A/N: I have answered the call for another Juliet story. I've already covered so many of LMM's characters: The Story Girl, Di, Una, Pat, Emily, Marigold...and I'm running out of ideas! And Miri, you're right, the last story does feel a bit unfinished, even though I didn't intend to write another Juliet fic. Maybe subconsciously I knew her story didn't end there. (And yes, I've kind of abandoned my short stories about the Blythes. Although I'm thinking of continuing that in another vein...more to come on that later.) Flailersrule, I will respect your wishes and not have Juliet become a mother too soon...although I do want to have children involved in some way in this book. But I think I've gotten a way around that! Terreis, little Embeth will have Juliet's old room—I don't know how much I'll be able to work into this story about the old folks back on PEI, so I just thought I'd bring that up now. All of you guys better update more on your stories soon!

Thanks for all the reviews on my other Juliet stories! I hope you all like this one, too. Please—as always—

read and review!

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Juliet Miller, neé Kent, crossed Ghirardelli Square, soaking in everything around her. The buildings were so tall! And there were so many of them! She had thought that Charlottetown was a big city but it seemed a veritable backwater compared to the hustle and bustle of San Francisco. A streetcar's bell clanged somewhere—a foghorn sounded in the nearby harbor—and people, everywhere people, called to each other—people of every size, shape and color. Hundreds of people! Juliet had never seen so many people in one place in her whole life! And all of them had somewhere to go, something to do. As they passed her in a blur, they smiled, and Juliet found herself again marveling at the friendliness of Americans.

She had been shopping all morning—she'd already bought two sweaters for Allan, a Chinese parasol for Mother and a painted fan for Aunt Ilse, and some expensive oil paints to send to Father that before he'd had to go to Montreal to get. She'd visited a Turkish rug shop and ordered an Oriental for the house—at the Greek jewellers she'd bought earrings for friends Bea and Trudy—at a little boutique she found frilled baby dresses to send to Bella for Embeth and Joy for Rose Anne. And oh, she'd gotten the most cunning little booties for Bea's new arrival. They baby had been born in March. Bea and David had named her Belinda and were calling her 'Linda' for short which meant 'pretty'—and she was. Juliet had seen pictures.

She had stopped only once at the little cafe run by a family of Italians who spoke little English but had argued over which one of the sons would be most likely to marry her! Or they had until Juliet flashed her wedding ring—it was still a shock and delight to see Allan's gold band on her finger. At which they had all run forward to congratulate and kiss her and shout wishes for her continued health and happiness. And they would not let her pay for her cannoli and espresso. It was a gift, they explained, for the occasion of her wedding.

But Juliet had not bought anything for herself. She had a frenxy of buying for others but what else did she need? She had a lovely little house on a hill—filled with beautiful things from her beloved New Moon—she had dozens of dresses, including the pretty green plaid Madras she had on now—and she had Allan. What more could she ask for? She didn't need anything else—not one thing.

As Juliet passed a shop window she stopped—and peered in—and then, after hesitating went in. A few moments later she came out with the fetching little green hat she had seen perched jauntily on her burnished head. Well, maybe she could ask for one thing more.

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Juliet paid her fare and hopped off of the streetcar that stopped at the end of her street, gathering her shopping bags in her hands and starting up the hill. Forget-Me-Not Lane, it was called, and it was one of the older sections of town. Juliet was glad. It was nice but not too nice—she had seen the huge new houses going up on Lombard and the townhouses that lined the city's many squares—and although they were beautiful and charming, they lacked the mystery and allure of her little house.

She paused for a moment to admire it. It was a little, low red-brick house with white shutters and a jaunty slate roof—there were windows simply everywhere—and a window seat under each one of them. Poppies and geraniums bloomed in the window-boxes, the yard was a perfect, jewelled green, and seven tall fir trees stood in a ring around it. They were tall trees—enormously tall—next to those trees that kept going up and up the house looked like a toy. But Juliet loved the effect—it was as if the whispering trees were standing guard over them, murmuring softly to each other in the breezy twilights. The bright blue of the bay shone in the distance. The house had no name—there was only a simple wrought iron gate that surrounded it all with the motto "Forget-Me-Not" worked into the front. It was true—no one who ever saw the house could quite forget it, and no other house they saw for the rest of their lives had half its charm. Juliet unlocked her door with the old-fashioned key and stepped inside.

The mail had come! Juliet pounced on the letters. There were postcards from her old college-chum, Alice, who was visiting Argentina on her wedding tour. Her new husband, Ramòn, was from Rio de Janerio, and Alice wrote that although his family spoke no English and she no Spanish, they seemed to get along just fine. Greta, Alice's twin, had received her B.A. with the rest of Juliet's class. At that news Juliet felt a distant pang of regret—she had hoped to get her B.A. this May, too. But then she banished it. She had Allan, and Allan was worth a thousand Arts degrees. And she could finish her classes at one of the universities in the city, if she wanted. And then she brightened—Greta's plans for her own wedding to John Lester were in full swing. Juliet smiled—she had been dead right about that one, at least.

Joy Penhallow had had another baby—Bea wrote that David had been promoted at the law firm, and that little Linda had smiled for the first time—so Bella and Doug were going to buy New Moon! They would take up residence there in September. Trudy and Blair were moving to London—Juliet had another pang at that—but Blair wanted to be close to his parents and his sister, Rachel, who had moved there. London was so far from San Francisco. But then, so was the Island—and what were a few thousand more miles? They did, after all, have airplanes and boats in this modern age.

There was a chatty epistle full of gossip from Aunt Ilse. A couple of postcards from some of Allan's friends—and the last envelope was a thick letter from Mother. Juliet walked to the bright and airy parlor and deposited herself on the broad, deep windowseat to pour over it. Dear Mother—there was nothing of especial importance in her letter but it was full of little details of the everyday goings-on of New Moon. Juliet finished the letter and pressed it to her lips—she loved her new home and she loved the darling little house that she and Allan shared, but a large part of her heart was still devoted to her beautiful girlhood home.

She was still sitting there, in the growing dusk, when Allan came home from work. He found her there and she blinked as if one coming out of a dream and sprang forward to embrace him.

"Allan!" she laughed. "Oh, I'm a bad wife! Here it is, dinner time, and I've got no dinner on the table for you! We've no food in the house at all! You won't tell anybody how I've failed, will you, dearest? And you aren't angry?"

"No," Allan replied, and smiled himself—smiled down at his pretty wife, whose love for him he could see in her eyes. How could he be angry about anything when he had this lovely creature to come home to—this wonderful woman who loved him? What mattered anything else when he had that? "But weren't you going shopping today?" he chided with a grin.

"I did—but I completely forgot about groceries! I spent so much money—and oh, Allan, I know I said we didn't need anything else for the house—but I saw this rug—"

"And it was perfect and you simply had to have it?"

"Exactly!" Juliet dimpled. "It will go so nicely in the parlor—our sweet little house wouldn't be half so complete without it."

No, Allan didn't mind about his supper—he and Juliet hopped on a streetcar and went out to the little cafe that Juliet had visited earlier in the day. The Italians recognized her and kissed her again, and then sprang forward to wish Allan, too, much health and happiness, and to congrtatulate him on getting such a beautiful and good-tempered wife. Allan smiled at their open admiration of Juliet and said that he was still congratulating himself on that same, thing, actually.

They had a wonderful candlelit dinner and a mandolin player came by the table and sang to them and kissed Juliet's hand. The Italians, again, would not let them pay for their meal, although Allan slipped money under the tablecloth to cover their check. The Italians found it and were quite adamant, shoving it back in his pocket and arguing in their own language. Then when Allan relented they kissed the happy couple on both cheeks, and in English wished them happiness again, and that they would have many sons.

"Allan!" Juliet sighed on the walk home, holding his arm and looking up at the velvety night sky. "Isn't it wonderful to think that we're here and we're happy and we're together?"

It was wonderful, Allan agreed. And as they walked through the night he looked up at the stars and made a wish of his own: that no matter what life gave to them, it would always be that way.