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AS SOON AS HIS BACK was turned, Juliette scrounged around in her purse for a mirror. The guy was staying to talk to her—to her!—and she could not face him with swollen eyes, streaked mascara, and a drippy nose.
"Oh no!" she wailed when she saw her tiny reflection. She fanned her face with the bulletin, willing her swollen lids to deflate. "Please, oh, please unpuff!" she pleaded, alternating between patting and fanning and staring mournfully at her distorted features.
Five minutes passed, then ten, and the longer she stared at herself in the mirror, the more convinced she became that she could not go out there and face him again. Maybe if she hid in here long enough, he'd get the hint and go home.
"Excuse me." This time it was a woman's voice breaking into her thoughts. She looked up and smiled at the stranger, trying to act natural. "Juliette?"
"Yes."
"I'm Michelle. I'm a friend of Victor Jarrett's. I just want to make sure you're okay."
"Oh. Well." So much for taking a hint. Juliette just shrugged.
"I see." Michelle slipped into the row of seats in front of Juliette and turned around to face her.
Finally, Juliette sighed and said, "Would you mind doing me a huge favor? Do you mind letting Officer...Victor know that I'm okay, but that I'm just going to hide out in here until he's gone?" She snorted. "I'm not really good company right now!"
Michelle smiled broadly, apparently enjoying Juliette's transparency. She paused only incrementally, then reached over the seat back and placed a hand on Juliette's knee. "Listen, Juliette. I'm going to be a meddling busybody, but I think you should know that Vic couldn't keep his eyes off you the whole service. I don't think he's going to agree to that."
Juliette's belly flip-flopped, half in happiness, half in despair. He'd been watching her throughout the whole service? But that meant he'd witnessed her embarrassing breakdown, too.
And he came to her rescue anyway.
He didn't run.
"You know, most men would have ducked out the back door once the tears started," Michelle said, as though reading her thoughts.
Juliette sighed. "I know. But, look at me. How can I face him looking like this?"
"He's already seen you, though." Michelle looked a little bemused.
"I know!" Juliette wailed, putting her face in her hands. "This is how he always sees me! I think I've cried every time he's been around! Just once—once!—I'd like to look all put together around him, not soggy and..." She looked up forlornly, her gray eyes tearing up again. "Psycho."
"Psycho? Goodness, it can't be that bad."
"You have no idea," she retorted, but didn't expound.
Michelle reached over and patted Juliette's knee again. "Listen. Why don't you take a few more minutes, and I'll take Vic out to the parking lot to wait for you. Moonlight softens everything, even tear-stained cheeks."
"What if I sneak out the back door?"
Michelle grinned as she stood to go. "I'll just send the cops looking for you. I've got connections, you know."
Now Juliette smiled too.
~ ~ ~
THEY WERE WAITING, just as Michelle promised, out in the parking lot, strategically positioned between lamp posts where the light was lowest. Juliette had a brief moment of panic and actually considered making a run for it and never coming back to this church again. But then she'd have to explain to Sharon and Chris, and they'd make her come back anyway. Might as well get the humiliation over with. She approached them quietly, her fingers locked around her Bible in an attempt to quell their shaking.
"Hi." Her voice cracked with nervousness, and Victor, who'd been listening intently to something Tom was saying, jerked his head up, and turned his gaze on her. He took a quick step toward her, then stopped.
Michelle had no such reservations and hurried to her side, slipping an arm through Juliette's, drawing her into the circle. "Perfect timing. The boys were just getting into an argument about cars."
"Juliette, is it? I'm Tom, Michelle's husband." The older man stuck out a hand and shook hers warmly.
"Nice to meet you. I'm Juliette. Hi...uh, Victor."
"Juliette." It was just her name, but there were a hundred unspoken words crammed into that single sound. It made her want to sigh, and smile, and cry again, all at the same time.
"Okay, you two." Michelle spoke into the electric silence, her voice offering a firm footing under Juliette's shaky legs. "Would you like to join us for pie and coffee?"
"I...I don't know if I'm up for going out in public tonight." She'd thought through this before coming out. "Can I take a rain check though? I do like pie."
"Of course. I'll hold you to that. Victor?"
"Actually, I..." He glanced over at Juliette.
"I'm fine, Off—Victor. You go have pie." Juliette could tell he was waffling because of her.
"No." He shook his head. "I mean, I—"
"Spit it out, man." Tom thumped him on the back, grinning broadly, and Juliette bit down on her bottom lip when she saw Victor's blanched face.
"I'd really like you to come, Juliette." He hadn't come any closer, standing three feet from her with his thumbs hooked into his pockets, but his words seemed to cross the space between them, wrapping themselves around her.
Michelle jumped in. "Here's an idea. We can get pie to go and take it back to our place."
"I suppose that would be okay." On the spot, Juliette couldn't figure out how to back out gracefully at that point. "Do you live close by? I'd like to stop by my place first. Freshen up a little, if that would be okay."
"Actually, Tom and Michelle live only a few blocks away from your neighborhood." Victor was studying her, a question in his eyes.
"We do? That's perfect! Why don't you stop by your house, drop your car off, and Vic can pick you up from there. We'll get the pie and meet you two back at our place in about a half an hour. Will that work?"
"I can do that," Victor agreed. Juliette nodded, feeling a little short of breath, and she didn't think it was all because of her terribly stuffed up nose.
"Perfect. And when you get to our place, you can explain to me why you, sir, know where this young lady lives." Michelle winked at Juliette and took her husband's hand. "One French Silk and one Key Lime pie coming up. Any objections?"
"Nope."
"Sounds delicious," Juliette agreed.
"Are you sure you're okay with this?" Victor asked quietly, once the older couple was out of hearing.
"It's fine," she replied. "Especially since I can go home first and make myself a little more presentable. You don't need to pick me up, though; I can drive myself. If you give me the address, I'll meet you there."
"But I'd like to pick you up." He said it quietly, but it sounded to Juliette like he really meant it.
"Oh. Okay. Well, that would be nice." She smiled shyly and turned away. "Um, I guess you know where I live."
"Where are you parked?" Victor scanned the parking lot for her little PT Cruiser. "I'll walk you to your car."
When he fell in step beside her, Juliette felt a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Things were turning out far differently than she'd imagined when she'd decided to attend church that evening. The parking lot was large, and the elongating silence between them made them both begin talking at the same time.
"So how long have you been coming to church here?"
"Have you been a policeman for a long time?"
"You go first," Victor laughed, reaching over to place a hand on her back as he steered her between two vehicles. How different the careful weight of his palm felt compared to Frisky Frank's octopusing fingers. It was the first time he'd intentionally touched her, other than a handshake, and she secretly hoped it wouldn't be the last.
"I just started coming here about a month ago. In fact, I just started coming to church, period. My friend, Sharon, the one you met when you pulled us over, this is where she and her husband go, so this was the obvious choice for me. I usually come with them on Sunday mornings, but I needed to be here tonight." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and glanced up at him. "It hasn't been an easy Saturday for me."
"I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?" His voice was gentle, sincere, attentive.
You can marry me. The thought startled her so that she stumbled, and he reached out to steady her. This time, his hand lingered a little longer.
"You're doing it now," she said, referring in part to his palm sending a delicious current up and down her spine. "Thanks for not letting me go home to drown my misery in a tub of chocolate ice cream."
"My pleasure. The misery part, not so much the ice cream. Especially since there's probably ice cream involved anyway, if I know Tom. And I've been on the police force in this town for twelve years." He changed subjects so seamlessly that it took a moment for her to remember that she'd asked him about his work.
They arrived at her car, and she dug in her purse for her keys. "That's a long time. Do you like it? I mean, is Midtown a good place to be a policeman?"
"The salary isn't great for Southern California, but the benefits are. I like what I do, I like the folks I work with, and I like this town. That's worth far more to me than a couple extra bucks on my paycheck."
"So are you the good cop or the bad cop?"
"You'd have to endure the hot seat to find that out." She could hear the smile in his voice.
"Actually, I think I've already been on the hot seat with you. Let me just say that the verdict on you is still out." She turned and looked up at him just before unlocking her car door. "I think I'm going to enjoy listening to you try to explain how you know me to your friends."
"Yes. That. Maybe we should compare stories first?" He reached out and opened the door for her.
"No way! You're on your own, Officer." She slid into her seat and dropped her purse and Bible on the passenger side floor. "These are your friends. I'm just showing up to defend myself, should you try to throw my fuzzy pink duck butt under the bus."
"What is it with you and ducks?" He asked, bemusedly, peering down over the open door at her.
"Ah." She clambered back out, stood straight, and gestured at her turned out toes. "Ducky."
He laughed, and waited until she was comfortable behind the wheel before closing the door. Then he headed back the way they'd come, his long legs quickly covering the distance to his own car.
She sat still for several moments, both hands wrapped around the steering wheel, just breathing, willing her heart to slow its pace. Could this really be happening? Was this a kinda-sorta date? Did he ask her out tonight? Or was it the Petersons' idea? Did she dare get excited?
Unable to contain it all, she let out a tiny "Squee!" Turning the key in the ignition, she murmured, "Okay, God. Whatever this is, help!"
She pulled into her garage, waited for the door to close completely, just as her grandfather had taught them, before heading inside. She'd just dropped her purse and Bible onto the kitchen table when she heard the knock on her front door.
Opening the door wide, she found Victor standing on her doorstep, grinning down at her, looking just the way she'd imagined him over the last several weeks. Except tonight, he wasn't in uniform. And he looked even better not in uniform, she decided. The pine green, long-sleeved shirt he wore followed the contours of his torso. Chest. Definitely more chest than vest. Closing her eyes briefly to curtail her wayward thoughts, she stepped back and held a hand aloft. "Do you want to come in? I just need a minute."
He stepped inside, and her entry instantly shrunk.
"Please make yourself comfortable," She pointed into the living room before hurrying down the hall toward her bedroom.
~ ~ ~
VICTOR COULD HARDLY believe he was standing inside Juliette's home. Over the last few weeks he had waited in vain for a call that would send him here again, but Mrs. Cork seemed appeased by the cessation of Juliette's blind dates. He still felt like a stalker as he slowed his car in front of Juliette's condo while driving his route, hoping to catch her coming or going. Once, he'd made eye contact with Mrs. Cork, who was out front. She'd quickly scooped up her unleashed dog and waved. But now, here he was, inside, at her invitation, not on the job.
"Lord, help me not to make a fool of myself tonight." His muttered prayer was heartfelt. He hadn't planned any of this, and he wasn't accustomed to winging things, especially when it came to relationships, and in particular, relationships with women.
He glanced around, appreciating her simple, sensible furnishings. There were a few feminine touches of color and texture here and there, and the books on her shelves were definitely not what he would read, but all in all, he liked how comfortable he felt in her home. The walls were painted a soft caramel, the furniture in varying shades of earth tones, and the lighting was pleasant; soft, but not too dim. The bookcase and picture frames matched, all painted a low-sheen black.
He peeked into her kitchen, his appreciation growing. There were a few dishes in the sink, and her coffee pot still had the remains from earlier in the day. A soup pot was upside down on a towel beside the sink, evidence she'd recently cooked something. He was glad to see she used her kitchen, unlike so many single people he knew. Amanda, as gracious as she was, hated to cook, and she referred to her kitchen as the room where she kept the refrigerator and microwave. Juliette's refrigerator was covered in magnets, photos, and handwritten notes.
"I'm ready," Juliette said from the doorway, startling him. He turned; embarrassed that she'd caught him wandering.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snoop."
"I told you to make yourself at home, Officer. Besides, I have nothing to hide," she quipped, spreading her arms wide. "No illegal gambling club, no hotbed of iniquity, no secret smuggling ring. What you see is what you get."
"Well, if it makes any difference, I like what I see." He meant it, too. He liked what he'd seen of her little home, but he also liked seeing her in it. He could hardly tell she'd been crying. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed, and she had put some shiny stuff on her lips that made him notice how pretty they were. Her hair was swept up in a clip at the back of her head, leaving her long neck exposed, and she wore all black, except for a silver choker encrusted with chunky stones, all blues and greens, making her eyes look like deep waters. His gaze drifted back to her lips and stayed there.
"What?" she asked, bringing a hand up to her mouth. "Is there lipstick on my teeth?"
"No." He reached over and drew her hand away from her face, letting her fingers slip slowly through his. He saw something in her eyes, a flicker of uncertainty. "No, Juliette, your lipstick is perfect." He suddenly wanted to taste those lips; to kiss the shimmery pink right off of them. He had to stop looking at her mouth. He had to get out of her house. Now. "You look...great." Edible. "Let's go eat some pie."
He waited while she locked up, noticing the slight tremble of her hands, and he wondered—hoped—it was in reaction to his touch, because he was certainly a little shaken up himself. His eyes drifted along the curve of her neck, and he thought he could see her pulse fluttering in the hollow just above her collarbone. His fingers ached to touch her there, and he swallowed hard.
He felt like a live wire around her. Every sensation was heightened, standing this close to her. He could smell her hair, the soft floral fragrance she wore. He could hear her shallow breaths, even though the sound of his own heartbeat thundered in his ears. And he couldn't stop looking at her, her skin, her eyes, her mouth, the slope of her shoulder, the arch of her back where he wanted to test the fit of his hand again.
Shake it off, man. Slow down.
But he rested his hand on her back anyway as they walked down the sidewalk to his car. Perfect fit. Even the way his fingers curved toward the indentation of her waist was just right, as though his hand belonged there. He held the door for her, and hurried around to his side.
Ten minutes later, they were pulling up in front of the Petersons' home.
