Chapter 6
SIX
LIAM
I tap my phone on the payment screen and smile when the photo of me and Juniper from last night lights up. I wasn’t kidding when I told her I was going to make it my screensaver.
I’d woken up early. Juniper’s guest bed was comfortable, yet with my brain being on eastern time, I couldn’t sleep past five thirty.
So instead, I answered some emails, then ten minutes ago, walked down the street to The Hollow Bean to grab us chocolate croissants and coffees.
I’d become obsessed with the croissants during my short visit to Cedar Hollow last year.
Little did I know they wouldn’t be my only obsession with this town.
The sidewalks lining Founders Street are shoveled and now cleared of ice, but last night the slick sidewalks paired with sexy stiletto boots that had no place in a Colorado snowstorm had been the catalyst for getting close to Juniper.
She’d begrudged the piggy-back ride but then I’d caught the look on her face in the photo I’d taken, and it gave me hope.
I glance down at the screensaver on my phone again. Juniper’s eyes are on me, with an unmistakable softness to them. Her mouth curved into a wistful, almost vulnerable expression, like she’s savoring something she doesn’t think she can have.
But she has me. She just doesn’t know it yet.
I want her. I’ve wanted her since that night. But wanting someone and being ready for them are two different things—and last year, I wasn’t. I panicked. I messed up.
But rushing into some grand apology or kissing her the second I got here wouldn’t fix anything. It might make me feel better, but it wouldn’t make her trust me again. And I want her trust. Her belief that I mean what I say. That this isn’t just guilt or nostalgia or lust. It’s more.
Now, I’m not just trying to win her back. I’m trying to show her that she’s not a passing infatuation. I see a future with her.
So yeah, for now I’m holding back. Not because I’m unsure, but because I’m sure and I don’t want to mess it up again.
Grabbing the pastry bag and tray of coffees in one hand, I exit the café.
On my way back to Juniper’s flat, I pass by the storefront under construction. The soon-to-be wine bar currently with brown butcher’s paper covering the windows.
Glancing around, I note that the newly plowed streets are empty and outside of the few people making a similar run to the café, most of Cedar Hollow is still asleep.
I set the pastry bag and coffees down, then reach for the lock box. Putting in the code releases the back, and a single key falls out.
Once I’m inside the space, the scent of freshly sanded oak mingles with plaster dust and paint. My boots echo faintly against the unfinished wood floor.
The pictures my project manager, Ellen, sent me don’t do it justice.
The drywall’s up. The custom shelves are in, still bare, but the bones are solid. The bar counter—dark walnut with a matte finish—is finally installed, and even under the protective covering, it looks like something out of a magazine. Clean lines, rich wood, subtle character.
Tools are scattered, painter’s tape still clings to baseboards, and there’s a bucket sitting in the middle of the floor collecting a slow drip from an unfinished pipe. It’s a mess, but it’s my mess. And it’s starting to look like the real thing.
A local artist just finished the mural on the far wall. It’s a delicate line drawing of intertwined grapevines, curling and climbing like they’re growing up toward the ceiling.
I walk the length of the space, trailing a hand over the wall where the built-in wine racks will go. In the back corner chairs in plastic wrap are stacked up. I can picture the layout clearly now. It’s intimate and a little moody, but nothing too trendy. Just timeless.
One of the pendant lights swings slightly overhead, catching my eye.
I’d gone with soft brass for the hardware; against the deep green paint I’d second-guessed for a week until I’d asked JuniReads her opinion in the county’s small-business forum chat.
Now, seeing it all together under the dim construction lights, I know. She was right.
I exhale slowly. This place is coming together. It’s not ready for the soft opening yet, and I still have a hundred things to figure out. But for the first time since I started this project, I feel it. This is going to work.
My phone buzzes with a text from Beck, my younger brother. He’s twenty-four, and currently on holiday with some friends at a ski resort.
Beck
How’s the whole “redeeming yourself with Juniper” mission going?
I groan, already knowing exactly where this is going.
Fine. Everything is under control.
Beck
You can’t just tiptoe around like a scared accountant and expect a happy ending.
Thanks for the pep talk. Really needed that.
Beck
Always happy to lecture my brilliant older brother.
And you’re giving me tips because…?
Beck
I’m charming and decisive. I’ve got a knack for handling these types of situations. Also, because someone has to make sure you don’t screw this up again. But mostly, I like to watch you squirm.
You’re terrible.
Beck
Terrible? Me? Never. Look, if you need an intervention, or a wingman, I’m just a phone call away.
I sigh, tucking my phone back in my pocket, shaking my head at how he always finds a way to get under my skin. Beck has a way of making even the most serious moments feel ridiculous—and somehow, it keeps me grounded.
Beck and Jasper, along with my parents, are the few that know about the wine bar and the reason I’m laying down roots in Cedar Hollow.
Creating a business next door to Juniper’s—while she still carries a healthy dose of dislike for me—might seem insane to anyone else.
Jasper calls it madness. I call it opportunity.
The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results, right?
Well, this is my calculated kind of insane.
Never in my life have I pursued a woman the way I plan to pursue Juniper.
All in. No holding back. So much skin in the game that I could get burned.
And yet, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I take a few photos then send them to Ellen with notes before locking up and heading back to Juniper’s flat.
Like her romance bookstore, Juniper’s flat radiates warmth and whimsy. Simply being in her space puts me at ease.
When I set the bag of pastries on the wooden coffee table, I notice a stack of books.
The one on top has different colored tabs sticking out of the pages. I pick it up and flip through it. In addition to the tabs, some of the text is highlighted. There are hearts and other doodles next to passages, some even have notes written out.
Would not say no.
Why don’t real men talk like this?
Mirror scenes will always win. Top-tier filth. 10/10 would reread (and reenact).
The creaky wooden floors announce Juniper’s arrival, so I set the book back on the coffee table and grab the bag of pastries.
“Morning.”
She’s in a corduroy skirt with thick patterned tights on beneath, an oversized cardigan with heart buttons and a t-shirt underneath that says, “Reading Is My Love Language.”
“I got you a coffee and a chocolate croissant.”
She studies me a beat before taking the outreached bag and coffee. When she leans in, I catch her signature scent, warm plum and vanilla.
“Thank you, but you didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to.”
She nods, like she’s not quite sure what to say.
“What are your plans today?”
“Probably hang out here.” I glance around her cozy living room, my eyes landing on that gingerbread advent calendar with the tiny painted doors all lined up in perfect rows. “Look through your stuff.”
Her polite smile falters. “Excuse me?”
I grin. “Kidding. I’ve got a few meetings.”
She crosses her arms, one eyebrow arching as she leans against the bookshelf like she’s settling in for a standoff. “Couldn’t you do that from…I don’t know…literally anywhere else? Like your shiny corner office?”
I shrug, taking a sip of my coffee. “Could’ve.”
She tilts her head, studying me like she’s trying to solve a puzzle I haven’t given her all the pieces for. “So…what is this, Liam? A working vacation? Business trip? Or you just like Cedar Hollow’s stunning December weather?”
“Something like that.” I keep my tone light, but her eyes narrow at my deflection.
We’re standing too close. The quiet hum of her flat makes the air feel thick. She’s staring at my mouth like she wants to say something—do something—reckless.
I take a step closer, dropping my voice just enough to make her shiver. “Maybe I like the view better here.”
Her breath catches. I see it—the spark, the wanting—before she shuts it down with a tight shake of her head. She backs up a step, clutching her coffee cup like it might save her.
“I don’t have time for this,” she says, more to herself than me. “I have things to—"
I smirk, savoring the way her words run together when I get too close. “Relax, Firefly. I’ll get out of your hair.”
She scowls at the nickname but doesn’t fight me on it this time.
I tap the lid of my coffee, then brush past her—close enough that my arm grazes her side.
“I’m going to take a shower. Try not to miss me too much while I’m gone.”
She lets out a sound between a laugh and a scoff but doesn’t answer. She’s too busy glaring at my back as I disappear down the hallway.