Becoming Juliet - Paula Marinaro Page 0,22

that first meeting before P.J. saw Juliet again. He was in the back room of the market doing inventory when he caught a glance of her on the security camera. It was her posture that first caught his eye. Juliet kept her head down, and her shoulders slumped as if she were trying to make herself as small as possible. She had on that same black hoodie and gray sweatpants. A New England Patriots cap had been pulled low over her brow. Juliet moved through the store in quick efficiency. It was as though she had decided before hand exactly how many steps it would take her to finish her task and was determined to take no more or no less.

“I got this, Timmy.” P.J. came out from the stock room and called to the kid heading for the register. “Take fifteen.”

Timmy Carr, who had just punched into work, looked at P.J. with surprise. In Timmy’s experience P.J. was a fair and generous boss, but he was also a hard ass when it came to break time. Timmy didn’t have to be asked twice. So, he grabbed his phone, put money on the counter for a candy bar, then went out into the back alley to text his girlfriend. By the time Juliet had reached the register, P.J. was there waiting. She placed basic staples onto the counter. A bag of apples, a jar of freshly ground peanut butter, a pound of coffee, sugar, milk, and a fresh loaf of artisan bread completed her purchase.

“So, how’s it going? You settling in okay?” P.J. asked her.

“Excuse me?” Juliet looked up from unzipping her purse.

“P.J. McCabe. I met you at the cabin. Layla was late and I met you. We’re neighbors.”

Her eyes lit with sudden recognition. She had to stop being so narrowly focused and pay more attention to the world around her. She knew exactly who P.J. was. Of course, she did. Truth be known, Juliet had spent the better part of the last couple of weeks spying on him when he worked out in his yard. Seeing him here behind the counter had taken her totally off guard. In way of awkward apology, Juliet blurted out, “I guess I didn’t recognize you with your shirt on.”

P.J. grinned at her.

“When you’re working…down by the stream… sometimes you take your shirt off…” She blushed and stammered.

“Ah. So, you have been watching me.” He said smugly. “I thought I had seen you out on your balcony looking over in my direction. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“I’m not embarrassed.” Juliet said even as she felt the heat rush to her face. “Just surprised to see you here that’s all.”

And that was the truth, because although Juliet definitely knew who P.J. McCabe was, she had just never expected to find him standing behind the counter at a market. Shouldn’t he be out in the woods felling trees, or lifting five hundred pound bales of hay over his head…his muscles flexing, the sheen of his hard, sweaty body glistening in the sun? Yeah, Juliet had spent more than a few minutes creeper stalking P.J. from behind the curtains of her bedroom. And he was right, more recently she had gotten bolder and had stood on the balcony watching him while he worked. Stupidly, it had never occurred to Juliet that if she could see P.J., then he could see her too.

Watching him had been entertaining, she would definitely give P.J. that. But Juliet had decided that he was the kind of guy who just screamed trouble…found it, brought it, caused it, and could definitely handle it. He was about six and a million feet tall. His biceps looked like he arm-wrestled for a living, his knuckles were scarred, and his nose had definitely been broken…more than once. Not to mention that P.J. was covered from head to toe in scary black ink…skulls, grenades, tombstones. Around his large wrist, there was a tattoo of a rosary whose Celtic cross ended in the center of his index finger. A large, broken winged angel covered his entire back. He needed a shave.

Beautiful bad man the thought came unbidden to Juliet’s mind and for a minute her baser instincts took over. She wanted to jump over the counter and…well…just the idea of finishing the rest of that thought made her girly parts tingle. She realized that she had been staring at him.

“So, you work at the market?” She asked just to give herself something to say.

“I own it.”

“Do you own