Chapter 2
TWO
LIAM
I stand behind Juniper on the stairs, waiting for her to unlock the door to her flat above her bookshop. It’s a narrow space, but I don’t mind. Standing this close, I can smell her—something soft and floral, like jasmine and winter air. And something sweet, like plums.
I need a moment to look at her. With her defensive edge and everyone else around earlier, I hadn’t been able to stare at her openly.
Damn. She’s a sight for sore eyes.
I’ve seen her photos online. Followed her updates. Watched from afar as she built Blush & Binding from scratch and documented every milestone.
Her copper hair is pinned back with one of those silky bows I find fascinating, loose tendrils framing her face. Her fuzzy pink sweater makes her look like a valentine. Soft and warm. The look she gives me over her shoulder is not.
“Just so you know, you’re not my first guest,” she says as she jiggles the key in the lock. “I’ve had other guests. Male ones. Lots of them.”
Bloody hell.
My jaw tenses at the thought of Juniper with another man.
She seems overly excited to share that information so it could be a bluff. But from the sight of her, the way she carries herself as a woman and business owner, there’s no doubt in my mind she could have any guy she wanted.
Last year, she wanted me, but I fucked it up. Too shocked by the discovery that I was having feelings for my best friend’s sister to properly react to her advances.
She doesn’t owe me anything, but that doesn’t stop the pang in my chest.
If she’s no longer a virgin, I hope it was with someone who saw her properly. Not some tosser who didn’t know how lucky he was.
“Noted,” I respond, in an effort to calm the jealous rage inside of me.
She gets the door open and steps into the flat. But then she turns suddenly, and now we’re wedged together in the tight hallway.
Our breath mingles.
Her eyes find my lips.
My restraint thins.
I debate kissing her right now and telling her all my regrets. But one wrong move and I could ruin everything I came here to fix.
She steps away first, putting space between us.
“Don’t worry, Hargrove,” she says coolly, “the crush is long gone. You’re just a houseguest now.”
Her words slice clean through my ribs.
“Oh, and you were right last year. That kiss was a mistake.”
I study her, head to toe. Taking note of the way her chest rises and falls unevenly. She’s lying. Maybe to herself more than to me.
“Was it?” I counter.
She hesitates, like she’s forgotten her line in a rehearsed script. “Uh, yeah.”
A hard swallow makes its way down her slender neck. My fingers twitch at the vivid memory of her pulse beneath them. It feels like no time has passed. Like that kiss lives under my skin, waiting.
I want to lay it all out for her now, every reason I’m here, what I want from her, from us. But she’s not ready. I can see it in her stiff shoulders, the tight line of her mouth. If I push too hard now, I’ll lose any ground I’ve got.
Patience. Stick to the plan.
She spins away, releasing the tension between us.
“This is my apartment. Oh, I mean my flat,” she says, sweetly acidic.
My brows tick up. “I see we’re mocking the accent now.”
“Just helping you translate.” She flashes me a feisty smirk.
She’s cheeky as hell, and I love it.
“Coat closet.” She motions to the door just inside her flat before slipping off her boots and walking away.
I remove my coat and open the closet door.
Inside, I find Juniper’s coats hanging in a neat row, her scent clinging to the fabric—warm, familiar, and impossible to resist. I hang my coat alongside hers and hope that her scent will weave its way into the material.
After closing the closet door, I remove my boots and leave them neatly next to Juniper’s before wandering into her flat.
A plush, floral rug covers the wooden floor of the hallway while a small sage green side table sits beneath a scalloped-edge gold-framed mirror.
The living room is centered around a velvet loveseat in blush and a vintage-style, oriental print area rug in complementing colors.
White bookshelves filled with books, as if it’s an extension of her bookstore, along with a few plants, candles, and trinkets.
One wall has a framed gallery. Some frames have art prints, others dried flowers and lyrical quotes.
A gold bar cart sits beneath the frames with rose gold glassware and a few bottles of spirits.
A wooden calendar hangs on the wall near her kitchen, shaped like a gingerbread house, with tiny hand-painted doors, each labeled with a glittery number. One is slightly ajar, revealing a packet of hot cocoa and a slip of folded paper.
“What’s this?” I ask, lifting a hand to peek inside.
Before I can, she’s there, slamming it shut. “It’s my advent calendar.”
“You made it?”
“Yes.” She says it like a dare.
Even in her attempt to keep me at arm’s length, I see the pride she has in it.
“And you filled it yourself?”
“Of course. Who else would know what I like?”
Her head tilts upward, giving me the perfect view of her features. The smattering of freckles on her nose and cheeks, her warm hazel eyes, and those perfect pink lips.
Who else, indeed.
Our gazes lock for the briefest of moments before she looks away.
She clears her throat, flustered. “Living room, kitchen.” She motions quickly to the strikingly decorated rooms before turning and heading down the hallway. “Bedrooms are this way.”
My gaze returns to the gingerbread house advent calendar.
It’s something she’s poured time into. Something meant to make every day feel like a celebration. I desperately want to know what is behind each door. All of Juniper’s favorite things.
But instead, I grab my luggage and follow her down the hallway. She stops in front of an open door.
“Guest bedroom is here.” She motions across the hall. “Bathroom’s there. It’s the only one.”
My eyes flick to the door next to the guest room. “Yours, I presume?”
Her arms cross against her chest. “Yeah.”
It’s like she’s recalling the last time I was in her room. Her childhood bedroom where I’d reviewed her business plan, kissed her, then panicked.
“I’ll let you get settled.” She turns to reach for the handle on her bedroom door.
“Juniper?”
“What?” she asks, not bothering to turn around.
I want to say it all. Tell her what she doesn’t know, what I’m about to do for us both. But she’s not ready for my whole hand yet. So, I give her a single truth instead.
“That kiss wasn’t a mistake. It was a revelation. That’s why it scared the bloody hell out of me.”
Her back goes rigid. For half a heartbeat I think she might turn and give me something. An opening, a sign. But she doesn’t. Instead, she walks in her bedroom and closes the door.
Good. Let her be mad.
I’m not here for her approval.
I’m here to win her back. On my terms. One step at a time.
And this time, I won’t fuck it up.