Don't Touch My Petunia

by Tara Sheets

  Epilogue

  Later that summer . . .

  “Would you look at them?” Gertie nudged Juliette’s shoulder and popped a candied almond in her mouth. They were seated at the wedding table of honor, surrounded by all their closest friends and relations. “Have you ever seen a more beautiful bride and groom?”

  Juliette shook her head, beaming as Emma and Hunter took to the floor for their first dance as husband and wife. Their restaurant Haven was the perfect spot for the wedding reception, with its sparkling glass art, white tablecloths, and panoramic views of the ocean. Emma looked radiant with her classic A-line lace dress and white gardenias in her hair. Juliette decided the wedding ceremony had been almost as beautiful as the bride, thanks to the gorgeous weather—courtesy of Mother Nature—and the stunning flower bouquets—courtesy of herself. And then there was the flock of white doves flying into the air at the end of the ceremony, which was a lovely touch—courtesy of Kat.

  Juliette looked across the room at Kat, who was seated at one of the guest tables near the DJ. She had pretended she had nothing to do with the birds, but Juliette knew better. The black crow soaring joyfully in the midst of all those doves kind of gave it away. There was something very special about Kat. No question. One of these days, Juliette planned to have a long talk with her.

  She watched as Kat cut a small piece of steak from her plate and tossed it on the floor, to the obvious delight of the tiny dog hidden under the tablecloth.

  Juliette grinned and picked up her champagne glass. As far as she was concerned, Kat was the only good part of having Hollywood Houseboat on Pine Cove Island that summer. Now that the celebrities were finally gone, she was thrilled that Kat had decided to stay. Almost as thrilled as Kat had been when Vespa decided to leave Hank behind.

  “Juliette, I need to have a word with you.” Romeo walked up to her table, looking dapper as always in a tuxedo with a white rose in his breast pocket. He was holding Caleb’s hand, and both of them were scrutinizing her like she was a specimen under glass.

  “Is this about the new sign?” Juliette asked nervously. She’d shared with Emma the name she wanted to give her new florist shop, and Emma and Hunter secretly commissioned an artist to make the new sign for the storefront. They’d surprised her with it earlier in the week. It was an exquisite mosaic in varying shades of green, with vines and leaves surrounding the name, ROMEO & JULIETTE’S.

  “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind,” Juliette said.

  Romeo slapped a hand over his heart. “My dear, I am honored. I love the idea.”

  “He really does,” Caleb assured her. “He even said he should’ve thought of it sooner. ‘Romeo & Juliette’s’ has such a romantic ring to it.”

  Juliette smiled in relief. Romeo had been a great mentor, and his good opinion would always matter. “I’m so glad you approve.”

  “That’s not what we wanted to talk to you about.” Caleb fixed her with a look that made her feel like she’d just got caught passing notes in class. “You need to settle a little dispute we’re having.”

  “What dispute?”

  “It’s my belief that you fell in love with Logan while Romeo and I were on vacation. That’s why you were so glowy when we first got back, and I couldn’t put my finger on it. Romeo thinks you never liked Logan at all, based on an e-mail you sent—something about Logan messing with all your stuff? Anyway, Romeo thinks you didn’t fall for Logan until after we got back from our trip. So which is it, before or after?”

  “Neither,” Juliette said with a laugh. “I fell for Logan twenty-three years ago in the woods by my house. He was pretending to be Han Solo, and he gave me his Millennium Falcon. We played Star Wars for hours. After that, I was pretty much a goner.”

  “Ah, yes,” Caleb said. “Han Solo and the Millennium Falcon. That’s powerful stuff. Pilots, you know.” He winked at Romeo, and they wandered off toward the bar.

  Juliette watched them leave with an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Even though they weren’t related, she considered them part of her family. Romeo and his husband would always have a special place in her heart, because knowing them led her to Logan.

  “There you are.” Logan dropped a kiss on top of her head, taking the seat beside her at the table of honor. In a dark suit, with his golden hair smoothed back and a slight stubble on his jawline, he looked like a bad boy Prince Charming.

  He fixed her with a hot, dark gaze that made her insides flutter. Sometimes, she still couldn’t believe he was hers.

  “You look beautiful,” he said. “Have I told you that yet today?”

  Juliette dipped her head and smoothed her blue satin dress. “Twice, I think.”

  “Actually, I take that back. You look really tired.” His dark eyes twinkled with mischief as he bent to nuzzle her neck. “We should leave early so I can get you into bed.”

  “We can’t leave,” Juliette said, shivering with pleasure as Logan began planting delicious kisses along the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder. “They haven’t even cut the cake yet.”

  “It’s a tower of cupcakes,” he murmured. “There’s no cutting necessary.”

  “You two lovebirds should be dancing,” Molly said as she and her boyfriend, James, rose from the table.

  “Yeah, come on. They’re playing a booty song.” Gertie led her laughing husband out onto the dance floor.

  “Come with me. I have a surprise for you.” Logan linked his hand with hers and led her through the front doors of Haven and out into the parking lot.

  “Where are we going?”

  He pulled her toward his truck. “I’m stealing you away for a few minutes. Don’t worry, we’ll be back soon.”

  “I can’t leave,” she said with a laugh. “I’m the maid of honor.”

  “Actually, this was Emma’s idea. I was going to wait, but she insisted I show you now. Bride’s orders. I couldn’t say no.”

  “Show me what?”

  “Have patience.” Logan opened the passenger door for her.

  She shot him a look as she slid inside. “Patience has never been one of my virtues.”

  “Believe me, I know.”

  A short time later, Logan pulled his truck into the driveway of his house. Juliette had to take off her high-heeled sandals to follow him across the yard.

  “Why are we at your tree?” she said, half complaining, half delighted. “Not that I mind being barefoot. This is heaven.” She squished her toes into the grass, grateful to feel the earth under her feet. Dressing up was fun, but nothing would ever compare to this feeling of being close to nature.

  Logan pointed up.

  She tipped her head back and gasped.

  The treehouse gleamed shiny and new, much bigger than it was before. A sturdy rope ladder hung from the entrance, and flower boxes lined the windows. Luna was draped lazily along one of the window ledges like a queen, her tail twitching in contentment. Beside her sat the ceramic pot of petunias.

  Juliette’s mouth fell open. “When did you do all this?”

  “You were distracted these past few weeks with the wedding plans, so I wanted to surprise you.”

  She gazed at the new treehouse, stunned. She knew Logan and Kevin had been working extra hard on the remodel lately, but she’d never dreamed this was the project.

  He gestured to the rope ladder. “Come up.”

  She paused, considering her bridesmaid dress. The fitted sheath hugged her curves and didn’t leave much room to maneuver. “I’d love to, but my dress . . .”

  “Take it off,” Logan said innocently. “That way you won’t get it dirty.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him.

  He gave her a wicked grin. “I dare you.”

  A few moments later, the blue satin dress hung from a low branch, swaying in the breeze.

  * * *

  Juliette stood in the middle of the treehouse, turning in awe. The inside was more than twice its former size, with shiny floors, a comfy chair in one corner, and a wall o
f shelves at the back. Several books were stacked on the shelves, along with the frog prince cookie jar that had once been her makeshift first-aid kit.

  He’d filled the treehouse with cookies and books. Just the necessities.

  Juliette swallowed past the lump that formed in her throat.

  “Emma helped pick out the books,” Logan said almost shyly. “And she made cookies for the jar.”

  Juliette felt as though her heart had never been so full. It was everything she’d dreamed of having when she was little. Once again, Logan had managed to make one of her wishes come true.

  He shifted on his feet. “Do you like it?”

  She turned to him, blinking back happy tears. “It’s better than I ever imagined your treehouse could be.”

  “Not mine. It’s yours now,” he said, glancing down at his hands. “If you want it.”

  “You can’t give me your treehouse. It’s too much.”

  “It’s not enough,” he insisted. “Nothing I have could ever be enough. But I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of you anyway, Juliette. If you’ll have me.” He gazed at her intently. “Will you?”

  Juliette’s breath hitched in her chest. Was he doing what she thought he was doing? Did she want him to? Every cell in her body rose up in a resounding chorus of yeses. She was so overcome with emotion that she couldn’t find words.

  Logan began to frown. “I’m botching this up, aren’t I? I was going to wait and do it right, but every moment I’m with you feels right. Hell, I don’t even have the ring yet. It’s still at the jewelers.” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “I’m sorry, I—”

  “—Shh. You’re doing it exactly right,” Juliette whispered shakily. She stepped into his arms and buried her face in his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of him. Logan O’Connor. The boy she loved when she was a little girl. The man she loved now.

  He held her close and said in a husky voice, “Marry me, Juliette.”

  She smiled against his chest. “Fine.”

  A soft chuckle. “Fine.”

  Luna meowed and brushed against their legs. The cat was purring so loud, the joyful rumbling seemed to echo off the treehouse walls.

  They laughed. Then they were whispering secret things to each other that only the old cat and the ancient tree could hear. Then they were kissing and then, for a while, they weren’t saying anything at all.

  Don’t miss Kat’s story in

  DON’T GIVE ME BUTTERFLIES

  by Tara Sheets.

  Available from Zebra Books

  in Summer, 2019.

  Read on for a special preview . . .

  Chapter One

  Kat Davenport was many things, but wealthy wasn’t one of them. After plunking down her last twenty bucks at the store that morning for dog food, Cheetos, and shampoo, she vowed to take whatever job came her way, no matter what it was.

  “Beggars can’t be choosers,” she told her dog Hank as they left their motel room that afternoon. “And anything’s better than being hungry and homeless.”

  But now, as she yanked on the ridiculous yellow chicken costume and prepared to stand in the sweltering August heat at the Pine Cove Island farmer’s market, the life of a hobo wasn’t looking all that bad.

  “Your beak’s broken,” her supervisor said in a voice like fine grit sandpaper.

  Kat glanced at the woman lounging on the single foldout chair inside their booth. Smitty Bankston was on the hard side of sixty, with a sour expression that said she knew it. Deep lines etched her face, and her hair was teased and sprayed into a frothy style that had seen better days and wanted to go back.

  “Your chicken beak,” Smitty said. “It’s all crunched up.” She took a long drag on her cigarette and flicked the ashes into the grass.

  Kat blinked through the fumes. “I’ll figure something out.” If she’d learned one thing in her twenty-six years, it was how to improvise. She zipped the feathered costume up to her neck. The chicken head was a stuffed hood that snapped under her chin, but the plastic beak was crushed beyond repair.

  “Just wear it without the beak, so your face shows,” Smitty said, exhaling another plume of smoke. “That way people can hear you better when you ask for donations.”

  “Great.” Kat tucked her frizzing red hair into the chicken hood, wondering how it had all come to this. When she saw the ad for a one-day job working with the Daisy Meadows Pet Rescue, she’d jumped at the chance. Animals were her specialty. She was born with the magical ability to communicate with them, and she’d always taken jobs involving animals. But this wasn’t the cakewalk she’d expected. It was more like a pie in the face.

  “Here’s your basket,” Smitty said, handing her a pink basket with the words PLEASE PAWS FOR DONATIONS on one side, and THANK YOU FURRY MUCH on the other. “Now get out there and work the crowd.”

  Thirty-seven minutes later—because she was counting—Kat had exactly zero dollars in donations. The afternoon sun was brutal, and the costume chafed in all the worst places. She wandered past vegetable stands, candle makers, and flower booths, trying not to make eye contact with people.

  “Big Bird!” a small child said, pointing at her.

  “No, honey.” His mother gave Kat a tight smile, then pulled him away. “That’s something else.”

  A baby in a stroller stared at Kat with wide eyes, then started to howl.

  Kat hurried past as fast as her chicken feet would allow. This gig was going on her Worst Jobs Ever list, no question. She felt like one of those costumed scam artists wandering Times Square in New York City. Nobody in their right mind was going to “PAWS” and donate.

  An old man with a cane hobbled over and tossed a quarter in her basket. “Shake those tail feathers, Bessie!” He wiggled his bushy eyebrows and grinned.

  Kat glanced at the single coin. How had she fallen this low? Oh, yeah. Because she was the Queen of Impulsive Decisions. Three weeks ago, she was working as a pet sitter on Hollywood Houseboat, a reality show from southern California. Then on a crazy whim, she’d decided to stay in the Pacific Northwest for good. Pine Cove Island was far away from her ex-boyfriend and therefore, blissful, but now her bank account was empty again. And there was nothing blissful about that.

  She shoved a sweaty lock of hair from her face and pushed on through the crowd.

  On her second lap around the market, Kat had no further donations to show for her efforts. Fed up and needing a break from the sun, she made a bee-line toward a shady spot underneath a large tree. A white farmer’s tent filled with bundles of lavender stood beside it, but no one was there.

  She plopped down on a bale of hay underneath the tree, then yanked off her chicken hood and shook out her hair.

  A sudden gust of wind kicked up and the fresh scent of lavender soothed her heated emotions.

  She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, trying to embrace the moment. She needed to find her zen, or whatever it was called. But she also needed to find a permanent job, and a place that actually felt like home. A hollow ache settled in her chest. If a place like that even existed.

  Leaning forward, Kat dropped her face into her hands. Zen. She massaged her temples with her fingers, trying to quiet her mind, but it didn’t work. It was like asking a tornado to stop spinning. Zen harder. She tried for several more seconds, then let out a heavy sigh. It was no use. Maybe she could just hang out here in the shade for an hour or five.

  “Excuse me,” a deep voice said behind her. “I believe you’re sitting on my lunch.”

  Kat spun around, or at least she tried. The costume’s bulk made it difficult to maneuver. Her spiky tail feathers swished in an arc, sending her donation basket, a paper plate, and a sandwich flying into the grass.

  “Oh!” She scrambled for the crushed sandwich and plate, setting them back on the bale of hay. Then she glanced up to apologize, but the words died in her throat.

  The man loomed over her like a thundercloud, with broad shoulders, deeply tan
ned skin, and dark hair. He wore black jeans and a charcoal gray T-shirt, and he was so tall, Kat took an involuntary step back.

  “I’m sorry,” she managed. “I didn’t notice your sandwich. It’s this stupid costume. I can’t even see my feet.”

  His gaze swept slowly over her.

  She tried to appear calm and unfazed, but it wasn’t easy. He was one of those gorgeous-by-accident types of people. The kind who didn’t even have to try. Not like the carefully groomed pretty boys she’d worked with in LA. Certainly not like her ex-boyfriend who had more clothes and hair products than she did. Nothing about this man was soft or pretty. He had sharp, masculine features, unusual amber eyes, and a thin scar across his left cheekbone. He was in need of a haircut and his face was unshaven, which—paired with the scar—made him look like some wicked character from a fairy tale.

  The Beast, Kat decided. He reminded her of the dark prince who got turned into a beast because of his wicked ways.

  His mouth curved into an almost-smile, and a fluttering sensation began in the pit of Kat’s stomach.

  Uh-oh. Butterflies. This was not a good sign. In fact, getting butterflies in her stomach was the exact opposite of a good sign. The Queen of Impulsive Decisions started to smile back, but Kat shut her down fast. She was here to start fresh. That was the plan. She was not going to get all fluttery over the first hot guy who looked her way. Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt too many times to count.

  “Why are you dressed like a turkey?” he asked.

  Heat scorched up the back of her neck. Here she was, fantasizing about him as a dark prince being all edgy and epic, and all he saw was a stuffed turkey. So much for fairy tales.

  “I’m not—” She broke off with a sigh. Really, what did it matter? She grabbed her toppled basket off the ground and set it on the bale of hay. Unfortunately, her only donation of twenty-five cents was now lost somewhere in the weeds. She searched the grass, aware that he was still watching her.