“You just left?” Anders’s gaze sharpened. “Because of something someone said.”
Brock nodded stiffly. His conscience carried the weight of that guilt for years. “That’s right.”
Anders blew out a low whistle. “Sounds like you have some baggage to work through, preferably before you get too deep on this job together. Because the last thing we need is the two of you giving each other the silent treatment while we’re trying to renovate and restore this place.”
“I know,” he groaned, not wanting to think about how furious Juliette would be once she learned the truth.
“Well.” Anders spread his arms wide. “Go fix it.”
Brock blinked. “Right now?”
“Yeah, man. There’s no better time.”
“But what about hauling out the furniture from upstairs and the demo of the bathrooms?”
“I’ll call one of the guys over to help. Go fix this thing with her. She deserves the truth.” Anders pointed a finger at him. “And the longer you keep it from her, the worse the blow will be when she finally finds out.”
As much as Brock hated to admit it, Anders was right.
“Fine. I’ll go see if I can find her.” But the thought of his impending conversation with Juliette sent needles of anxiety prodding down his spine. Because he’d already lied to her. He said the reason he left in the first place was because he met someone else. Now, he had to explain the lie and the truth.
Shit, this was going to be bad.
Anders tossed a sledgehammer over his shoulder and gave a wave. “Good luck.”
He was going to need it.
Brock left the beach house and climbed into his truck. All of Anders’s points were valid, but he had no idea how to explain the past to Juliette without hurting her again. He could just come right out and say it, maybe just address the long-standing wall of tension that kept them separated from each other even when they were in the same room. But this kind of deception, this sort of betrayal, wouldn’t make things better between them. And it certainly didn’t improve his chances if he wanted something more with her in the future.
He wasn’t surprised to find Shoreline Drive almost empty for this time of day. A heavy bank of gray clouds was rolling in, and with it came a major temperature drop, sending the weather plunging into the thirties as soon as the sun went down. What was surprising, however, was parking in front of Mystic Florals and discovering all the lights were off. It was a Saturday, so there were likely weddings on the agenda, but he hadn’t expected the store to be closed. The sign, with its bouquet of flowers, bounding mermaid, and gold lettering, swayed gently in the breeze, and he pressed his hands up to the display window.
The flower bar Juliette created stood front and center, but the shop was clearly closed for the day.
“She’s not here.”
Brock spun around. “Oh, good afternoon, Gigi. I didn’t see you there.”
The matriarch of the Laurents said nothing. She simply stood there with a black clutch tucked under her arm while she adjusted the overly large sunglasses she wore, despite there being no sun.
Their encounters in the past had always been brief and professional. Even when he was growing up and Juliette invited him over for dinner, Gigi wasn’t exactly the maternal type. It wasn’t as though she was cruel, but she wasn’t warm and invitingeither. She wasn’t the sort of mother who welcomed people into her house with open arms. And she was nothing like Yaya. Instead she gave off an air of decided sophistication, of dignity and pretension. Today was no different.
Brock shifted his weight as a cold breeze collected off the coast and swept through the rows of homes and shops. The temperature was dropping. “Do you know where I can find Juliette?”
Gigi’s lips pursed, and she waved one hand about in the air, like she was fanning herself but not quite. “She is your employee now, is she not?”
“She’s not my employee,” he countered quickly, and a quick beat of frustration heated through him. “She’s my coworker.”
“Same, same.” Gigi sniffed, then pretended to dust a piece of imaginary lint off the shoulder of her peacoat. “I do believe you stole her from me.”
Ah, so this was the game they were going to play.
Brock knew a barb when he heard one, and the shot Gigi took was aimed straight at him.
“We had a deal.” Her voice was prim. Cold.
His muscles bunched with tension, pulled so tightly he was sure he would snap. His jaw clenched, and when he spoke, he ground the words out. “That deal was made thirteen years ago.”
“And what has changed?”
