her cinnamon tea as she sat on the back porch swing. Her old cat Luna was curled on the bench beside her. Juliette stroked the cat’s soft black fur, taking comfort in the warm, purring body.
Determined not to think of Logan, she let her gaze roam over her beloved garden. It reminded her of an old English fairy-tale painting, with all the flowers growing in no particular order. Rosebushes wound around the perimeter, some trailing over an old trellis that no longer stood upright. The broken latticework leaned at an angle, its spindly arms spread out, as though to hug the flowering vines.
Blackberry bushes flanked one side of the garden while tulips and daffodils peeked out around the spiky leaves to soak up the early morning sunshine. Many of the flowers weren’t even in season, but her garden didn’t care about rules. Emma often said that the garden was a reflection of Juliette’s personality. Wild and carefree, laughing in the face of tradition.
It was a beautiful morning and she should’ve been content, but Logan’s sudden presence in her life made it impossible. For the next few weeks, she was going to have to find some way to get used to him being around. With all the change happening, she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that things were going to go wildly out of control, and not in the way she expected.
She shifted restlessly on the swing, readjusting the patchwork quilt around her shoulders.
Luna grumbled and jumped off the bench.
“Sorry, your majesty. I’m edgy this morning,” Juliette said. “Big changes are on the horizon. Romeo’s gone, there’s a remodel about to happen, and I have to hire a new employee. Lots to worry about. And let’s not forget Logan. He starts work at the shop today.”
Luna cocked her head.
“Yes, the same Logan from across the woods. But things are different now. He’s grown up and so am I.”
The cat twitched an ear, regarding Juliette through half-closed eyes.
“Don’t look at me in that tone of voice,” Juliette said. “That was over a decade ago, and I have absolutely zero feelings for him now. I’ll be fine. It’s going to be business as usual.”
Luna turned her back on Juliette and began washing a paw.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Juliette said wryly. Her old cat was wise beyond her years, though just how many years was a mystery. Juliette’s mom had been a healer, and she’d healed Luna as a kitten. Her mom used to joke that Luna was going to live all nine of her lives at once.
Juliette f
inished the last of her tea, stood, and stretched. It was time to get ready for work. What were today’s goals?
1) Fill bouquet orders for the annual librarians’ luncheon.
2) Mix up an herbal remedy for the gardenia plants.
3) Make lavender bath bombs.
4) Ignore Logan as much as humanly possible.
The first three things on her list would be easy as springtime. But the last item . . . Images of Logan from the barbeque flashed across her mind. Tawny hair glowing gold in the firelight. Hot, dark eyes on hers. Teasing smile that made her flush with warmth, even now. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, the last item on her list was going to be tricky.
* * *
Logan parked his truck in the lot behind the florist shop, yawning. After yet another night of restless sleep, he could tell it was going to be one of those mornings. He strode toward the back door, slowing down when he saw Juliette waiting for him.
She stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, glaring at him like a barefoot Valkyrie in a rainbow-colored sundress. The early morning breeze swirled through her dark hair, and her berry-stained lips were pursed in anger.
Woah. He knew that look on a woman. Juliette was gloriously pissed.
“Morning,” he said hesitantly, stopping a few feet away. He’d been around his share of minefields before. Caution was priority one.
“What,” she said in her lilting, velvety voice, “is that?” She pointed to the front of the shop, where a large pile of two-by-fours were stacked outside.
Logan glanced at the supplies he’d delivered earlier that morning. “Lumber.”
“Yes, I know,” she ground out. “But why is it out there blocking the path to my front door?”
He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Well, now. I wanted to take it around back, but the manager told me to leave it out front by the fence. Remember?” He waited a beat. “Manager?”
Bright patches of color formed on her cheeks, and she crossed her arms in frustration.
An unfortunate move on her part, because now he had to try really hard not to stare at the perfect swell of her breasts above the neckline of her dress. Don’t look down. Fail. Don’t look—Fail. Damn it.
