On their last night together before he went to boot camp, she hadn’t cried. She swore she wouldn’t shed a single tear because she knew he was coming back to her.
Instead, he’d put intentional space and distance between them.
He often wondered if she’d cried for him then, or if she’d just been furious. He was too afraid of the answer to ask.
Brock’s stomach rumbled, and he attempted to get out of the bed. He slid one leg out from under the comforter and moved inch by agonizing inch until he awkwardly rolled off the mattress. He pulled on some pants and grabbed an old hoodie from on top of his dresser. Then he silently crept from the room in an effort not to disturb her.
In the kitchen, he brewed a pot of coffee and tried to give himself a pep talk. This didn’t have to be weird. He would just be cool. Stay casual. He could scramble some eggs, maybe fry up some bacon. Breakfast was a normal thing to do post-sex. He had just cracked the first egg into a bowl when she came into the kitchen.
“I’m sorry,” Brock said automatically. His gaze stole over her. She looked absolutely perfect wearing his large sweatshirt and rolled flannel pants. Her hair was piled back on top of her head, and it tilted to the side. He smiled apologetically. “I tried not to wake you up.”
“You didn’t.” She yawned and took a seat on one of the barstools at the island. Her sleepy morning smile caused his heart to hammer. “I smelled coffee.”
“Let me get you a mug.” He grabbed two from the cabinet, assuring himself this was all perfectly normal. “How do you take it?”
“Just cream, no sugar please.”
“You got it.”
He poured them each a cup, added some creamer to Juliette’s, then handed her the mug. “There you go.”
“Thanks.” She took a sip and sighed.
He cracked another egg and decided he needed to keep the conversation rolling in order to avoid the inevitable awkward silence. “How do you want your eggs? And is bacon okay?”
“Scrambled is fine.” Juliette’s pale blue eyes watched him from over the rim of her steaming mug. Unreadable. Guarded. “And absolutely.”
He intended to ask about the crispiness of her bacon next, but she cut him off. “Listen, last night was…”
Brock braced for impact. He knew what was coming. She was going to say their night together was just a rebound. A lapse in judgment. A mistake. He could handle it, he’d been through worse. Hell. He’d been through literalhellwhile deployed. Rejection would be a piece of cake.
“Great,” she finished, and her cheeks flushed pink. She blinked, her gaze landing on everything in his kitchen but him. She took and breath and continued, “But I have to be honest with you.”
“Okay.” He nodded. He could appreciate honesty.
Even if it stung.
“These last few days have been nothing short of amazing. I feel like I’ve found part of myself again. Getting back into design has been the best decision I’ve made in…a while. And I’ve lovedworking with you.” She reached across the island and gently took his hand. Squeezed. “Being with you.”
“But?” he suggested, hating the knot of dread clogging the back of his throat.
“But I can’t promise anything. Like if I’m going to keep working with you and Anders. Or if I’ll even stay in Mystic Cove.” Juliette took another sip of her coffee and released his hand, sitting up. “There are too many unknowns right now. I still have to find a way to fix my relationship with my mother, and now this news about Rodrigo…”
Brock still couldn’t believe the bastard had been so shitty to Juliette. She deserved so much better. She deserved someone…
Like me.
The thought infiltrated his mind before he could stop it.
“I just don’t know.” Uncertainty weighed her voice. She chewed lightly on her bottom lip, her pretty blue gaze lifting to his own. “But I’d like to try.”
Brock felt like he was soaring. It wasn’t a promise, but it sparked a glimmer of hope in his heart. Maybe, just maybe, there was something between them. He lifted her hand and brushed the lightest of kisses across her knuckles. He told himself it didn’t matter if it wasn’t forever. “For now is enough.”
He came around the island and pulled her to him. The shyest smile graced her lips, and blood rushed in his ears, a steady roar that drowned out all rational thought. He peppered her neck with kisses and let his hands wander, rediscovering her curves hiding underneath his borrowed clothing. Her arms wove around his neck, her legs fell open, inviting him closer, just as his phone rang.
Juliette’s head fell back as his mouth sought the hollow of her throat. She smelled like him, and his cock twitched. “Shouldn’t you get that?”
“Some other time,” he murmured against the warmth of her flesh, lifting her off the barstool and into his arms.
