Juliette nailed it.
She sat down on the sofa next to him, and he tried to ignore the way the scent of her dragged him back to all thoseyears before, when it was just the two of them. Sweet vanilla and tempting florals hung in the air, clouding his thoughts with memories of her and all of their firsts. The first time they held hands. The first time they kissed. The first time they made out in a darkened movie theater. And the first time they had sex on the beach.
Hell, all of his firsts were with her.
He took a hasty swig of cold beer and pushed all of it out of his mind. He couldn’t get caught up in that sort of foolishness again. It wouldn’t lead anywhere. He was better off alone. He’d grown used to it over the years, and it suited him fine. Never having to rely on anyone, never caring about anyone, made it so when they left—as they always did—the pain was far more tolerable.
“You picked out some great finishing touches.” Brock gestured to the black-framed paintings of brightly colored flowers on the wall.
“Thanks.” Juliette gave an insignificant shrug. “It almost felt like I was back in my element.”
“Speaking of elements…” Brock took another drink and hoped he wasn’t crossing an invisible line. “You never did tell me why you quit design.”
“You’re right.” She nodded, taking a sip of her beer. “I didn’t. Miss Bobbie had too much to say.”
He let out a low laugh. “She always does.”
Juliette ran her teeth along her bottom lip, twisting the beer bottle in her hands. “Well, I suppose now is as good of a time as any.”
Brock spread his arms wide. “I’m all yours.”
Her dark brows lifted, and the heat of mortification stained his cheeks. Crap. That was definitely the wrong thing to say.
“I mean, you know.” His gaze zeroed in on the plush carpet beneath his boots, and he downed a few more gulps of beer. Thecold, hoppy liquid froze his throat, but he didn’t care. “I’ve got nothing but time.”
“Right.” Juliette tucked her legs under her and got comfortable beside him. Her knee just barely grazed his thigh, and it was almost too much for him.
Her closeness was overwhelming. He couldn’t believe he’d almost forgotten how pretty she was, how often he was struck by her beauty, by her mind, by literally everything about her.
She spoke again, and her words drew him back to the present. “Let’s see, it was after you went to boot camp. After Gabi ran off and got married. I figured I wanted more out of life than putting together bouquets of flowers. I loved color, shape, and texture. I loved mixing textiles and mood. I still do.”
“But?” Brock prodded.
“But Mama hated that I wanted more for myself.” A sliver of pain lanced through Juliette’s voice, and her eyes clouded with distant hurt. “She couldn’t understand why I didn’t love flowers, why the shop couldn’t be my calling, why I wasn’t more like her.”
Brock ran one thumb along the scruff of his jaw, considering her. Juliette was nothing like her mother. She was the absolute polar opposite. Then again, there weren’t many women in the world like Georgina Laurent and for her to press those kinds of expectations on Juliette seemed terribly unfair.
Juliette sipped her beer and stared off across the room, like she was back in a memory, a place where he wasn’t invited. “So, one day I told Mama how I felt. I told her I wanted to go to school, to enroll in some interior design courses. I’d gone to community college already so I had credits that would transfer. But she didn’t understand.”
There was a shift in her expression, like a mask of sadness covered her face. Her mouth pulled to one side and when her gaze lifted to his, regret banked deep in the silvery blue of her eyes. “I told her I didn’t want to be mediocre for the rest of mylife. She told me I’d never amount to anything either way. Then I said I hated her.”
Juliette brought the beer bottle to her lips, but she didn’t drink. Instead, she sighed, her shoulders rising and falling with despondency. “At some point, I must have figured she was right. So, I quit design. This is the first time I’ve been back home since I left. The first time I’ve even spoken to her.”
“Damn, Jules.” He sat back, stunned, and fully aware he called her by her nickname. But she didn’t reprimand him this time, and so he let it go. “I had no idea it was that bad with the two of you.”
Another half-hearted shrug. “It’s fine.”
Except it wasn’t. He could tell by the look on her face that what happened between her and her mother was anything but fine. “Still, it can’t be easy.”
“Of course not. Nothing with Georgina Laurent is ever easy.” She angled her body toward him and smiled brightly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “But that’s enough about my pathetic sob story. What about you?”
Brock didn’t look at her, because he knew she could see right through him. “What about me?”
“Don’t even.” She lifted one slim hand, waving it between them. “I saw how you stormed in here, pissed off at the world.”
He leaned back against the couch and took another drink of beer, brushing off her concern. “I was just agitated.”
“Why?” Juliette pressed, inching closer.
