“I’m so glad you’re here, Juliet.” The woman speaks as she’s barreling toward us in the lobby of what seems like a retirement home that Juliet can’t possibly afford. It’s nothing like what I was picturing, which was basically every dingy asylum I’ve ever seen in a movie. The lobby is spacious and clean, with tasteful furniture around its outer edges. “We need to talk.”

Juliet’s shoulders sag half an inch, but then she straightens up, head held high. “How is he, Darla?”

Darla is a dark-haired, no-nonsense woman in her sixties, and she’s wearing a flowered top that somehow looks sharp paired with black tailored slacks. Her hair is scraped back away from her face in a twist that wouldn’t go anywhere if a bomb fell on Forest Hills. She presses her lips together and meets Juliet’s gaze directly, no flinching away. “He’s calmed down considerably since we talked, and there aren’t any injuries that we can find.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

Darla gives her another pointed look, but then decides better of saying whatever it was she was going to say. Her brown eyes meet mine. “Who’s this?”

I extend my hand without missing a beat. “Weston Grant.” Her dark eyes narrow, but her grip is confident and firm. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Grant.” I’m not sure if she recognizes me and doesn’t care, or if my identity doesn’t ring any bells, but she turns immediately back to Juliet. “Let’s step into my office. There are some things we urgently need to discuss, if Don is going to stay with us much longer.”

The set of Juliet’s jaw tells me that this is, in fact, the last thing she’ll be doing at this moment. “No. I need to see him first.”

“This will only take—”

“It’s not going to take a minute, Darla, and we both know it. I need to see my dad before we get into any of that.”

Darla takes in a breath through her nose and concedes with a nod under Juliet’s icy tone. Juliet has somehow remained cool and polite, even though I can see the tension vibrating through her muscles, and the way she stands so tall, making her look twice her height and a hundred times more intimidating, has me rock-hard. I had an inkling that this side of her existed at the Rose. Now it’s on full display, and I’m aching with the need to take her someplace where we can be alone and I can discover everything there is to know about her.

For starters.

Darla steps out of the way, and that gives me the opening I need to discreetly adjust myself. Keep it together, Grant. Juliet strides across the lobby the moment her path is clear, heading straight for a bank of two elevators. She stabs her finger into the call button, then takes a deep breath—in through the nose, out through the mouth.

“She’s a bulldog.” I murmur the words into her ear, and one corner of her mouth curls upward.

“She has her reasons. But after a call like that—” Juliet shakes her head as the elevator door slides open. She steps in first, waiting until I’m inside before she presses the button for the third floor. “After a call like that, I’m not going to sit down and discuss finances before I see for myself that he’s all right.” She bites her lip and her big violet eyes flick toward me as the elevator rises. 

My heart rate has gone up at the tidbit of information that Juliet clearly didn’t mean to drop—but she’s sure as hell not going to expand on that any further. The elevator whisks us up to the third floor, and when it opens, she gets out and moves quickly down the carpeted hallway. It’s not nearly as plush as the carpet in the lobby—more industrial, probably easier to move medical equipment around on—but the atmosphere is more hotel than nursing home. No wonder Juliet wasn’t wasting any time at the Rose.

She pauses by a bench nestled between two planters. “You can wait here.”

I don’t push her. Not on this, not now. I take a seat on the bench and give her what I hope is a supportive grin.

She nods back, turning away, and I can’t help myself—I watch the unselfconscious swing in her hips as she moves three doors down, knocks gently on the metal surface disguised as wood, and steps inside.

“Dad? How are you doing? Darla gave me a call and said—”

“Don’t listen to that hag.” The gravelly voice that answers her is filled with venom. “They’ve had enough of me here. And that bastard Howard—” His voice cuts off abruptly. “You don’t need to worry yourself about any of that.” The shift in tone is sudden, like he’s realized that it’s Juliet in the room and not an adversary. “You should be doing better things with your life.”

“I don’t have anything better to do with my life, and you know it.” Juliet’s tone is calm, light, like she’s making a gentle joke. “Are you all right, Dad? I came here to make sure you’re all right.”

“I’ll keep my chin up. I’ll get through it.” Then his voice gets deadly serious. “You need to do the same, my girl. You can’t be rushing over here every time they decide I’m not a model citizen.”

“It sounded like there was some trouble with—”

“There was trouble.” The old man’s voice is rising again. “There was trouble, but I—” There’s a rattle like he’s brought his fist down on an end table. Then it’s pure anguish. “I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t stop it, Juliet. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me. I don’t know how—” He sucks in a breath, and then her voice is low and soothing, meeting his at every turn.

“They’re trying to help you, Dad.” She only raises her voice enough to compete with his, never to drown him out. “You’ve got to keep your chin up. I’m doing everything—”

“I know you are. I know.”

There’s a pause, and then the door quietly swings shut.

The moment it does, I stand up from the bench and straighten my jacket. Maybe this is a fool’s errand. Maybe this is going to ruin my chances with Juliet. But I need to do something. I can’t sit here in the hallway like an abandoned bag and listen to this kind of conversation through the door without taking action.

Even if I shouldn’t.

Even if it’s the last thing I do for her.

I head for the elevator and press the call button. The door glides open right away—the car hadn’t even had time to reset.

I know what to do.