Liam
“Do you like mulled wine?” Juniper asks.
She moves ahead of me, scanning the shelves like she's on a mission. There’s something focused in the way she moves—decisive, sharp—but every so often, she does this little bounce on her heels when she spots something she likes. I don’t think she knows she does it.
It’s strangely...endearing.
“What was the question?”
“Mulled wine. Are you a fan?” she asks, putting a bottle into the cart I’m pushing.
“Absolutely. I’ll sell my soul for anything mulled this time of year.”
She stops for a moment, staring up at me with a curious smile.
Beneath her overcoat, she’s wearing a chunky cardigan sweater layered over a cropped tee, black leggings that hug her curves, and knit socks with a ruffle edge that peek out of her shearling trim lace-up boots.
And god, those freckles on her nose and cheeks. Maddeningly sexy. As if she wasn’t distracting enough.
Stop staring, the voice in my head snaps at me. It’s been loud ever since Juniper appeared at the door of her family’s home a little over an hour ago.
I trail behind her in this tiny liquor store that smells like pine-scented candles and dust, trying to focus on the task but getting caught in her orbit instead.
I came to Cedar Hollow because I wanted something different this year.
I told myself it was about needing a break, about checking in on Jasper.
Making sure my best friend isn’t too over his head with Stella, his childhood rival and the woman he’s been obsessing over since I’ve known him.
But now, watching Juniper pick out bottles with that fierce determination of hers, I realize it’s more.
Maybe I came for what Jasper always had—a place to go back to. People who knew every version of him and still kept a seat at the table.
And maybe…it’s because I want that, too.
But the weird flutter in my chest watching Juniper has me all fucked up.
This isn’t June Bug anymore. That name, the childish nickname, doesn’t fit the woman in front of me. I don’t even know what fits. Or why the hell I can’t stop staring at the soft cream silk bow that trails over the back of her copper hair.
At first glance, the bow is innocent. But the way the silk catches the light when she turns her head, it radiates femininity and confidence. It’s graceful and elegant while taunting me in a way that begs for me to reach out and tug it.
“I think that’s everything.” She glances up, voice pulling me back.
“Good.” I nod, pretending to be the executive in charge of this shopping cart. Maybe business is the only place I can keep my head clear right now.
That’s where I need to keep Juniper. In the business only category.
“Tell me about your bookshop,” I say, steering the cart toward the register.
“Bookshop?” Juniper’s brow creases for a moment, before it softens again. “I call it a bookstore, but I like bookshop better. It sounds more romantic.” Those full pink lips of hers splay into a brilliant smile. “British accents have a way of doing that, I guess.”
She’s not the first woman to comment on my accent, but from Juniper it’s endearing, not flirtatious. So then why am I still staring at her lips?
“What is it called?” I ask, pulling my eyes from her mouth.
“Blush sugar plum and sage.
Wishing she weren’t my best friend’s little sister so I wouldn’t feel guilty about leaning in closer and wondering what her lips would feel like on mine.
Get ahold of yourself, Liam. I can appreciate a woman and not do anything about it. I’ve done it plenty of times. I’m certain of it.
She picks up a bottle of peppermint liqueur from an endcap near the register. “Oh! We need this for the hot cocoa bar.”
“Grand.” The less I say, the better.
Suddenly, a woman approaches with a tray of tiny plastic cups filled with a creamy liquid.
“Would you like to try a sample?” she offers.
“What is it?” Juniper asks.
“Eggnog with anejo tequila.” The employee hands us each a small plastic glass.
“Eggnog and tequila?” Juniper raises an eyebrow.
“Apparently.” I examine the liquid in the cup, then smile at Juniper. “Let’s give it a go.”
“Cheers.” Juniper clinks her cup against mine.
Our eyes lock as we sip. The nutty-flavored liquid slides down the back of my throat, the tequila giving it just enough warmth to heat my chest.
Juniper’s eyes widen. “Oh, that’s good.”
I smile. “Yeah, it is.”
We both laugh, the warmth of the tequila-laced eggnog spreading through more than just our limbs. Something shifts—just a little, but enough that the tension between us starts to unravel.
“We’re tasting holiday drinks at the front,” the woman says, “Eggnogs, whiskey ciders, and mulled wine, too.”
Juniper’s eyes light up. “You love mulled wine.” She grabs my hand without thinking, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
When her fingers, soft and warm, wrap around mine, a current zips through me so sharp I almost flinch.
She probably doesn’t even realize she’s doing it, but I feel it everywhere.
I let her pull me to the front of the store where the woman with the samples is setting up another tasting.
At the sight of Juniper’s enthusiasm, I force out a grin. “Careful. You keep handing me samples, I’ll get tipsy and tell you all my secrets.”
She tips her chin up, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m okay with that.”
It knocks something loose in my chest. The way she says it, so easy, so sure. Like it’s no big thing for someone to know all of me.
I don’t think I’ve ever had that. Not really. Someone who’d want every hidden piece and wouldn’t cringe at the prickly parts.
I swallow the thought before it can take root.
She turns to grab the next glass, but her gaze catches on the ink curling along my forearm. “How many tattoos do you have?”
I lift a brow. “Tattoos?”
She nods, eyes flicking to the one barely hidden under my sweater. “Like a dozen?”
“Depends on how you count them. Some blend together. Some I forget are even there.” I pause, then smirk. “Why? You taking inventory?”
“I’m just curious,” she says, tone light but her eyes still on mine. “They feel like stories. And you don’t hand those out easily.”
She’s not wrong. I’ve known Juniper for years—my best friend’s little sister, the one always hovering on the edge of the group, observant, quiet, bright—but this is the first time it’s ever felt like we see each other. That she sees me.
And the worst part?
I want to let her.
“How about every drink you try, I’ll show you a tattoo. Deal?”
She grins wide. “Deal. But fair warning, I’m tasting everything.”
It shouldn’t mean anything. We’re two grown adults in a small-town liquor store tasting holiday samples, but the way she says everything curls around my ribs like a spark that won’t go out.
I lean my hip against the tasting table, tipping my empty sample cup toward her. “All right then. Pick the next drink.”
She grabs two tiny whiskey cider cups and hands me one. We clink them together, her pinky brushing mine. I down it, heat and cinnamon burning the back of my throat.
“Okay,” she says, eyes bright. “Show me one.”
I lift my left sleeve a few inches, turning my arm so she can see the black ink just inside my bicep. A simple compass tucked away so close you’d have to be let in to see it.
She steps closer to read the tiny letters, her head tilting to the side. The space between us shrinks, but I don’t move. “This one?” I say, voice low. “Got it when I landed my first real investment deal. Meant to remind me not to lose my direction. Or my backbone.”
She brushes a fingertip lightly over the lines. “Does it work?”
“Most days.” I smile, even though my throat’s tight. “Next?”
She presses another sample cup into my hand—spiced rum and cider this time.
When we set our cups down, I tug my collar down a bit to show her the small line of script near my collarbone. She leans in to read it, breath ghosting my throat. “What’s it say?”
“‘Only forward.’” My voice cracks a touch. “Same idea. No backtracking.”
Her eyes flick to mine. “So, what’s forward for you? After all the investor calls and quarterly reports, what’s next?”
I hesitate. Nobody ever asks me that. Not like this. Not like they might actually care about the real answer.
“Don’t tell Jasper,” I say, tipping my cup toward her in mock warning. “But if I weren’t tied up running numbers all day, I’d open a wine bar.”
Her smile blooms so warm I feel it in my chest. “A wine bar?”
“Yeah.” I look over at the shelves, the rows of dusty bottles. “Small, cozy. Good flights, pairings. A few quiet corners where people can come in and just…breathe. Maybe read. Talk. Fall in love.”
She laughs softly, brushing my arm with her hand like it’s the most normal thing. “Like a romance bookshop. But for wine.”
“Exactly.” I shrug, embarrassed at how much it means to say it out loud. “I guess it’s silly.”
“It’s not silly.” She says it so certain, so soft I almost lean in again. “It sounds perfect.”
I clear my throat, forcing my eyes away from her mouth. “All right. One more sample?”
She smirks, handing me the last tasting cup. “One more tattoo, Hargrove.”
I give her a look but lift my shirt anyway, just enough to show the slim line of ink under my ribs.
So it goes.
She squints, reading it, then her mouth curves. “Vonnegut?” she says, voice warm. “Slaughterhouse-Five?”
“Yeah.” I grin, a little sheepish. “Not exactly festive, I know.”
She shakes her head, eyes sparking with something I’m afraid to name. “It’s perfect for you.”
“Oh?” I arch a brow, fighting a laugh. “Why’s that?”
Her teeth catch her bottom lip. “Because you’re so buttoned up. But then you’ve got this secret little reminder that life’s messy, and you’re okay with it.”
I huff a laugh, taking the tasting cup from her hand. “Secret’s out, I guess.”
She laughs, and for a second it’s just us—the holiday chaos outside, the cold air waiting when we leave, none of it matters. Just her freckles, her warmth, and a hint of something that feels dangerously like home.
She nudges my side. “So…the CFO has a secret chaotic side.”
I shrug. “Maybe. If the spreadsheets behave.”
“Oh, that’s why you’d open a wine bar.” She grins, putting it together. “To lean into the chaos.”
I tilt my head, pretending to think. “Or maybe I’d open a wine bar so certain girls could come drink mulled wine and boss me around.”
She laughs, eyes catching on a display by the counter—cheap novelty pins and keychains. She plucks one up and holds it between two fingers, turning back to me with a sly grin.
“Here.” She lifts it for me to see—a little red pin with Spice It Up in bold white letters. “This is so you.”
I arch a brow. “Oh yeah?”
“A reminder,” she says, faux serious, “for when you get too CFO about life.”
I huff a laugh and roll my eyes. “You think I need reminding to be chaotic?”
She flashes a wicked smile. “Constantly.”
She pretends to toss it into the basket with the bottles, but I’m already turning to help the clerk bag the wine and don’t see what she does with it next.
When I glance back, her hands are empty. I shake my head at her, and she shrugs innocently, like it was just a joke.
We load the bags into the back, the sun already starting to dip behind the line of pines that guard the road back to her parents’ house. She slides into the passenger seat, hugging her coat tighter, cheeks pink from the cold and the whiskey cider.
By the time I drop into the driver’s seat, the radio kicks on. The mountain station is static for a moment, then a blast of old holiday pop. Wham!’s “Last Christmas.” I reach to switch it off, but Juniper practically lunges over the console to slap my hand away.
“Don’t you dare!” she gasps, half-laughing, half-scandalized. Her palm lands warm on my wrist.
“Wham!?” I tilt my head, grinning at her outrage. “Of all the classics, you choose this?”
She levels me with a look, like I’ve just insulted the queen. “It’s iconic,” she insists. “It’s heartbreak and hope and drama. Also, that video? Pure eighties chaos. George Michael in a holiday sweater? Top-tier Christmas content.”
Her eyes light up. “Plus, it’s set at a wintry mountain cabin. I mean, that’s basically Cedar Hollow, right? Snow, ski lifts, pine trees…it’s cozy and cold and perfect.”
I huff a laugh, shaking my head as I pull out onto Founders Street. “I stand by it. "Fairytale of New York" is better.”
She gasps. “Oh my god. That song is so depressing!”
“It’s honest.”
“Grinch.” She flicks my arm playfully.
I shoot her a sideways look. “You know, I never took you for a cheesy Christmas pop girl.”
She crosses her arms, mock-offended, then breaks into a grin. “You don’t know me at all, Liam Hargrove.”
No. I don’t. But god, I want to.
The song croons on, and Juniper’s quiet humming weaves around the chorus like she’s done this a thousand times.
When the last note fades out, the silence hits warmer than before.
I pull the car into the Jensens’ driveway and drop it into park before turning my attention to her again.
“This is…” I trail off, the words evaporating from my brain before I can get them out.
“What?” She laughs.
Fuck, that laugh of hers is magic. It bubbles up and wraps around my ribs. And for one sharp heartbeat, I want it—her—so badly it terrifies me.
“It’s—we’ve never talked like this before.”
Her face lights up, and I’m wondering what the hell I’m getting myself into.
“It’s fun, right?”
I reach out to finger a shorter piece of hair that has fallen across her face.
My eyes fall to her lips. I don’t mean for them to. It’s that damn tequila eggnog or the whiskey cider, or fuck, maybe it’s just her.
The passenger door opens and at Jasper’s appearance, I drop my hand.
“How’d the liquor run go?” he asks.
“Great!” Juniper gives me a brilliant smile before hopping out of the vehicle. “Gotta get ready. See you later?”
“Yeah,” I answer, though inside I’m suddenly hyperaware of exactly who she is and what that means.