Chapter 19
I shouldn’t have come.I should not have come.
I should have stayed in South Carolina and pretended I knew how to put tile on a kitchen backsplash. It wouldn’t have been as cool as Vail, but it would have been way safer.
I never would have had to relive that memory of sledding with my parents. More than that, I never would have shared any of it with Mr. Ferguson.
Here’s the thing:
I know I promised Mr. Ferguson he’d get more Juniper this weekend, but I don’t even think I know how to be Juniper anymore. Not one hundred percent anyway. I’ve been hiding behind so many walls for so much of my life, I think I’ve forgotten how to let them all down. Which, in a way, is just as well since I don’t want to let any of them down.
But at the same time, I did promise…
I’m just not ready. Yes, I can admit I want more connection in my life, but I’m not going to do anything about it. Not right now. Not today. Certainly not this weekend.
That’s why the word for this vacation is BALANCE. I must find that perfect little sweet spot. A little bit of Miss Cousins mixed with the right amount of Juniper to make Mr. Ferguson happy. In other words: Junie on Vacation. Yeah, that’s it. I’ve got to be Junie on Vacation. That should be simple enough, right? And, if I play my cards well enough, it should satisfy Mr. Ferguson too.
The elevator ride up to our suite seems to take forever and a day, but at last, it slows to a stop. It opens, and I’m shocked to find not a long hallway leading to dozens of doors, but a short, fresh-flower-and-crystal-filled hallway leading to a single mahogany door. It feels like a mistake, but Owen strides out of the elevator like this is exactly what he expected. I scurry after him as he inserts a key card into the door and opens it wide to let me in first. My jaw drops.
The suite is immaculate with dark wood, rich leathers, and a full-service kitchen with quartz counter tops. All the ceilings are at least nine feet tall, and there are more fresh flowers waiting in several vases around the space. Where are they getting fresh flowers in the dead of February? There’s also a fire going in the immense stone fireplace, and somehow, our luggage made it up here before we did. It’s sitting in the entryway like it floated up and arranged itself just so.
The closest bouquet of flowers, pink and white roses, have a note nestled within the creamy petals. Without thinking, I pick it up and turn it over.
The Ritz-Carlton at Bachelor Gulch would like to thank you for choosing us to be your host this Valentine’s weekend. If there’s anything we can do to make your stay more comfortable, please don’t hesitate to ask.
My heartbeat kicks up a notch as the gravity of the situation hits me all over again.
This is our suite. And this suite most likely only has one bedroom. Singular. One room for the two of us. I should have thought of this before now, but I’d been so distracted with other things that it didn’t occur to me.
Does one room mean one bed? It probably does, being that this is a hotel and his dad thinks we’re a couple. I can feel a full-body flush coming on, starting at the tips of my toes and creeping all the way up my body and throughout my extremities. My skin probably matches my hair color.
Sleeping in the same bed as Mr. Ferguson?
Nope. Can’t handle that.
I’m in the prelims of having a full-blown, internal freak-out and panic attack when Mr. Ferguson speaks.
“So, I figure I’ll take the couch, and you can have the room to yourself. Is that cool with you?”
Oh.
Right. Of course he would offer that. I mean, that’s totally what I was expecting was going to happen. He’s a gentleman and all that. I wasn’t at all, in any way, imagining the two of us being forced to snuggle up under the covers together. Things like that don’t happen in real life.
Although…
If the power went out in the entire lodge, it would be totally understandable for us to share a bed. Because, you know, body heat and all that. But that’s the ONLY time I could see us needing to share a bed.
I press my lips together in an awkward smile and nod like a bobblehead at Mr. Ferguson. “Yeah, sounds good. Cool, totally cool.”
He smirks in this way that I’m starting to become familiar with where his head tilts and his lips curl on one side, revealing his perfect teeth. It’s a somewhat new look on him, and a girl could get used to this view.
“Good. On another note, I hope this doesn’t make you uncomfortable, but I think we need to talk about how we’re going to handle this whole fake relationship thing in front of my dad.”
“Ha, okay.” I say, unable to meet his gaze. “Or we could awkwardly skate around the issue for the next four days so we can skip this weird topic altogether.”
He sexy-smirks again and rounds the plush leather couch where he sits and pats the space beside him. “Talking is a better idea. Unless you want the possibility of my dad cornering us into another kiss?”
I almost choke on my own spit. Want? Do I want the chance to be semi-forced to kiss Mr. Ferguson again? Absolutely I do. But I also need that not to happen again in my entire life. I don’t think my heart would be able to take it.
So I sit on the couch, but not in the spot he indicated. Instead, I move as far away as physically possible so there’s a good three feet of space between us. Mr. Ferguson gives a sly smile like he knows exactly what’s going on in my head.
“Fine. What exactly do we need to talk about?”
“First of all, we’re going to have to come up with a story. My dad is known for grilling me about all my dates, so sooner or later, he’s bound to ask us how we met and stuff like that. I think we can do that while sticking as close to the truth as possible.”
“Makes sense. So…we met when you came into my job at the coffee shop, you asked me out a while after that, and we’ve hit it off since then?”
“Perfect.” He grins, and my heart skips a beat. There are so many things I think I could agree to if he smiled at me like that. “I think we’re also going to have to get to know each other a little better. Things like where we grew up, where we went to school, you know, stuff people would normally know about each other after dating for a while.”
“Right, cool, makes sense,” I say, telling the happy little butterflies in my stomach to calm the heck down.
“Good. Third, we should establish clear rules about…” He pauses. “You know. PDA.”
The butterflies go on a riot. I clear my throat. “PDA?”
He nods as if he were informing someone the sky is blue.
“Um, I’m not usually a big fan of PDA.” At least I didn’t use to be. Suddenly, the idea of a little display of affection with him doesn’t seem like such a bad idea, public or private.
“Well, then it’s good we’re talking about this. This weekend, there’s going to be skiing, but there are also going to be meals like the one tonight, down time, etcetera. I’m going to do my best to keep these things to a minimum, but we need to be prepared. My dad will expect us to do more than sit beside each other like statues. Even drunk, he noticed something was off at my place.”
He pauses and scoots closer on the couch so that the three-foot safety buffer between us shrinks down to a measly foot. He reaches across those twelve inches and gently takes one of my hands in his. “How do you feel about holding hands?”
The hairs on my arm stand up and do the wave. “Ummmm, I think holding hands is fine.” It’s seriously the least we could do. I can handle a simple hand-holding.
“Good. What about arms?”
“Arms?” I squeak. Actually, at this point in time, I forgot my hand was connected to an arm, so I’m glad he brought it up.
“We might sit close to each other at dinner. How would you feel if I put my arm around you?”
Then, the confounded man moves even closer and puts his arm around me. My nerves scream out for more of his touch. I swallow hard. I can handle this, I can handle this, I can handle this. “Uh, I think that should be fine.”
“Excellent.” He shifts a little so he’s gazing down at me. His lips hover closer to mine, and I can feel the question he’s going to ask next. “What about kissing?”
My breath catches. “W-what?”
“I said, what about kissing?” His deep-brown, bedroom eyes are suddenly extra bedroomey, and I’m taken back to that first kiss like it just happened. My heart races, and when he sweeps his fingers down my cheek and under my chin, I almost burst into flame.
“N-no, I don’t think that would be a good idea,” I manage to breathe.
“You don’t?” His dark eyes caress every inch of my face, seeing way too much of me. “Why?”
Why? That’s a good question. What was my why again?
“W-well, um, th-this is a fake relationship, right? Kissing would probably make things a little confusing.”
“True.” He shifts closer, his fingers trailing further down my skin. His touch leaves little trails of fire on my neck, down toward my collar bone, then back up near my jaw, down and up, down and up. Despite the risks, I tilt my head back.
“And, uh, what about the contract?” I breathe. “The relationship clause? We’re probably already on thin ice with that as it is.”
“Also true.” He’s so close now, his words tickle my ear. Every cell in my body is attuned to him now. Every touch, every sound, every breath. I’m living for him.
I swallow hard. “So, um, yeah, kissing is definitely not a good idea. D-definitely not. I didn’t even mention the fact that you’re my boss. And Kiera. We should think about Kiera. This would be weird for her too. And, um—”
“Juniper.”
My lips zip closed at the sound of my full name coming from his fuller lips.
“You’ve listed some legitimate reasons why I shouldn’t kiss you right now, or at all this weekend. So, I won’t.”
The fluttering in my stomach dies a little when he says this, even though I tell myself it’s a good thing.
“But…”
The fluttering roars back to life. “But what?”
His gaze pierces mine, and when he speaks, his words go straight through my heart.“But what if I didn’t want this to be a fake relationship? What if I tore up the contract? What if we found some way to work around the fact that I am your boss?”
My mouth falls open in what I know to be an unattractive impersonation of a fish.
Thatis not what I was expecting him to say at all. And now he’s caught me so much by surprise that I don’t know what to say. I can’t form words. My brain keeps getting stuck.
He wants those things? I mean, I know he’s hinted at it before, but to hear him actually say it is like having them written in stone. He’s serious. And I’m seriously in trouble.
“Don’t worry, Juniper,” he murmurs, pulling away from me slightly to hold my face in his hands again. “You don’t have to answer any of those questions right now. I wanted you to know where I stand. I have my own fears, I think you do too, but I’m open to the possibility of more with you. And I think that possibility of more is worth the risk of staring down my fears.”
He leans forward and seals his words with a soft kiss to the top of my head. It may be the first time in my life I ever wished I was bald.
“So, after all that,” he says, “how hungry are you? Do we need to find you some food, or do you want to rest a bit before we go skiing?”
“I think I’d like to rest.” Translation: I need to hide in my room and maybe call Kiera so I can confess I kissed her brother and hope she has some sage words for me. “But, um…”
“But you’re still hungry.” Mr. Ferguson—er, Owen?—smiles like he already expected this. “I’ll order us some room service. You rest, and we’ll meet up for skiing in an hour.”
When I’m safely alone in my own room, I stand against my closed door, hand against my chest. I stand like this for a few minutes until I realize I’m smiling too. I think, maybe, I might try to be brave enough to open myself up to this.