Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
LIAM
I leave Juniper tangled in the sheets, soft breaths drifting over her pillow, a pink flush still lingering on her skin as proof I didn’t dream any of it.
The kitchen smells like cinnamon spice from that little candle she likes to burn. Beck is perched on the counter, drinking straight from the orange juice carton and wearing my hoodie like he owns the place.
“You ever heard of a glass?” I mutter, grabbing a mug for coffee. “You’re like a wild animal sometimes.”
He shrugs, his eyes flicking to the faint bite mark on my collarbone from when Juniper lost her mind last night.
Or maybe it was early this morning? Hard to say, since the night blurred between sleep-warm cuddling and those raw moments under the covers when I dropped below the sheets to taste her again.
I couldn’t get enough of her skin or that sweet little sound she makes when she falls apart for me.
“I could say the same thing about you. You’ve got bite marks on your collarbone, yet you haven’t even asked the girl out on a proper date.”
I pause, coffee mid-pour. “What?”
“A date, Liam.” He grins, all fake innocence. “You know, hot cider, holding hands, romantic gestures that women love. The stuff normal people do before they…well—” he gestures vaguely at my neck,”—that.”
I’ve been wrapped up in helping Juniper at her store and getting the wine bar ready. I’ve only been playing defense. Reacting to the moments instead of creating them.
I’m an idiot and Beck is, unfortunately, here to witness it.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, already regretting letting him in the door. “Shit.”
Beck barks out a laugh. “You didn’t, did you? You’ve been so busy trying to make amends for last year, you forgot to start with the basics. Courtship. Romance. A date.”
Before I can tell him to shut up, the bedroom door creaks open, and a moment later Juniper appears in nothing but my shirt. Her hair is a mess, sleep still in her eyes. She’s the prettiest damn thing I’ve ever seen.
“Good morning.” She moves slowly toward the coffee machine. “Who forgot what?”
Beck lifts his juice like a toast. “Your boy here forgot to actually ask you out.”
Juniper’s brows shoot up, her mouth tugging into an amused little smile. “Oh, really?”
I drag a hand through my hair. “I was going to—”
Beck cuts in. “When? After you two burn through her mattress?”
“Beck—” I grit out, but Juniper’s laughing now, hiding it behind her hand.
Juniper steps closer, tilting her head at me. “So? What did you have in mind?”
Good thing I’m used to thinking on my feet.
I set my mug down and close the space between us, ignoring Beck’s smug grin behind me.
“Will you come with me to the Holiday Market today? Just us,” I toss over my shoulder in case Beck is looking to be a third wheel.
“I’ll buy you hot cocoa and funnel cake, then look at all the crafts.
Hell, I’ll win you a pinecone ornament or whatever prize they offer at these things. An actual date. Very official.”
Her smile goes soft; all sleep and sweet and amused. “Yeah. That sounds nice.”
Behind us, Beck claps. He’s way too pleased with himself. “Thank god. Maybe now I can survive this week without needing earplugs.”
I flip him off without looking back, staying focused on the way Juniper’s cheeks flush when I brush a kiss to her temple.
“I’m going to hold you to that pinecone ornament,” she says, her mouth teasing into a smirk as she turns to pour her coffee.
“I’ll win you a whole fucking tree.”
We’re only ten minutes into the Holiday Market and Juniper’s already dragged me to three different booths, handed me two sample cups of steaming cider, and squealed over a basket of handmade ornaments shaped like tiny snow boots.
It’s cold enough for our breath to fog between us. Lights twinkle from every booth and garland is strung across the stalls like the whole town conspired to look like a goddamn Christmas card.
I’ve been to Christmas markets before—New York, London, LA—slick city versions with overpriced mulled wine and crowds that make you want to throat punch someone.
But here? Here it’s families, kids with sticky marshmallow fingers, an old man with a beard like Santa passing out peppermint bark samples, and Juniper—radiant in her knitted beanie and mittens, eyes wide at every stand like she’s five seconds from adopting an entire crate of homemade candles.
She pulls me toward a stall selling gingerbread cookies shaped like snowflakes. “Liam, look!” She holds up one with this triumphant grin like she just discovered gold. “They’re too pretty to eat.”
“But you’re going to sample them anyway, right?” I hand over cash for the cookies while Juniper beams up at me with a flirty smile.
I lean closer, brushing my hand over the small of her back, fighting the stupid urge to buy every last cookie just to keep that look on her face. “You’re getting crumbs all over your mittens, Firefly.”
She sticks her tongue out at me and takes a delicate bite anyway, a sprinkle falling onto her scarf. She giggles, then flicks the crumb at my chest.
I should feel ridiculous here, holding a half-finished cider in one hand and a bag of overpriced fudge in the other, but I don’t. I feel steady. Like I could do this a thousand times. Stand in the cold, carry her shopping bags, watch her get excited about things that feel small and big all at once.
She loops her arm through mine, tugging me toward another stall. This one is selling carved wooden signs that say things like Home Sweet Home and Merry & Bright.
“See anything you like?” she teases, brushing her hip into mine.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice low so only she hears. “I do.”
She rolls her eyes, but her cheeks flush pinker than the cold can take credit for.
And I swear—for a split second—this place, this market, this moment, feels like a preview of something I didn’t know I could have until now.
Not just the small-town life. Not just the pine-scented candles and cider, twinkle lights, and holiday traditions.
But her. In it.
Every holiday market. Every snowy December. Every soft smile and gingerbread crumb and mittened hand tugging me through a crowd.
Her.
She turns, catches me staring, and raises a brow. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say, leaning down to brush a kiss to her temple. “Just thinking I’m glad Beck ran his mouth this morning.”
She smiles. “Me, too.”
We continue working our way through the maze of stalls until we reach the far end of the market where a giant snow castle sits under a halo of string lights.
Kids are climbing through tunnels carved in the walls, parents are snapping photos.
A volunteer at the entrance calls out, “Watch your head! It’s slippery in there!
” but Juniper just looks at me with that spark in her eyes and I already know we’re going in.
“Five minutes. Humor me.”
Five minutes? She doesn’t even realize she’s got me forever.
It’s quiet inside—muffled from the outside noise, like the world shrank down to just her breath in the cold and my pulse hammering in my ears.
She turns, cheeks pink, breath fogging the air between us. “Tell me this isn’t amazing.”
“It’s amazing,” I say, but I’m not looking at the walls. I’m looking at her—lips parted, eyes bright, every inch of her soft and bundled up except for that wicked glint that says she’s thinking things she probably shouldn’t in a snow fort full of children’s laughter echoing outside.
She steps closer, pressing her palms to my chest, voice low. “You’re looking at me weird.”
I lean down, brushing my nose over hers. “You’re trouble, you know that?”
“Why?” she breathes, fingers fisting in my coat.
“Because you keep looking at me like that.”
She tips her chin up, grin turning sly. “Like what?”
“Like you want me to forget I’m supposed to be a gentleman,” I murmur, my lips ghosting over her jaw, my hands bracing her hips.
She hums, shifting closer until my back hits an icy wall and she’s pressed up against me, warm and soft under all her winter layers. “Maybe I do.”
“Juniper—” I start, but she cuts me off with a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue, hungry and impatient in a way that makes my restraint snap like a twig under snow.
I groan, catching her bottom lip between my teeth, my hands sliding down to cup her ass through her thick coat. She makes a soft sound—half giggle, half gasp—and I swear, if we weren’t standing in a snow castle I’d have her under me in seconds.
She pulls back just enough to whisper, “What are you going to do about it?”
I let out a low laugh, voice dark against her ear. “First? I’m going to get you out of here before you push me past my limit.”
She shivers, but it’s not from the cold. Then, she tips her hips forward, testing me.
I drop my mouth to her neck, letting my breath tickle her skin. “And when we’re alone…” My teeth graze her earlobe. “I’m going to spread you out on that cozy bed of yours and taste every inch of you until you’re begging me to let you come.”
She whimpers. I catch the sound with another kiss, deep and filthy and nothing like a small-town holiday moment.
Outside, a kid squeals and someone laughs, the reminder that we’re not alone forcing me to pull back before I ruin her mittened hands on the frozen wall behind me.
She’s breathless, wide-eyed, lips swollen from my mouth. “So…” she pants, grin curling wicked at the edges. “Hot chocolate next?”
I huff out a laugh, pressing my forehead to hers. “God, Firefly. Yeah. Hot chocolate. Then I’m taking you home and wrecking every sweet thought you’ve ever had about snow castles.”
She laughs, and it’s the sound of pure mischief, before she pulls me back through the tunnel, her small hand warm in mine.
And I follow. Willingly. Like I’d follow her anywhere.