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HER ROOM WELCOMED HER, in spite of the horrible ordeal that had taken place within its four walls. She was surprised to find it looking so normal, and if she didn't know any better, she might have thought the whole thing had been just a nightmare. But the muffled voices in the living room confirmed it was real. And the fact that Bob, overwhelmed by his good fortune, was sound asleep on the pillow next to hers, his bed on the floor in the kitchen a rapidly fading memory.
She pulled the lapels of her robe tighter around her, still unable to get warm. As she lay there, the blankets up under her chin, tears began to well up again. She'd thought she was all cried out, but they were back. How desperate Mike had looked tonight; and how terribly his desperation had made him behave. She didn't want to think about what might have happened if Bob hadn't shown up when he did. She shuddered as she recalled Mike's fingers tracing her neckline, but she still couldn't quite believe he'd intended to hurt her.
She thought about Victor, how he'd come bursting into the bedroom, how he'd raced to her side. Her relief at the sight of him was so great that the rest of the ordeal began to blur together in her memory.
Victor. She thought he'd abandoned her. She thought he wasn't going to rescue her after all when he turned away from her. And when it was Gia, not Victor, who helped her up and out of the room, she thought she'd be alone for the rest of her life.
But then he found her in the garage with Bob, and she awoke to the sight of his face, his eyes full of concern, looking down on her as he murmured her name.
She curled into the memory of how it felt to be swept up into his arms, cradled against his chest, her cheek pressed to the rhythm of his heart. She breathed in through her nose trying to coax her olfactory nerve endings into remembering how he smelled.
Then her sisters showed up.
Her sisters. Oh, how she loved them. But tonight she just wanted to crawl under her covers and not face any of them. She wanted to go to bed, and not get up again until everything upside down in her world was put to right again.
"Juliette Gustafson sat on a wall. Juliette Gustafson had a great fall. All of her sisters and all of her friends couldn't put Juliette together again." She whispered the Mother Goose rhyme, replacing Humpty Dumpty's name with her own, the soundtrack to her pity party.
She pressed her face into her pillow, afraid one of them might hear and come in asking if she was okay.
Juliette was not okay. She hadn't been okay for a very long time. She felt shattered into a million pieces, just like she'd felt after her parents were killed.
"I'm so tired of feeling broken, God," she whispered. "I just want to be whole again."
Juliette heard the front door opening and closing, once, twice, then a third time. Then all was silent. Bob's head came up briefly, his nose sniffing the air, then he flopped back down on the pillow and stretched luxuriantly. Good. They were gone.
"Come on, Bob. Let's go make sure they locked it. I don't want any more unannounced visitors." She pushed herself up slowly, and sat on the edge of the bed with slumped shoulders, trying to work up the energy to move.
Her head snapped up. Footsteps in the hall. Bob's tail thumped the bed a few times.
"Juliette?" Victor. Her heart sang out his name.
"I thought I told you to go home," she retorted. She wasn't really angry at him. In fact, she wasn't really angry at any of them, not even Mike. But she was weary, oh, so weary, and needed to decompress without everyone watching.
"You did." She could hear a smile in his voice.
"Are the others still here, too?"
"Just Gia and me. Well, she's next door saying goodnight to Mrs. Cork. But she'll be right back."
"Oh." That wasn't so bad.
"Juliette?"
"Yes?"
"I just want you to know I'm here. In case you need me. Or anything." She smiled at his choppy sentences, sensing his uncertainty.
Weren't they a pair, she thought, all elbows and knees, bumping into each other's hearts with awkward gestures and even more awkward words. How badly she wanted to throw open the door and dive back into his arms. Why couldn't she just let go and trust him?
But I don't want to fall and break again. "Okay. Thanks."
"If you need anything, just ask me. Or Gia, of course."
"Okay. Thanks," she repeated.
"I'm here. I'll be right here when you need me. I won't leave you alone, Juliette."
She remained quiet, but his words made her chest ache with pleasure.
Bob had other ideas. Letting out a delighted bark, he leapt off the bed, and sauntered over to the door, snuffling along the crack at the bottom. He turned and came back to her, licked her knee, then went back to the door again. Two more times he did this. She might as well let him out. Maybe he wanted to go to his own bed. Besides, she needed a drink.
She sighed. "You're not fooling anyone, Jules," she said out loud. She needed Victor, she admitted to herself.
She got up and padded across the floor, tying the robe belt tightly around her waist. "Okay, Bob. Let's go have a look at Officer Manly-Man, shall we?" She pulled open the door and the two of them started down the hall. The bathroom door was closed and she could hear water running.
"You'd better not be using my toothbrush," she called out. She heard a strangled yelp of surprise right before Bob nosed the unlatched door, nudging it open. Juliette gasped, her eyes wide as they took in the shirtless man reflected in the mirror above the sink in her very girlie pink and white bathroom, a foaming toothbrush—not hers, thank goodness—jutting out of his mouth. His hair was damp around his temples and neck like he'd just washed his face, and a wonderful aroma of balsam and sandalwood filled the tiny room. He stared at her in the mirror as she stared at his reflection, both of them startled into temporary immobility.
"Oh! I—I'm so sorry. Bob!" She reached out and grabbed at the dog's collar, jerking him back out of the bathroom and closing the door quickly. "Oh Bob! How could you?" She turned and fled back to her room, the dog, thinking it all a game, chasing after her. She slammed her door and leaned against it, her heart pounding. She could feel the blood pulsing in the veins of her neck and she put a hand up to her cheeks, certain they would be flaming. Bob leapt up onto the bed, barked playfully, then crouched down, hind end up in the air, ready for the next game.
Juliette snickered, still a little in shock. "Wow," she muttered. "Wowee-wow." The image of his broad chest, the dark line of hair trailing a line down the middle of his torso, was scorched into her memory. "Did you see his face?" she asked the dog. Did you see his chest? "I think you surprised him, Bob."
She let out a squeal of surprise when a knock sounded on her door.
"Are you all right in there?" Was he smiling? Angry? As embarrassed as she was?
"Yes!" she called. "I'm sorry about busting in on you like that!"
"No harm done," he assured her. "And that was my toothbrush, by the way. I keep an overnight bag in my car for emergencies. I'm one of those overly-prepared types.” He chuckled. Good; at least he wasn’t angry. “And now I'm rambling."
"That's okay. I am too. Overly-prepared, I mean,” she said, leaning her forehead against the door as she spoke. “You should see my pantry. Or my garage. In fact, you could have had your choice of toothbrushes from my stock. And now I'm rambling, too." She giggled.
After a few moments of silence, he spoke again, this time with a gentle urging in his voice. "Uh, Juliette? Do you think you could come out here so we don't have to talk through the door?"
She pulled the collar of her robe up around her hot cheeks. "Um ... I don't think .... I'm too embarrassed."
He guffawed. "You're embarrassed? What about me? I'm the one you walked in on."
"You're a guy," she reasoned. "You can handle it."
"That makes no sense whatsoever. Open up."
"Okay. But you can't look at me." She stood up and opened the door a tiny crack. She was relieved to see he had his shirt back on.
"Not that again." He studied her one eye.
"Promise me."
He crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels, not taking his eyes off what little he could see of her. "Juliette Simone Gustafson. I want to look at you." He stepped toward her, the look in his eyes making her tremble, but she didn't close the door. "I want to see you." He braced one hand on the door jamb and ducked his head so that his eyes were level with hers. His voice dropped until it rumbled in his chest, a sound like the tide, sweeping over her. "Open this door and come out here so that I can look at you."
Then he held out his hand to her.
She hesitated only for a moment, then stepped out into the hallway, and placed her hand in his, where it fit so perfectly. He led the way down the hall and into the little kitchen. "Gia put on some coffee. Would you like some?"
He held a chair out for her, and she sat, watching him fill the empty places in her kitchen, the way he was doing in her heart. "That would be nice."
He pulled two mugs from the cupboard. "Coffee." He chuckled low in his throat. "You know, you went to a lot of trouble tonight to avoid having coffee with me."
"A lot of trouble," she agreed, reaching up to touch her swollen lip.
"I'm not going anywhere. I won't leave you alone, Juliette."
She felt heat spread up her neck to her cheeks at his words and she reached down to scratch Bob's head. "You said that already."
"I'm glad you were listening."
"And," she didn't look up at him. "I'm glad you're not going anywhere." She couldn't explain, even to herself, how glad she was.
"So how do you like your coffee? Cream? Sugar?"
"Just cream. There's milk in the fridge." She watched as he filled the two mugs. "What about you? How do you drink your coffee?"
"Black. Just the way the good Lord created it." He pulled open the refrigerator door and found the carton for her. "Why do you ask?"
"Thought it might be good to know in case I get to make you a cup of coffee someday." He just grinned as he poured a dollop of milk in her mug and gave it a quick stir. Maybe it was because she was wrung out, she didn't know, but she felt emboldened by his attentiveness. She opened her mouth to say what was on her heart, knowing if she didn't speak now, she might chicken out.
"Victor?" He stopped and looked over at her, still smiling. "Thank you. Thank you for...I don't even know where to begin. For everything. For chasing us down in the parking lot at church just to tell me—" Her forehead wrinkled. "What did you tell me?"
"If I remember right, I told you that you make me uncomfortable in my own skin. And that you're beautiful." He shook his head, his grin faltering a little. "It wasn't exactly what I had planned, but that's what we ended up with."
"Yes. I remember. You pulled a Mr. Darcy."
"A what? Is Mr. Darcy a duck, by any chance?"
"Pride and Prejudice? Elizabeth Bennett? Jane Austen?" She could feel her own eyes widen with each question, appalled at his lack of literary awareness. Oh dear. She must do something about that deficiency and quickly. But not tonight. "No, he's a man, not a duck. Although Lizzy might have disagreed at one time." Juliette shook her head. Focus, Jules. "Anyway, thank you. And thank you for not taking no for an answer, and for coming over tonight anyway. Thank you for being here."
"So you're one of those girls who mean 'yes' when they say 'no.'" He picked up the two mugs.
"I am not!" She snatched a packet of soy sauce from a bowl in the middle of the table and threatened to throw it at him. He ducked his head instinctively, but didn't spill a drop of coffee. "Usually I know exactly what I want. And then I make out a perfect plan of how I'm going to make it happen the way I want it to happen." She shrugged. "Just not lately."
"I see."
"So, thank you," she finished lamely.
"You're welcome." He set the two steaming cups down on the table and pulled out a chair beside her. "But you're only making what I have to say to you more difficult."
"Oh. Sorry." Self-doubt washed over her. Maybe she'd said too much. Maybe she'd misunderstood him and his intentions. She stared down into the creamy liquid in the cup between her hands.
"I have a confession to make."
"Oh dear," she muttered, afraid of what she might see in his eyes if she looked at him.
"I should have come clean weeks ago, but I was too chicken. Juliette, I know we haven't spent much time together." He set his cup down and leaned back in his chair. "You know, this all sounded a lot better in my head."
"It always does," she grunted derisively.
"Come." He pushed himself up and reached for her hand, pulling her up beside him. "Let's go outside. I'm feeling a little claustrophobic." He led her out the sliding glass doors to the little patio where she and Gia had eaten breakfast earlier that day—was it only this morning?—their blankets still piled on the patio chairs. Victor picked one up and draped it around her shoulders, then threw the other around his own. They stood side-by-side, hand-in-hand, staring up into the midnight sky filled with wispy pre-winter clouds against a black background pin-pricked with stars. They were silent for so long Juliette wondered if he'd forgotten what he was going to say.
"I think I'm falling in love with you." His voice was gentle, just like his touch. There was no preamble, no beating around the bush. "No, I know that I'm falling in love with you."
When he didn't continue, she peeked up at him. He was still gazing up at the sky, but she was pretty sure he was professing his love to her and not the stars.
"It seems I've known it for a long time, maybe even since the first night I came here and you met me at the door in that robe. But it was after having pie with you and the Petersons that I finally realized I needed to do something about it. Then when I didn't see you at church again, I thought maybe I'd come on too strong and scared you off. The way I felt was pretty terrifying, you know. To me, at least. Now I realize what a fool I've been, waiting until...until—" He turned so that he was facing her and took hold of her other hand, pulling her just a little closer, cupping both her hands in his and pressing them to his chest.
"Juliette, I don't know what I was waiting for. Maybe a lightning bolt from God, or a flashing billboard sign that said, 'Go get her, man.' But I'm sorry I waited. And I'm so sorry about tonight and the way things happened here. I wish I hadn't gone next door. I wish I hadn't taken Bob with me. I—I even wish Mike had done things right by you tonight, instead of showing up here in the state he was in." Even in the shadows, she could see the regret in his eyes.
"I wish I had done things differently tonight here, myself, Juliette. I shouldn't have left your side, not even when the officer questioned you." The urgency in his voice made her hold her breath. "But I can't change what happened here. And I can't change the way I've handled things up until tonight. All I can do is ask you to forgive me, and let me try to change things from here on out." He took a deep breath and continued before she could speak. She couldn't find her voice anyway.
"And, um, here's the other half of my confession." He looked away then, out over the small back yard, the small square of grass bordered by colorful flowers still blooming valiantly in the Southern California mild fall weather. Beneath her hands he still held pressed to his chest, she could feel his heart beating at least as raucously as her own, and it made her smile despite her trepidation over what he might say next.
Finally, he looked back down at her, his gaze steady. "I read your list tonight, the one on your night stand. I shouldn't have, but I'm glad I saw it. I have a lot of work to do, Juliette, but I want my name to be at the top of that page. I want those things to be about me, not just some guy you're looking for. I love you, and I want to be your champion, Juliette." He dipped his head until their foreheads touched. His voice was little more than a whisper. "Please tell me if you think you could ever love me, too."
Her throat was so tight it almost hurt. She pulled her hands from his grasp, not missing the catch in his breathing as she did. She dropped the blanket from around her shoulders and did what she'd been longing to do all night. She stepped into his arms and pressed her body close to his as he enveloped her, wrapping them both in a cocoon of warmth. Her cheek rested against his chest and she listened to the pounding of his heart, the sound of his love for her.
"I don't think, Victor," she murmured. "I know I love you, too."
Next door, the slider door swished closed gently, followed by muffled yapping. "Your neighbor is still a nosy busy-body." His voice rumbled in his chest against her ear.
"I think she probably fancies herself a matchmaker, too." Juliette smiled and tipped her head back to look up at him. He brought his hands up and gently cupped her face, kissing first one cheek, then the other, then ever so tenderly, the un-bruised side of her mouth.
