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HE WAS IN TROUBLE.
This time, Sarah refused to hand the paper over until Victor gave up some information. They were both putting in extra hours because of a flu bug going around, and everyone who wasn't sick was covering for those who were. It was a slow night, and for that they were both grateful, but when Sarah answered Mrs. Cork's disgruntled complaints with barely restrained laughter, Victor saw it in her eyes that her curiosity would no longer be denied.
"Whoa," Sarah said, sitting back in her chair after he finished giving her what he thought was a very objective debriefing of his on-the-clock encounters with the now infamous Juliette Gustafson. He left out the pie date with the Petersons and the line-backer take-down. That was none of Sarah's business. Besides, he'd sworn off thinking about that night during work hours. "No wonder you've been wandering around here looking like you've been hit by a Mack truck."
"What do you mean?" He'd been stupid enough to ask.
"Oh, man. Denial, too? It's worse than I thought. Hoo-ie!" Sarah shook her head and took another call while Victor glared at her. She handed him the call report and shooed him off with a grin and a wave. He went, feeling like a flushed-cheek kid, glancing down at the paper she'd handed him. She'd written in big block letters across the top, YOU ARE IN T-R-O-U-B-L-E!
He knew it was true the moment Juliette barged out her front door to greet him with her contempt. Even in her disheveled and pink-robed state, she was radiant, making him ache at the sight of her. He fumbled with his notebook, pretending to read words that weren't written there, collecting his thoughts enough to speak coherently.
Sarah was right. He was falling for Juliette, the wild girl. The wild girl with the out-of-control sisters. And the out-of-control friends. And the out-of-control neighbor. And now the out-of-control dog named Tootles.
Bob.
He could no longer deny it. For three weeks he'd waged war in his heart; praying, thinking, contemplating, imagining, wondering how he could even consider having a relationship with her, then wondering how he could go on breathing without her. Each Saturday night in church, he watched for her, hoping his reaction to her would be different when he saw her, hoping his heart wouldn't feel like a jackhammer trying to punch a hole in his chest. And each Saturday night she didn't show left him feeling more uncertain than ever.
But tonight, instead of more turmoil, the sight of her was like a cool drink of water to his thirsty heart. When she poked him in the chest and called him manly, hope flooded through the rest of him, sweeping away the murky shadows of fear. Pressing her hand to his heart, he'd felt anchored, connected. And when he pulled away from her curb just now, he felt like he was leaving home.
"I am in trouble," he said, a hand on the back of his neck, his fingers massaging the stiff muscles. He played things over in his mind, from the beginning, back to his very first encounter with her, speeding because she was hungry. He could see the chagrin on her face as he stood over her explaining why he was giving her a ticket, like she was a child. How ridiculous he must have seemed to her. Her tears the second time—tears that seemed to come from nowhere, but now he knew better—were the tears of a broken heart, of someone taken for granted and tossed away. He welcomed the surge of anger, quickly followed by the longing to protect her from the kind of man who would treat her so dishonorably .... Then he heard her weary voice say, "I spent way too much time trying to figure out what I'd done to make you treat me so unkindly. Well, I get it now. I know your type too well."
His foot slid off the accelerator, and his car slowed to a crawl on the empty, past-midnight street. "I am that man. I'm the type of man who would treat her so unkindly, so dishonorably." He hadn't contradicted her when she said those things about herself; his reticence must've led her to believe he agreed.
Couldn't she tell how violently she stirred his senses? Didn't she see how alive he felt every moment he spent with her?
Of course not. Because he questioned her integrity every time he had the slightest opportunity. And when he finally did acknowledge feeling something for her, he panicked and ran, abandoning her to her doubts and questions of self-worth.
To add insult to injury, she'd taken his rudeness and insensitivity like a trooper, like someone accustomed to doing so. She remained authentic and transparent, while he pushed, insulted, and assaulted....
That kiss. His gut tightened in response.
She called him manly, not once, but several times tonight. He felt her hand beneath his, curled around his heart, and he brought his fist up to his chest even now. He loved how everything she was thinking and feeling could be seen in her dove eyes. He loved that she didn't wear masks. He loved that she said what she was thinking. He loved that she didn't pretend to be something she wasn't. He loved—
"I love her."
He swerved abruptly off the road and thrust the cruiser into park. His chest felt like it was caving in. His vision actually blurred and he thought he was going to be sick. Climbing out of the car, he stumbled to the sidewalk and started pacing, back and forth, breathing deeply, in through the nose, out through the mouth. With those three words everything seemed to fall into place, like a combination lock to his heart, and he thought he might just be consumed by the rush of emotions that crashed through him. He wanted to turn around and fly back to her, to sweep her into his arms, and tell her everything that was bursting out of his unlocked heart.
"Oh, God," he moaned, bending over with his hands on his knees, feeling his world spinning out of control. "Help me," he begged. "Help me know what to do with all of this. It's more than I can hold on to right now."
Then let it go, son. Stop flailing and kicking and resisting. Give it to Me. Let me take your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.
~ ~ ~
"'MAYBE YOU WILL,' TOOTLES, that's what I said. Very clever and mysterious, don't you think?" Juliette actually twirled, the thick socks allowing her an extra half spin. Tootles-Bob ran a circle around the living room, launching himself up and over the back of the sofa. That brought her dance to an abrupt halt.
"Tootles! No, no! Bob!" Juliette laughed and plopped down on the sofa, letting the animal figure out it was time to settle down. Finally, she got up, found the leash Ren had given her, and brought the dog's blanket into the living room. "Looks like we're sleeping on the couch tonight. At least I am. You're sleeping on the floor. Tied to me." She held up her arm indicating the handle of the leash looped around her wrist.
She made a bed of blankets and pillows for herself, got the dog settled on his, and they both fell asleep without further ado.
The next morning came much too quickly, and with it, a flood of doubt that her fatigue could not fend off. Why would someone like Victor choose someone like her? Of course he was glad she had Bob; now he didn't have to feel so guilty about not calling her.
Juliette dragged herself off to work, arriving nearly ten minutes late.
"Oh good. Now I can stop worrying!" Sharon quipped as Juliette stumbled through the office door, the toe of her shoe catching on the carpet because she wasn't picking her feet up. "Ooh. Maybe I shouldn't stop worrying after all. Bad night with Tootles again?"
Juliette dropped into her chair, her purse falling to the ground with a thunk at her feet. "You won't believe who came to my house at one o'clock this morning."
Sharon gasped, "No! Are you serious?"
"I was so mad. And to make matters worse, he was being so nice." She rubbed her burning eyes. "And Bob loved him."
"What? Who's Bob?"
"Tootles. He changed Tootles' name to Bob, and Bob is much happier. I just have to get used to calling him Bob now and I'm not very happy about that."
"You let him change your dog's name? What is wrong with you?" Sharon actually looked angry. "And I thought that dog had more sense than that! Did you let him in?"
Juliette squinted at her friend across the room. "No, of course not! Why would I do that?"
"But you let him stay long enough for Tootles to decide that he liked him?"
"Bob. Loved, not liked. Bob loved him. It took less than five seconds to determine that."
"Oh my goodness, Juju! You let that man sweet talk you in the middle of the night, didn't you? Please tell me you didn't do anything stupid." Sharon was appalled.
"Besides telling him he was manly three times? No."
"Juliette Gustafson! You didn't!"
"Don't worry. He was very polite about it all. He didn't even mention it the first time. The second time he teased me a little, and the third time I was so embarrassed, he just left."
Now Sharon looked confused. "He didn't take advantage of you?"
"Sharon! No!" Juliette burst out laughing. "Take advantage of me? Woo-hoo! You should have seen me all dolled up in my pink fluffy robe and woolly socks, and crabby as a housecat in the bathtub! I'm surprised he didn't run screaming!"
"I'm surprised, that's all. It just sounds like something he'd totally use to his advantage. And I wouldn't think he'd care what you were wearing, especially showing up at one in the morning like that. What was he expecting? A ball gown?"
Juliette eyed her friend. "Wow. That was pretty harsh, don't you think? I was under the impression you liked the guy."
"What? What on earth gave you that idea?" Sharon's voice rose sharply and she stood. "I haven't cared a lick for Mike in a very long time, Juju."
"Mike?" Juliette's sluggish mind was unable to comprehend the abrupt shift in the direction of their conversation. "My Mike? What are you talking about?"
They stared at each other for several seconds before Sharon cocked her head and asked, "Juju-bee, who came to your house at one o'clock in the morning?"
"Officer Jarrett."
"Oh, my sweet pile of jellybeans!" Sharon collapsed back into her chair. "You freaked me out! I thought Mike came over last night, and I thought Tootles fell in love with Mike, and I thought you called Mike manly three times—" Sharon paused in the middle of her tirade and narrowed her eyes. "Wait a minute. So you're saying that Victor Jarrett came to your house in the middle of the night, won the heart of your dog, and you called him manly, not once, but three times?" She pushed back from her desk and rose, coffee cup in hand, and came around to sit in the chair just across from Juliette, relief turning to delight on her face. "Oh, this is good. Do tell."
Juliette crossed her arms over her chest and stared at Sharon, understanding finally sinking in. "I can't believe you thought I was talking about Mike!"
Sharon waved a hand of dismissal in the air. "I don't care about stupid old Mike. I want to know what happened last night!"
"No. Just for thinking the worst of me, I'm going to let you wonder for a while."
"Well, it does sound like something he might pull, doesn't it? Did you ever change your locks or does he still have a spare key?"
Juliette didn't answer right away.
"See? So I have a very valid excuse for thinking you were talking about Mike. Besides, you said you were mad."
"Well, I was! I was mad at Bob for not letting me sleep, I was mad at Manly-Man for never calling me, I was mad at Mrs. Cork for calling the cops again, and I was mad at myself for not owning one of those silky robes that doesn't make me look like I raided my grandmother's pajama drawer."
By the time Juliette had filled her friend in on the events of the night, she was feeling a little better. It helped that Sharon kept plying her with coffee.
"So he still wants to take you out."
"He didn't say that."
"Yes, he did."
"He said, 'Maybe I'll see you in church."
"I know what words he used. But he meant he wanted to see you." Sharon rubbed her hands together gleefully. Then she paused, her lips pursed. "I wonder why he's not married yet. I hope he's not a weirdo."
"Oh, don't say that! I'm running out of nicknames for weirdo men. Although I did call him Officer Meanie Man Jerkett."
"You called him what?" Sharon gasped, choking on her coffee.
"I know. I'm an idiot." She shrugged. "But I don't think he's a weirdo." Juliette swept her hands across her keyboard, the gentle clatter of the keys comforting her with its familiarity. "I think he's probably just super careful. I get the feeling he knows what he wants and won't settle for anything less. Like me. He's so far out of my league, Sharon. He's got his whole life in order; a career he loves, a great circle of friends, a church. Not weird. Perfect. And I don't do so well living up to perfect. Just ask Mike."
"Stop talking, Juliette. You're starting to tick me off." Sharon set her cup down on Juliette's desk and leaned forward so she was looking her friend in the eye. "You listen to me. Mike is not the measure of a man. Nor is he something to measure other men by. He is a fool, do you hear me? Why can't you get this?" She stood up and started pacing the room, then stopped, her back to the office door, both hands on her hips.
"Just because Mike treated you like dirt, doesn't make you dirt. Just because Mike didn't respect you, doesn't mean you don't deserve respect. Just because Mike didn't lift you up, does not mean you have to lie down and get walked on by everyone else. And just because Mike couldn't see the real you, doesn't mean you're not royalty. You're a princess, Juliette Gustafson, and you deserve to be treated like one. That's the way God sees you so why should you or anyone else see you any differently? You are not out of anyone's league, do you hear me? Stop settling for less!" She took a deep breath then let it all out in a whoosh of air. "Now I need to go to the little girl's room."
"Oldest escape route in the world," Juliette muttered under her breath. She turned toward her window overlooking the manicured campus lawns. She knew her friend wasn't trying to get away from her. So why did her bolstering words feel more like flying fists today?
