And Brockton Gallagher was a damn good distraction.
Frantic, she scrambled out of the bed.
She still wore his pajamas from the night before, and while she could probably scavenge her own clothing, the laundry room was right down the hall from the master bedroom. A risk she definitely wasn’t willing to take. Instead, she grabbed a blanket off the back of the sofa, silently promising to return it to him as soon as she recovered from her brief spell of mortification, and texted the only person she knew who wouldn’t ask any questions.
Twenty minutes later, standing at the end of Brock’s driveway and trying not to freeze to death, a pair of headlights pulled up to the house, and a sporty red BMW rolled to a stop.
Anne-Sophie had arrived.
Juliette jumped in the car without looking back, barely waiting for Anne-Sophie to put the car in park. Without saying anything, her baby sister handed her a Michael Kors backpack. Tucked neatly inside were a pair of black jeans, a bronze turtleneck with shimmery thread, and a cream-colored beanie to hide her frizzy, messy hair.
Anne-Sophie shifted into drive and circled the cul-de-sac. “Check the outer pocket.”
Juliette unzipped it to discover a pack of cleansing cloths, some mouthwash, and a neutral pink lip gloss.
“You’re the best.” Juliette breathed a sigh of relief. “How did you pack all of this so quickly?”
“I didn’t.” Anne-Sophie winked. “I’m always prepared. I keep a spare set of everything in the car, just in case.”
She stole a glance at Juliette as they headed toward Shoreline Drive. “Coffee and breakfast?”
“Yes, please.”
Juliette changed quickly in her sister’s car, cramming Brock’s thermal shirt and ill-fitting sweatpants into the backpack. She ran her fingers through her rumpled hair, smoothing the tangles, then pulled the beanie over her head. She freshened up and dabbed on some of the lip gloss, painfully aware she looked as though she’d just completed a walk of shame.
“Good enough,” Anne-Sophie said with a knowing smile. “Boots are in the backseat.”
Juliette reached back and discovered a pair of gorgeous Cole Haan black leather booties with silver studs. How in the hell was Anne-Sophie able to afford all of this? Granted, Juliette had been out of the loop for a while, but certainly Adrienne or Vivianne would’ve mentioned if Anne-Sophie was working some high-end job. Whatever it was though, it was good enough to outfit her in designer everything.
Juliette grabbed the boots, eyeing her sister with one arched brow.
Anne-Sophie smirked. “You don’t ask questions, and neither do I.”
Fair enough.
Morning Glory Cafe was the only breakfast spot open before seven. The coffee was mediocre but the food was some of the best around. One time, when she was younger, Juliette wanted a donut stuffed with buttercream and covered with chocolate frosting on top. They were fresh out of her favorite and offered to fill a long john full of buttercream for her instead. The donut was so heavy and so full of vanilla frosting it sagged in the middle. Juliette had never been happier, or survived such a sugar high. Now, however, she preferred to order a flight of mimosas.
The cafe was quaint and cozy, with just enough seating and a comfortable atmosphere to make anyone feel at home. Mellow music floated from the speakers, the furnishings were rustic and made to look worn, and there was an entire mural of morning glory flowers painted on the far wall.
“If anything could make me stay in Mystic Cove, it’s definitely these cinnamon churro pancakes.” Juliette shoved a forkful into her mouth.
Anne-Sophie arched a polished brow and said nothing as she sipped her coffee, which was heavy on the sugar but light on the cream.
Juliette suddenly felt the need to defend herself. “Nothing happened.”
It was a blatant lie and her sister saw right through it. Anne-Sophie spread a spoonful of cream cheese on her everything bagel, then hummed to herself. “I’m not so sure I believe you, Jules. You’ve got that whole…je ne sais quoithing going on."
Juliette blinked. “The what?”
“You know.” Anne-Sophie pointed at her with the butter knife, moving it in a small circle. The corner of her mouth twitched into a nefarious smirk. “The post-sex glow.”
“Sophie!” Juliette squeaked her sister’s name and cast a hasty glance over both shoulders to make sure no one else overheard their conversation.
Anne-Sophie flitted her fingers in the same dismissive way as Mama. “Don’t be such a prude.”
“I’m not,” Juliette objected. She dropped her voice though, just in case. “But I don’t want Miss Bobbie spreading any rumors, either.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Anne-Sophie muttered with a wink. “So, tell me about the beach house.”
