Chapter 10 Liam
TEN
LIAM
After spending the afternoon at Juniper’s bookstore, I know I should give her space.
Be a courteous houseguest. Shut myself in the guest room and let her have her nightly routine without me in the way.
But that’s the thing: I don’t want to be out of her way.
I want to be right here. In the soft glow of her living room, warm lamplight spilling across her dog-eared books and half-finished mugs of tea.
She’s in the kitchen, earbuds in and humming along to the holiday playlist she loves. She thinks she hums quietly—she doesn’t. She sings “Last Christmas” loud and off-key. It’s perfect.
“Jesus, Liam!” she screams, her mug of hot cocoa splashing everywhere. “Fuck!”
“Shit, Firefly. I’m sorry.”
“What the hell are you thinking sneaking up on me?”
“I wasn’t sneaking. I was waiting for you to finish your solo.” I grin at how passionate her singing had been a moment ago.
“Don’t grin at me like that,” she snaps, cradling her hand, cocoa dripping down her wrist. Her eyes shine with embarrassment and pain. “God, that’s hot. Ow, ow, ow.”
“Let me see.” I reach for her, but she tries to twist away, glaring at me over her shoulder.
“I’m fine—”
“Juniper.” My voice leaves no room for debate. I catch her wrist gently, turning it over to inspect the reddened skin. “Where’s your first aid kit?”
She mutters something under her breath about bossy CFOs and points her chin toward the bathroom. I guide her to the couch instead. “Sit. I’ll get it.”
When I come back, she’s perched at the edge of the cushion, fussing with the sleeves of her cardigan like she’s trying to hide inside it. I kneel in front of her, first aid kit open at my side.
“It’s not that bad,” she protests as I dab at her skin with a cool cloth. She hisses and glares at me like it’s my fault.
“It’s okay to let someone take care of you.”
Her eyes dart to mine. There’s so much she wants to argue with in that sentence, I can see it. But the words never come out. She just watches me work, her lips pressed together.
When I’m done, I blow gently on the tender spot, half to soothe it, half because I can’t resist. Her breath catches.
“There,” I say, my voice lower now. “Good as new.”
“Don’t push it,” she murmurs, but her tone is softer than before.
I ease back, giving her space she doesn’t actually ask for. My gaze lands on the pile of half-wrapped books stacked on the coffee table.
“What are those?”
“The blind date with a book bingo prizes for my event this weekend.”
“You can’t finish these one-handed,” I say. “You’ll make a mess.”
She snorts. “Oh, and you’re a wrapping paper expert now?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Do you want help or not?”
She gives a dramatic sigh. “Fine. But if you ruin my aesthetic, I’m making you redo every single one.”
“Deal.” I sit beside her, our shoulders almost brushing. “What’s the theme?”
She hands me a book, our fingers brushing. “The theme is magic under the mistletoe. Figure it out, genius.”
I grin and reach for the tape. “You know, these hands are pretty capable. I think I can manage some tape and paper.”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s a ghost of a smile on her lips now. “We’ll see.”
She hits play on the TV. While You Were Sleeping flickers to life—Sandra Bullock in a bulky sweater, Chicago blanketed in snow.
Perfect.
We work in silence for a while—except for the movie dialogue and her occasional muttering when I fold a corner crooked. She keeps bossing me around like I’m a new hire at her little indie empire.
“Less tape, Hargrove,” she says, pointing with her good hand. “Neater edges.”
“Bossy,” I mutter back. “You’d be a terrible subordinate.”
Her eyes light with a wicked gleam. “Good thing I’m in charge.”
She reaches to grab another book, but a small velvet box tumbles out from under a stack on the coffee table. I catch it before it hits the floor.
“What’s this?” I ask, turning it over in my palm.
She freezes. Her eyes dart from the box to my face. “That’s—That’s nothing. Put it back.”
I flip it open anyway. Inside is a vintage watch. Sleek. Timeless. Exactly my taste.
“Juniper.” My chest tightens. “You were thinking about me,” I say before I can stop myself.
Juniper’s eyes go wide for a half-second before her spine stiffens.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Hargrove.” She snatches the box from my hand, tucking it against her chest like she’s protecting something fragile.
“I got that months ago when I was furniture hunting. It was meant for Jasper to give to his best friend for Christmas. Congratulations. You just ruined your own surprise.”
She lifts her chin, all defensive bravado and that sharp-edged pride I know too well.
I don’t push it. I don’t call her bluff, even if it’s written all over her flushed cheeks and the way she won’t quite meet my eyes.
I just nod, pretending to buy it. “Right. Then I’ll act surprised.”
“Yeah. Forget you saw it.”
“Hard to forget something perfect,” I say, but she’s already tucking it behind a pillow, like it never existed.
She hits play again, trying to bury herself in the movie. I grab another book to wrap and lean close enough that our knees brush.
On screen, Sandra Bullock is telling Bill Pullman she’s in love. Juniper’s hair brushes my arm when she shifts, her lips parting around a smile when I mutter about the world’s most crooked bow.
She sighs dramatically when I tape another bow lopsided.
“You’re hopeless,” she says, exasperated but soft. She shifts closer on the couch, tucking one leg under her. “Give me that.”
She reaches for the half-wrapped book in my hands. Our fingers brush. Warm skin against warm skin. It sends a jolt up my arm that I swear she feels, too, judging by the way her breath hitches.
“Look—” She wrestles the crumpled ribbon from my fist, her thigh pressing against mine. “You have to loop it under first. Like this.”
I lean closer, pretending I can’t figure it out just to watch her work. Even with the burn on her hand, her fingers move with quick confidence, tugging the ribbon snug around the paper.
“Then twist here, hold with your thumb—” She grabs my hand, positioning my thumb exactly where she wants it. I’m not even watching the ribbon anymore. I’m watching her mouth, the way her teeth catch her lower lip when she concentrates.
“And pull this loop through…” She finishes the bow, tight and perfect.
When she looks up, she realizes how close we are, but neither of us moves right away. Our hands stay tangled in the ribbon, hers warm over mine.
“There.” Her voice comes out softer than before. “It’s perfect.”
“Not bad,” I murmur, but my eyes aren’t on the bow. They’re on her. She knows it, too. Her throat bobs in a swallow, her breath puffing out just a little too quick.
“Next one’s yours,” she says, forcing her hands away like she needs distance to breathe. “Try not to butcher it.”
I pick up the next book, my fingers still tingling from where hers touched mine. “No promises.”