I sip the cider in the mug she pressed into my hand, even though it’s too sweet and too spiced. It’s the kind of thing Juliet and Gran would drink.
“I don’t suppose you have any Scotch?” I give her a sheepish grin.
“I do, but you don’t need Scotch. What you need is a box of condoms and a swift kick in the ass.” She says grabbing a bottle of Scotch and tipping a drop into my cup; a small mercy.
“Noted,” I say, sipping again. “I’ve given this a lot of thought.”
“You two haven’t thought of anything,” she scoffs and she’s right in a way.
“Never been in love, Gran?” I give her a side eye. “Lovers don’t do a lot of thinking.”
“I was, and that’s the only reason why you’re here. I see the same look in your eyes that my husband used to have for me. Every single day of our lives he looked at me the way you look at Juliet, until the day he died. Life can give you a lot of shit to shovel, though. We lost our son in a motorcycle accident and that nearly broke us. We struggled to make ends meet, we raised a daughter who isn’t really the kind of woman I wanted her to be, and another we don’t see. Life is sticky and messy and it rolls you. Love—love needs to hold on through all of it. I’ll survive you tearing Eaton down, but Juliet won’t. Not because a building can’t be replaced, but because a heart really can’t be mended once it’s broken. You two are not on the same page and that’s the problem.” Gran pours a healthy dose of Scotch in her own glass despite it being eight in the morning, and eyes me.
“See, that’s where you, in all of your infinite wisdom, are wrong. I am on the same page. She wrote a report and I plan on making that our game plan. We will not only save the library, and Eaton, but I’ll build it up, make it better, and bring prosperity to everyone. It is all Juliet and her brilliant mind that has set this in motion. I have the power and the money to make it happen. So, I can be the man she wants me to be.” I am pleading, I know it but I’m also passionate about this.
“I’m sure you can and you will. I believe you, but that isn’t what I’m talking about.” She sips her drink, then gets up and takes a tray of something out of the oven and the whole room fills with the smell of cinnamon and spice.
She sets the tray down on the table and I see little pumpkin spice muffins begging me to taste their fluffy warm goodness. I take one before being offered and I’m promptly scalded a little; deservedly so.
“They’re hot.” Gran gives me a shrug as if I can’t seem to keep myself out of trouble.
I’m a forty-eight year old toddler and Gran makes me nervous. “What are you talking about if it’s not the project?”
“You are going to be a father. Creating life is the greatest gift you can give the world and you’re treating it like trash, or worse—a line item on your outgoing expenditures. Juliet is pregnant with your child. This is a time when the two of you need to be celebrating and cherishing each other, but you’ve treated Juliet and the baby like a bill on autopay. I don’t give a shit if you aren’t forever, that baby is. So if you’re here to get the girl, you better be ready to take the gremlin too or you can call your car and go. We’ve got this.”
Damn, I’m scared of Gran.
“I’m here for both the girl and the gremlin,” I say quietly.
At that moment, Juliet appears, her hair is tousled from sleep, sweater slipping off one shoulder, puffy red eyes wide with surprise when she sees me sitting at Gran’s table like I belong here. Her steps falter, and I can see the shield she pulls up and the distance she wants to put between us.
“Marcel?” Her voice is soft, uncertain. “What are you doing here?”
I set the report on the table between us. “I read it. Every word. You’ve given me a solution I didn’t think existed. And …” My throat feels tight, but I push through it. “You’ve given me something I can’t ignore. Not anymore.”
She blinks, then lowers herself into the chair opposite mine. She doesn’t touch the report, just studies me, waiting.
Gran hums around us, clattering dishes in the sink, pretending not to listen but soaking up every word.
I lean forward. “Juliet, you won. You’ve shown me more Christmas, more heart, more possibility for success in a few weeks than I’ve seen in my entire life. And I’m not going to bulldoze that down. Not you. Not Eaton. and not our baby.”
Her lips part, eyes wide, breath catching like she doesn’t quite believe me.
And for the first time in years, I realize I don’t care what the numbers say. I care about the look on her face right now.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Juliet
I stare across Gran’s table at Marcel, his words echoing in my head. He says all the right things and seems genuine. Yet how do I believe a man like Marcel Dubois, who has money in his veins and profit inked into his very bones? He promised to never commit to a woman and now what is he offering exactly?
“You mean that now. We are your focus at the moment,” I say. “But tomorrow? Next week? When Singapore calls you with dollar signs in their eyes? Will you still mean it?”
For once, he doesn’t have a slick comeback. I lean closer, refusing to let him drown me in those storm-gray blue eyes. “You want me to believe you, Marcel? Then show me. Show me you care about more than numbers on a page. There’s a Christmas fundraiser tomorrow night, Gran’s church is putting it on. The money goes to kids who wouldn’t have a Christmas otherwise. You come and see what real need looks like. Not condos, not investors, just kids who want mittens, a doll, or maybe just a hot meal. And if you still want me and the baby and our bleeding hearts in your life after that, I’ll consider it.”
Gran hums approvingly behind me, but she doesn’t say a word. She just keeps rinsing her mug, letting Marcel deal with me.
Marcel’s gaze flickers, the way it does when something cuts him deeper than he wants to admit. “Juliet ...” he begins, voice low, but then he breaks off.
