by Tara Sheets
She left the bathroom and approached a cozy table near the windows overlooking the ocean. A small group of admirers had gathered around Brock. Juliette stood back and watched. He looked like a king surrounded by his loyal subjects. The people fawned over him, and he handled it all with charm and finesse.
When he caught her eye, he said good-naturedly to the group, “Sorry to cut this short, everyone, but my date has returned.”
The manager of the restaurant, a slender man with a stern expression, came and invited the people to move along.
“You look like you’re holding court over here,” Juliette said, taking a seat opposite him near the window.
“An occupational hazard,” he said. “It doesn’t matter where I go, either. Even in tiny towns like this in the middle of nowhere, it happens.”
Juliette almost frowned at his reference to her hometown, then reminded herself he was a big-city television star. Of course he’d think of Pine Cove Island as being the middle of nowhere.
“Must be tough,” she said, sipping her wine.
Brock assured her it was, then continued talking. He really talked a lot, actually. It wasn’t a total deal breaker, but somewhere in the middle of the salad course Juliette realized she’d grown bored. He hadn’t asked her a single question about herself. She had to remember she liked that about her dates. She had to remind herself that it was easier if they didn’t try to get involved. Maybe Brock was really perfect for her, after all.
“So,” Brock said, leaning back in his chair. “Tell me about you, Juliette.”
Or maybe not. Juliette took a long sip of wine. “What do you want to know?” This was the part she hated whenever she dated a new man. This was the part where they asked her about her family, her childhood, or what her hopes and dreams and aspirations were.
“What’s your favorite episode of Surfers Down Under?” Brock asked.
Juliette blinked. “What?”
He flashed his pearly whites. “My show. Wait, don’t tell me. You like the one where I saved the little girl from drowning, right? Most women love that one.”
“Yeah,” Juliette said slowly. “That’s the best one.” She wasn’t about to admit she’d never watched the show. She only vaguely remembered seeing commercials for it, but she wasn’t that interested in reality shows. The only reason she even knew his name was because of the occasional tabloid images of him with his latest breakup or engagement.
He launched into a detailed description of his top viewed shows, and by the dessert course Juliette had decided that if she was going to date him, they were better off going on activity dates like miniature golf or bowling or bungee jumping. Anywhere they could do something other than just talk. Dinner just wasn’t working out.
By now, Brock had moved on to drama about Hollywood Houseboat. “So I told the chef on the set, the least you can do is learn the fundamental differences between vegetarian and vegan.”
He laughed, and Juliette grinned to show she’d been listening, but she hadn’t.
“I mean,” he continued, “not everyone wants to eat garbage and throw their bodies to the wolves, you know what I mean?”
“I’m mostly a vegetarian, but I’m not religious about it or anything,” she said. “I just prefer not to eat meat. I still eat dairy and things with eggs in it, though.” She thought about Emma’s latest creations. “Like cupcakes.”
Brock’s sneer was instant. “Junk food?” Then he gave her a once-over, his gaze lingering on her cleavage. “Well, I’m not going to fault you for it. I mean, look at you. You’re bloody gorgeous.”
Juliette made the requisite murmur of thanks before he launched into another monologue about leg day at the gym, and “getting swole,” or something, but she wasn’t really listening. Maybe she needed to try harder. He was polite enough. And he didn’t ask her personal questions, so that was good. He was worlds better than a certain infuriating someone who had turned her life upside down and kept rearranging her stuff.
“Brock,” she said suddenly. “You’d never try to rearrange my stuff, would you?”
“What’s that?”
He looked so boyishly confused, Juliette found it endearing. “You’d never alphabetize my vegetable seeds or try to make me play Trashball, would you?”
“Well, I don’t know much about seeds or ball trashing,” he said. “And I don’t like rearranging stuff. That’s what my assistants are for.”
“Perfect,” Juliette said. “I think I like you, Brock Templeton.”
“What’s not to like?” He leaned across the table and took her hand in his. “You want to come out with me tomorrow evening? I’m taking the boat out for a spin.”
Juliette looked down at his hand, noting the slender fingers and neatly trimmed nails. No dirt, no visible callouses, no scars. His hands would never rip out her old closet shelves or knock down the drywall in her storage room without asking.
He squeezed her hand gently. “We can meet at the dock around six?”
Juliette gave him her best smile. “Sounds like a plan.”
* * *
The country club restaurant sparkled with its usual whitewashed opulence. Marble-tiled floors, white pillars, and oversized crystal chandeliers made it look like a buttercream-frosted wedding cake. Every table had snowy linen tablecloths, long-stemmed wineglasses, and ornate silverware nestled beside intricately folded napkins.
Logan knew he should be content sitting here at dinner with a perfectly acceptable woman who clearly enjoyed his company, but he couldn’t shake the nagging sense of unease. After Juliette had gone off on her date with the moron, Logan had gone home in need of a diversion. He’d called Bella and asked her to dinner before he could change his mind. And now, here he was, bored and slightly uncomfortable. Bella’s perfume was so strong, it was downright nauseating. Something had to be done about that. Every time he saw her, he went home feeling a little queasy.
“That was delicious,” she said, as the waiter removed their dessert plates.
Logan’s head was beginning to ache. Maybe he’d eaten too much. Or maybe it was the richness of the food. Or that cloying perfume. Whatever the case, something didn’t agree with him.
She lifted her wineglass. “Let’s have a toast.”
Logan suddenly wanted to be home. The wallpaper removal project was just about ready to go, and Kevin was proving to be a great assistant. By next week they’d be able to start painting. There were still so many projects he needed to complete, but the plans were finally starting to come together.
“Logan?” Bella interrupted his thoughts. “What are you thinking about?”
He lifted his wine. “Just some future plans.”
She gave him a zillion-watt smile. “To future plans, then.”
They clinked glasses. When she started chatting about dinner at her parents’ house, Logan did his best to follow along. If he really wanted to focus on his future, Bella should have been a decent enough prospect. She seemed to have her life together. Normal job, normal family, normal interests. He knew he should make more of an effort to get to know her, but he just wasn’t feeling it.
“How about meeting for dinner at their house?” she asked.
“Whose?” He’d tuned her out again and had no idea what she was asking.
“My parents’ house,” she repeated. “Next week? This week they’re at some car and motorcycle show, so they won’t be in town.”
At the mention of motorcycles, Logan set his wineglass carefully on the table. He didn’t want to risk cracking glass again. The thought of that guy and Juliette made him feel hot and irrational. It was ridiculous. Why should he care?
“Hello?” Bella nudged him under the table with her foot. “Earth to Logan.”
He forced his attention back to her. “Dinner with your parents. Sure.” He needed to get his head in the game. Having dinner at her parents’ house wasn’t that big a deal. Heck, he’d already met them years ago. Maybe he’d even have a good time.
As Bell
a rambled on, he found himself wondering ridiculous things like what color she painted her toenails, if she drank hazelnut mochas, and whether or not she liked gardening. She didn’t seem like the type to get her hands dirty, so gardening probably wasn’t her thing. Nothing wrong with that. Why should it matter? Gardening wasn’t really his thing either.
“Want to come over to my place after this?” Her foot snaked up his leg under the table. When it slid toward his groin, Logan’s meandering thoughts came screeching to a halt.
He shifted in his chair and signaled for the waiter. “Sorry, I can’t. I’m in the middle of a project.”
“What project?” she asked with a pout.
“Just some work I have to do at home.” He looked at Bella and tried to paste a smile on his face, but it kept falling off. Damn it. She wasn’t right for him, and he knew it. The more he spent time with her, the more annoying she became. Sooner or later, he was going to have to admit to himself there was only one woman he was interested in, and it sure as hell wasn’t Bella.
Chapter Fourteen
Logan woke in a cold sweat, heart thumping, the sporadic sound of explosions and gunfire still ringing in his ears. He dragged himself up and sat on the side of the bed, letting his head drop into his hands.
Breathe. One in, one out. Again. He practiced this for a few minutes until the nightmare faded. It was nothing new, but it was way better than it used to be. Totally normal after what he experienced on his last tour, he was told. Wasn’t that the joke for the ages? Nothing about it felt normal.
An owl hooted outside, and Logan cracked open one eye. Five-thirty in the morning. Not bad. The last time this happened was the night before work, and that made for a killer day ahead since he could never get back to sleep afterward. Juliette had accused him of partying all night when he dragged in two hours late.
With a heavy sigh, he rose from the bed and trudged outside to the back porch. He watched the sky lighten with each passing minute, the painful memories finally beginning to fade with the dawn. Something about the infinite stillness of the morning appealed to him. Who would have thought it? He’d never been a morning person before. But now he wanted to seize every moment. He didn’t want to miss anything. Maybe it was because he’d seen how fleeting life could be.
The owl hooted again, and a small, dark shadow peeked around the corner of the porch.
Bright yellow eyes watched him, and he suddenly felt better. Less alone.
“You again,” he said softly.
The cat stepped daintily onto the porch and sat a few feet away. It was big and sleek with ebony fur and long white whiskers.
“Where did you come from?” Logan asked.
It ignored him and proceeded to clean itself.
“Fine by me.” Logan stood and stretched. “I should be taking a shower soon, too.” He turned to go inside. Something in the woods caught his eye. A white, fluttering movement. He strained to see, but it floated out of sight.
Without much thought, Logan followed.
Just inside the woods behind his house, he saw it again. A flutter of white moving through the trees.
A few steps further and then he saw.
Her.
Juliette looked like a different kind of dream, floating through the woods. She was barefoot, in a white nightgown, with her dark hair streaming down her back like something out of a fairy tale. Tiny white flower petals were tangled in her hair.
Logan squinted, moving closer. The plants and trees seemed to float around her as she passed. They swayed on an unseen current to make room—the ferns and undergrowth caressing her ankles, brushing against her calves.
It was as though she were moving underwater, slowly and peacefully, a mythical creature in her element. Logan wanted to say something, but he couldn’t bring himself to disturb what could only be described as perfect harmony.
Maybe it was true, what everyone used to whisper about when he was growing up. Some people called the Holloway women witches. Others called them fairy folk. They said Juliette had some special ability, some kind of pact with nature.
Logan’s parents had been quick to dismiss the rumors, being completely practical people who didn’t believe in any of that “wackadoo stuff,” as his mother called it. But standing in the woods now, he knew she was special. And somehow, he’d always known. Even back when he was a kid visiting his grandfather, he used to sometimes see glimpses of her in the woods. She walked through them differently. Where most people would forge a path and head in a direction through the trees, Juliette seemed to wander with them. Like she was a part of them.
He watched in fascination as she crouched beside a narrow stream where ferns and small white flowers grew. She murmured to the flowers, gathering a few and breathing in their scent. He felt as if he were an intruder, watching something too rare and beautiful, not meant for his eyes. It was a ridiculous thought, but one he couldn’t shake.
He backed away, intending to leave. But he had no relationship with Mother Nature, and moving silently through the woods wasn’t possible.
A twig snapped under his foot, and Juliette glanced up like a startled doe.
She rose slowly, surrounded by a sea of ferns.
He leaned back into the shadows, but felt as though she could still see him, clear as day.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
Logan tried to think of a hundred different normal things to say, but the situation felt so surreal that he said the truth. His gaze skimmed the neckline of her nightgown. “Observing the wildlife.”
Juliette shifted on her feet. She reminded him of a wild animal about to take flight. “It’s early. No one ever disturbs me out here.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
“You can easily make it up to me,” she said, lifting her chin. “Go home.”
A dark shadow wrapped around her ankles and Logan saw that it was the cat from his porch earlier.
“These are my woods, too,” he said.
“Your woods? They belong to themselves.”
“Not according to the documents my grandfather’s attorney gave me. Half of them belong to me.”
He could tell she didn’t like it. Her blue eyes flashed, and she squared her shoulders. “Well, half is mine, but I leave them alone. They don’t like to be bothered. They’re like my cat. They don’t like strangers.”
The cat walked over to him and rubbed against his legs.
“We aren’t strangers,” Logan said. “Your cat hangs out at my house sometimes.”
“Luna,” Juliette said. “Come here.”
Luna just sat near his feet, purring.
“I think she likes me.” He bent to pick her up.
“Don’t,” Juliette called. “She’ll scratch you.”
Logan lifted the purring cat and gazed over its head at Juliette. “I guess I’m not a stranger, am I?”
She frowned and walked over to them, her white nightgown swirling around her calves like mist. It was simple cotton, with thin straps and a modest neckline, but sheer enough that he could almost see the shape of her underneath.
“Luna, stop that.” Juliette reached out and gathered the cat in her arms. “What has gotten into you?” She looked at him with distrust. “Did you feed her?”
“No.”
“Give her salmon, or something?”
“No.”
“Bathe in catnip?” she asked grumpily.
Logan stared at her for a moment. “Yes. That’s exactly what I did. In fact, I order several bars of catnip soap online every few weeks, just so I don’t run out.”
Her lips twitched. She pressed them together.
Logan felt a lightness in his chest that he didn’t expect. She was trying not to smile and that made him . . . happy.
“Seriously,” she said. “Why are you out here this early in the morning?”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“So you thought you’d take a walk through the wild woods at dawn?”
“
Actually, I saw your”—he glanced down at her nightgown, fascinated by the thin satin ribbons that trailed between her breasts—“clothes through the trees and came to investigate. I thought you might be a ghost.”
Juliette gathered Luna closer and rested her chin on the cat’s head. Two pairs of eyes looked back at him. It was disconcerting to be on the receiving end of so much feminine scrutiny.
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you that ghosts don’t exist?” she asked.
“My parents did.” Logan reached out to pet Luna. The cat started to purr again. “They told me fairy tales were just make believe. They also said monsters weren’t real, but they were wrong about that.”
Juliette glanced up at him. “You’ve seen monsters?”
“Yes.” A volley of gunfire ricocheted in his mind, a scattered remnant of the nightmare that woke him earlier. “I have.”
She said nothing, just held Luna as she stroked the cat’s soft fur. After a few moments, Luna wiggled out of her arms and scampered off into the ferns.
Juliette tilted her face up to the sky. “I should go back and get ready for work. It just turned six.”
“How do you know?” Logan asked, entranced by the play of dappled light across her face.
“I can feel the sunrise,” she said simply. “I know its exact position in the sky every morning, and I can track the hours as it progresses throughout the day.” She shrugged as if it was no big deal. “Just wired that way, I guess.”
“I’ve heard that about you,” Logan said.
Juliette crossed her arms, hugging herself. “What exactly have you heard?”
“That you come from a family of gifted women and you have nature magic.” Logan shifted on his feet, aware that he was talking about a subject he was brought up to ignore. But he was a different person now. He understood that his parents clung to some beliefs because it made them feel safe, but they weren’t always right. “My uncle believes it. He thinks your ability to make plants grow is nothing short of a miracle.”
“And what do you think?” She turned and walked away, as though she didn’t expect an answer. Her hair swayed softly down her back. A few of the tiny white flowers tangled in her hair fell loose and floated to the ground. The ferns parted around her, an occasional frond curling around her legs, as she passed.
