by Tara Sheets
She looked like she was ready to unleash all her wrath on him . . . and he wanted it? Yeah. He was an idiot. Too many years in the army did things to a man. It reminded you that life was fleeting. And when you see something good, you want to reach out and hold on. Even if you know you’ll get burned.
“I didn’t know the lumber delivery would be that big,” she said. “You need to move it before customers get here.”
“After I have coffee.”
She stiffened.
He knew he was playing with fire, but it had been a hell of a morning. He shouldn’t have had so much wine at his uncle’s house last night, but Caleb’s attempt at cooking duck a l’orange had made it more than necessary. And it had been a long time since he’d done something as carefree and normal as having dinner with family.
Juliette shook her head, and a strand of wavy hair fell over one eye. It looked like a ribbon of dark silk against her soft skin. He wanted to run his fingers over the sleek length of it, but he wasn’t that much of a fool.
“You can’t have coffee,” she said. “We don’t have any.”
Logan eyed the old coffeepot on the counter behind her. “You sure about that?”
“That thing barely works. It only makes sludge.”
“I’m okay with sludge.” He’d been in combat and eaten things he’d prefer not to remember. Sludge was a staple, as far as he was concerned. “As long as it’s caffeinated.”
“It’s not,” she said quickly. “We’ve got nothing but decaf. You’ll have to go somewhere else. But not until you remove those planks of wood from the walkway.”
Logan shook his head. He was tired, he needed Tylenol, and his days of taking orders were over. The sooner she understood that, the better it would be for both of them. “Coffee first.”
Juliette sucked in a breath, her eyes flashing. “I can’t have customers climbing over that pile of lumber to get to the front door. It’s a hazard.” She lifted her slender arm. A long scrape ran from the inside of her elbow to her wrist. It wasn’t deep, but tiny flecks of blood still oozed from where the rough lumber had grazed her skin.
A sharp twinge of guilt stabbed him, and he closed the gap between them without thinking. “Let me see.”
“I’m fine.” Juliette backed away, bumping up against the cutting table in the center of the room. “It’s just a scrape, but you need to move that stuff away before someone else gets hurt.”
“I will,” he said firmly. “But first, you need to bandage that.” She was pissed at him. That was clear. But he wasn’t going to let this go. It was stupid to leave the lumber on the walkway; he knew that. Romeo trusted him to take care of things, and he should have been more careful.
He walked inside and began flinging open cupboards. “Where’s your first-aid kit?”
“I can do it myself,” she insisted.
“Where?”
She let out a frustrated breath and pointed to the sink. “There might be something in that jar over there.”
A moment later, he stood beside her as she rinsed her arm with cold water. He knew she didn’t want his help, but he didn’t care. She’d gotten hurt, and it was his fault. He needed to fix it.
He dug through the ceramic jar beside the sink. It was shaped like a ridiculous frog wearing a gold crown. There was nothing in it but a tiny Band-Aid, three cotton balls, and a pair of tweezers. Unacceptable.
He scowled, holding up the frog prince’s head in one hand. “What kind of first-aid kit is this?”
“It’s not,” she said, taking in the thunderous expression on his face. Her lips curved. “It’s a cookie jar.”
He plunked the frog’s head back on its body. “Useless.”
“Not if you have cookies.” She clamped her mouth together, like she was fighting not to smile.
Logan watched in fascination as her blue eyes lit with humor, her lips curving softly in spite of her efforts. The moment she gave up and smiled at him, he forgot everything. It was like sunlight, warming him in all the right places. He glanced at her lush mouth, the soft curve of her neck, the hollow at the base of her collarbone. Alarm bells went off in his head and damn if they didn’t sound like a siren song, enticing him to move closer. She smelled like fresh herbs and something sweeter. Honey, maybe. He liked honey.
Logan stepped back fast, running a hand through his hair. There was nothing he could do here. He needed to get away. Do something useful. Preferably something physical. He was only here to clean up the place and help out with the renovations. There was no room in his future plans for a wildcat like Juliette. He’d vowed to have a normal, peaceful life, and someone like her—a Holloway, for god’s sake—was the furthest thing from it. Getting close to her was a bad idea.
Juliette’s smile faded, and she turned away. “I’ll be fine.” She grabbed a paper towel from the roll on the counter and dried her arm. “Just go move the stuff outside, will you?”
He was out the back door before she’d finished her sentence. Holy hell. He needed to move. Logan marched to the huge stack of lumber and heaved a two-by-four onto his shoulder, balancing the weight of it as he moved it to the clearing behind the shop. It was easy, mindless work, but required just enough concentration to leave him little time to think about blue eyes and bad ideas.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Juliette finished another floral arrangement, setting the cobalt blue vase in the front window. She paid no attention to Logan outside, who was hauling the last of the lumber to the back of the shop. She certainly wasn’t watching the way his muscles bunched and flexed as he hefted the wood onto his broad shoulders. And she barely noticed how his T-shirt clung to his narrow torso, the hard planes of muscle evident from sweat, the jeans clinging to his backside as he moved. Nope. Nothing to see there.
She flipped the CLOSED sign to OPEN and walked to the register. Time to focus on her to-do list. Especially the part where she was supposed to ignore Logan as much as humanly possible. It shouldn’t be that hard. She was human and therefore, it was possible. She just needed to get a grip and focus on work. It was going to be a busy day. Mondays always were.
“Hello, again,” a voice called from the doorway.
Kat walked in wearing black boots, black shorts, and a black peasant top. Her bright red hair was smoother today. It looked like lava, flowing around her shoulders in huge waves. In her arms she held a shivering scrap of fluff wearing a pink rhinestone collar.
“We were just checking out all the shops,” she said, approaching the counter with the Yorkshire terrier. “This is Hank.” She held the dog up for introductions. “Hank the Tank.”
Juliette reached out to pat him on the head. She loved dogs. If Luna wasn’t so fussy, she’d have one of her own. Hank was tiny and adorable. He couldn’t have weighed more than five pounds. His tail spun like an outboard motor as he furiously licked her hand.
“You’ll have to excuse him,” Kat said. “He can’t control his licker.”
Juliette grinned. “What brings you two in?”
“We’re taking a long walk, with an emphasis on long.”
“Trouble on the houseboat?”
Kat rolled her eyes. “Mirage—she’s our resident supermodel—is fighting with Vespa again. I think they enjoy arguing. It’s like a cardio workout for them. Anyway, Hank and I needed a break.” She looked at the shelves of plants, the flowering baskets and small potted trees lining the front windows. “This place suits you.”
“What kind of work do you do on the houseboat?” Juliette asked.
“You’re looking at it.” Kat gestured to Hank. “I’m Vespa’s official dog handler.”
Juliette glanced at the dog. “I didn’t know that was a thing.”
“Oh, it’s a thing. Especially with the Hollywood set. Vespa likes the idea of a dog, but she doesn’t want any of the work. So I basically feed, bathe, and care for him, and she accessorizes with him.” Kat scratched the dog under the chin. “I think Hank’s tired of being an arm charm, though. H
e wants to turn in his resignation and explore other options, don’t you, Hank?”
He yipped.
Juliette felt a surge of warmth for them. As a person who had lengthy conversations with her own cat, Juliette had a soft spot for people who talked to their animals. “Sounds like a tough gig on that boat, dealing with all those fancy personalities.”
“It’s not my favorite job, I’ll say that.” Kat gave the dog a pat and set him on the floor to nose around. “I’m just so over the egos. I’ve lived in LA for five years, so I thought I was prepared, but you never quite realize just how entitled some people are until you’re stuck on a boat with them.”
“Well, if you and Hank ever need to get away, you’re always welcome to hang out with me.”
“I think I’ll take you up on that offer.” Kat lifted a bar of soap from a small basket near the register. She read the label out loud. “Bee Chill.”
“That’s one of the honey and vanilla soaps I make. It helps soothe frazzled nerves.”
Kat slapped it on the counter. “Sold.”
A few minutes later, Juliette waved good-bye and watched them through the window. Kat set Hank on the ground outside, chatting to him like he was a friend. Cuter still, he sat there listening, tilting his head as if he understood. When she beckoned to him, he followed along at her heels without a leash. They definitely seemed to work well together, which was more than Juliette could say for herself and her new coworker.
She went in search of the broom, catching a glimpse of Logan out the side window. He looked exactly like the sexy cover of one of Emma’s romance novels. The ones with hard body SEALS or wild highlanders or hot firefighters. She had to keep reminding herself that he was just Logan. The boy from the other side of the woods.
She swept the broom closer to the side window, stealing another peek. Just to make sure he was moving all the lumber—not for any other reason. He was standing with his back to her, breathing heavily. He’d been quick and efficient, but it couldn’t have been easy. Somehow, he’d managed to clear the path right on time.
Logan turned and met her gaze through the window.
She jerked her head away and busied herself with the broom.
He tapped on the glass and gestured to the café across the street.
An hour later, she heard the back door open. When she went to investigate, Logan had already gone. But there were two large boxes on the cutting table. One was a first-aid kit in a heavy-duty aluminum case. The other was a shiny new coffeemaker.
Chapter Eight
Juliette watched the sunrise from the small strip of beach along the waterfront. She’d risen earlier than usual, deciding to take a walk before heading into work. Maybe the crisp, ocean breeze would help clear her head. Yesterday shouldn’t have been too bad, all things considered. Logan had mostly stayed outside, which suited her just fine. It was easier to ignore him that way. But then he’d gone and bought that first-aid kit and coffeemaker, which ruined everything. He was supposed to be self-centered and annoying. He wasn’t supposed to do helpful things like that. It blurred the lines she was trying so desperately to draw between them.
She drew a hard line in the wet sand with her toe. A small wave washed over her ankles, filling the narrow ridge and smoothing it out until it disappeared. She drew the line again—deeper this time. Another wave rolled in, washing it away in a matter of seconds. She turned her back on it, rolled up her jeans, and splashed further into the water, wrapping her arms around herself.
A lone figure approached out of the corner of her eye.
Brock Templeton was jogging along the shore. It was odd to see him without his camera crew and admiring fans. She watched him approach until he slowed to a stop in front of her, breathing heavily.
Juliette had to give Molly credit. The man did kind of look like a surf god, all tanned skin and windblown hair.
“Mermaid,” he said with his trademark grin. “We meet again.” Boyish dimples. Sparkling eyes. The camera loved him for a good reason.
Juliette smiled. “I thought Australians said ‘G’day, mate’ or something like that.”
“I’ll say whatever you want, if it’ll make you happy.”
Yeah, he was a smooth talker. The Australian accent didn’t hurt, either. No wonder all the women were lining up. Juliette joined him on the shore, noting the way his dark hair waved perfectly around his face, like he’d arranged it with some kind of mousse or gel. Did he always do his hair when he went for a morning run? Not that it mattered. Some guys were just really meticulous about their appearance. She’d dated her fair share of pretty boys before, and no one could argue that Brock wasn’t pretty.
“You never told me your name at the barbie the other night,” he pointed out.
“No, I didn’t. You got sidetracked. In fact”—Juliette picked up her flip-flops and looked out at the empty stretch of beach—“where is your entourage this morning?”
Brock chuckled. “Anywhere but here, thank god. I’m not usually a morning person, but this is the only time I can get a moment alone.” He gazed out at the ocean. “It’s nice, this time of day.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “It’s one of the things I love about dawn. Nobody usually wants these hours except me. So, for just a little while”—she spread her arms wide—“I get to have the world all to myself.”
“Until I show up.” There went the dimples again.
“Until you intrude,” she teased.
“And if I beg you to share your world with me?”
Okay, that was kind of corny. But did she care? Not so much. Maybe that’s how TV stars talked. Maybe they got so used to playing a role, they didn’t know how to stop.
“I guess I can make an exception just this once,” she said lightly. “But if your camera crew gets here, all bets are off.”
“Deal.” He linked his hands behind his neck to stretch, his arm muscles flexing admirably.
Even if he did it on purpose, she wasn’t complaining.
His gaze roamed over her in obvious appreciation. “I didn’t expect to see anyone up this early.”
“I’ve always been an early riser.”
Brock yawned. “Me too.”
“I thought you said you weren’t usually a morning person,” Juliette said in surprise.
“Oh, right,” Brock said. “I meant, I’ve been getting up early since we got here. Have you lived here long?”
“All my life. It must seem pretty small compared to where you’re from.”
“It really is,” he agreed. Then he gestured to her and added quickly, “But the scenery’s lovely.”
Okay, he was on perma-flirt. But there was nothing wrong with casual, meaningless flirting. In fact, that was supposed to be the plan, wasn’t it? Have a fun summer fling with a nice, hot guy. No strings attached.
They strolled toward the path leading up to the waterfront. She checked the sunrise to gauge the time. She needed to get to work. There was a banquet at one of the hotels, and she had to put together a large order of bouquets for an early morning pickup.
She dusted the sand off her feet and slipped into her flip-flops. “Well, it was nice seeing you again.”
“You’re leaving so soon?” Brock looked surprised.
Juliette guessed people didn’t usually walk away from him so fast. Maybe women usually jumped on him and he never had to make much of an effort. Maybe it was time he did.
“I have to get to work,” she said. “I have to prepare bouquets before I open the shop.”
“You work at a flower shop?”
“I do.”
“Nice,” he said with admiration. “I can just imagine you.” He held his hands up and traced the air in a vague outline of her body. “Lounging around all day surrounded by flowers.”
Juliette wrinkled her brow in amusement. “I don’t really get a lot of time to lounge around. Because, you know. It’s my job.”
“Of course,” he said quickly. “When will I see you again?”
Julie
tte hesitated. “I really can’t say.” Wow. Was she really doing this? Playing hard to get? Her friends would be appalled, but for some reason she just wasn’t in a big hurry to climb Brock the Rock. Maybe she’d kick herself for it later. She’d been known to make poor decisions in the morning before caffeine.
“Why not?” His expression was full of so much surprise, she almost laughed. Clearly, he wasn’t used to getting this answer from women.
The sound of voices floated on the wind, and Juliette saw three of the camera crew running toward them. Oh, hells no. She wasn’t about to trip down that rabbit hole again. She turned to go.
“At least tell me your name,” Brock insisted. “You know mine, so it’s only fair.”
“Juliette.” She ran up the path toward the street before the camera crew could reach them.
“Wait. Can I get your number?” he called after her.
She didn’t look back. Just kept going until she reached Front Street, still puzzling over the fact that she’d just played hard to get with a hot TV celebrity. The truth was, he didn’t seem all that interesting. Still, it wasn’t like her to pass up a chance to have some fun. Frowning, Juliette hurried toward the florist shop. Something was off with her this morning, but she didn’t care to examine what it was.
Next time, she’d do better. Next time—if there was a next time—she’d give Brock a chance.
Chapter Nine
It was ten o’clock in the morning by the time Logan strolled in to work. Juliette tried to tell herself it didn’t matter; his job was his business. But that wasn’t entirely true. As the standing manager of Romeo’s Florist Shop, it was her responsibility to oversee everything that went on, which included the business of Romeo’s slow-moving, swaggering nephew.
“Nice of you to finally make it in,” she said when he came through the back door. She’d spent the morning swamped with customers and orders, and in the middle of it she’d had to deal with Logan’s lumberyard delivery all by herself.
