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As she read aloud, she remembered the next time she’d seen him. At twenty-three, she’d been at her parents’ funeral, bewildered by the sudden loss. Then a uniformed man had appeared at her side, silver-haired and charismatic. His hands had been warm on hers as he drew her near to kiss her cheek.
Her knight in shining armor. That young woman she’d been had fallen for his handsome looks, his commanding presence, his bone-deep kindness.
Now, changed by her life with Wayne, his illness, his death, she was a different woman. Maybe that was why her oyster-colored outfit didn’t seem to suit her any longer. The last year had changed her so much, too. Like an oyster, she’d worn a protective shell that she’d had to shed in order to find a new life for herself.
Now she had family. The start, at least, of some kind of career. And a lover. Thanks to him, Juliet had uncovered her true and passionate nature—the pearl within the shell.
Another of her diary entries came to mind, the one from the day of Wayne’s funeral. She’d written, I think no one, no man for certain, could ever make me…well, feel again.
Her gaze drifted over the heads in the crowd and found Noah once more, still standing at the back of the room. She let her eyes run over him, and just that warmed her, buoyed her, made her heart beat fast, made her every cell feel alive.
Noah had made her feel.
Feel… Feel love. She was in love with Noah.
Oh, God, she thought. And God help her.
Because she suspected that there was no moving on from that.
Eighteen
Wars are not paid for in wartime,
the bill comes later.
—BENJAMIN FRANKLIN
Marlys followed a tall, very slender, and slightly familiar-looking woman toward the Malibu shop. As the other woman was about to pull open the door, she glanced back and then drew up short, causing Marlys to nearly collide with her skinny ass. She edged away as the tall female hooked a finger over the bridge of her pink-lensed glasses and gazed down at her in the light of the security fixtures.
“Hey, Marlys.” She lowered her glasses farther down her perfectly sloped nose. “It’s me.”
Oomfaa. Familiarity explained. The actress frequented her boutique, though usually not garbed in sunglasses that made her eyes look like a rabbit’s and with her hair stuffed into a black, floppy-brimmed, knitted hat.
Oomfaa tugged it toward her eyebrows. “I made it for when I want to go out incognito.”
Oh-kay. Though combined with the pink sunglasses, Marlys would have thought it would attract more attention rather than less. “What are you doing here?”
Oomfaa smiled. “This is my LYS—little yarn shop. I’m friends with the owner and I come here to knit.”
Marlys turned to look at the full parking lot and then turned back to Oomfaa, keeping her voice casual. “But it’s not knitting tonight, right?” The other woman might be one of the most famous actresses in America, but she was also one of the biggest gossips in Southern California. The information she would spill during a short shopping spree could keep Marlys and her assistant, Leeza, entertained for days afterward.
And that’s what Marlys was after tonight. Information.
She’d told herself she was going to stay away, but here she was anyway, albeit an hour past the publicized start time. Questions had plagued her until she’d given in to impulse and headed for Malibu.
What was Juliet up to with this party?
Why had she chosen some “little yarn shop” in Malibu as the event’s location?
Was Dean inside?
A couple pushed through the door, and Oomfaa and Marlys had to step aside to let them pass. Each of them held her father’s book. As if they were the cork popped from a bottle, a stream of exiting people followed, some of them obviously from the media, and most of them clutching their own copies of General Matters in one hand and a cup of delicious-smelling coffee in the other.
Oomfaa sniffed. “Nikki made coffee and I’m betting there’s her food inside. That’s reason enough to visit Malibu & Ewe.”
“Nikki?”
“One of the three sisters,” Oomfaa clarified, stepping back toward the door and then retreating again as another group wandered out. “Cassandra owns the yarn shop, Nikki’s a personal chef and engaged to Jay Buchanan, and—”
The rest of what she was saying was swallowed by the noise of the crowd in the shop as the tall woman walked inside. Even with Marlys at her heels, the words didn’t reach her.
She took in the interior of the shop instead. Not only was it full of milling, chattering people, but there was color and texture to overwhelm her, too. Yarns overflowed built-in bins that were stacked against the walls. Knitted garments, from toe socks to campy lingerie, from fuzzy sweaters to elegant dresses, were displayed on the walls or hung from wooden coatracks tucked into corners.
