Chapter 28 Juniper
TWENTY-EIGHT
JUNIPER
I wake up warm and sore and embarrassingly content for someone who keeps insisting she’s not falling in love with Liam Hargrove. But I am. Last night sealed it—like the final, soft nail in the coffin of my stubbornness.
His arm is heavy around my waist, his breath warm at the back of my neck. I shift a little, just enough to test the edge of reality, but his grip tightens like he can sense it—like if I try to slip away, he’ll just pull me back under. His nose nudges behind my ear, his lips brushing my hair.
“Merry Christmas, Firefly,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep and a smug sort of tenderness that makes my chest ache.
“Merry Christmas,” I sigh back, letting myself sink into him for one reckless moment.
His body is heavy and warm, like a weighted blanket that keeps my second thoughts at bay. Still, they’re there—little flickers of uncertainty that bloom in the spaces between our heartbeats.
Last night was everything. Sex, yes—my first time, his hands and mouth on me, his voice whispering things I’ll probably replay in my head forever.
But it was more than that. The watch I’d hidden from him for months, the one I claimed Jasper had bought, when really it was mine, chosen just for Liam before I even knew how badly I’d want him to keep it.
Giving it to him was like showing my whole heart, piece by piece.
He shifts behind me, his palm smoothing over my stomach, and I feel him smile into my hair.
“You’re thinking too loud,” he rumbles, amused and half-asleep.
I huff out a soft laugh. “Sorry.”
“You say it like you mean to stop.”
“It’s part of my charm. Comes with the package.”
He laughs, low and smug, causing his chest to rumble against my back. “Good. I’m keeping you anyway.”
He says it like a promise. And the worst part is, I believe him.
After a few more minutes of cozy snuggles, he coaxes me out of bed with coffee and kisses, drapes my favorite blanket over my shoulders, and nudges me into the living room. My gingerbread advent calendar is there on the wall, catching the morning light.
It’s silly, but I love that thing. I never told him how much I swooned when he started slipping little things inside.
The blush hairbow. The mulled spice bag.
The cherry swirl candies and the firefly brooch.
He’s turned it into this sweet, surprising countdown that makes my chest ache every time I see it.
He stands behind me now, close enough that I can feel the heat of him through the blanket. “Go on,” he says, voice warm at my ear. “Open the last one.”
I side-eye him but my heart’s already fluttering. I pop open the tiny gingerbread door marked 25.
For all the small, thoughtful items that have led up to today, I’m not sure how he can top them.
Inside, I find a small brass key, tied with red ribbon. A scrap of paper underneath that reads for us.
I go still. For a second I can’t breathe.
A key. A key.
A key to what?
Oh, god. Did he buy me a car? I don’t even want a car. I can barely parallel park my Subaru.
Is it for a house? Did he buy me a house? I will absolutely pass out if he bought me a house.
Is it…a shed? A secret romance library shed? A wine cellar? A bunker? A tiny gingerbread cottage in the woods where he plans to keep me barefoot and stocked with romance novels until I agree to marry him?
I flick a glance at him leaning against the doorframe. A big, warm, slightly smug in the worst way smile on his face.
Yeah, he would. He would absolutely buy me a secret romance cottage in the woods.
“What is this?” I ask, voice way too high and squeaky.
He runs a hand through his messy hair. An adorable habit that ruins me every time. He steps closer, all heat and sweet affection. When he brushes his knuckles down my cheek, it’s so gentle it makes my throat tight and my brain immediately turns to static.
“I need to show you something. Come with me?”
I glance down at my enormous T-shirt and Christmas slipper socks. I’m so unprepared for whatever life-altering thing is about to happen to me right now.
“Now?”
His grin curves, lazy and crooked. “Now.”
My arms cross over my chest, covering my braless breasts and hardened nipples.
“You realize you can walk down the street naked and then just hightail it back to New York like nothing happened. I, on the other hand, live here.”
His grin deepens.
“It’s not far. Twenty steps, max.”
Twenty steps? Is he going to have me leave my apartment, then walk back in?
I glance at the key again, my heart thumping. God, please don’t let it be a bunker.
I convince Liam I need leggings so I don’t freeze my ass off, then he patiently waits for me to put on a bra. I’m not stalling, I’m preparing myself.
After I pull on my knee-length puffer coat and stomp into my boots, Liam takes my hand like he’s afraid I might change my mind halfway down the stairs. He’s warm and quiet beside me, his thumb brushing over my knuckles like he can steady the small hurricane that is spinning in my chest.
Outside, Founders Street is dead quiet. It’s Christmas morning at seven a.m. after all. There’s nothing but soft snow under the streetlamps and the twinkle of lights hung in the trees lining the town’s main business district. The only sound is our boots crunching along the sidewalk.
I glance around, half-expecting to see a giant neon sign blinking surprise! above one of the buildings. My brain is still racing. Is this some kind of treasure hunt? Do I have to solve a riddle? Should I be counting my steps?
But I don’t have to wonder long. Liam slows us to a stop in front of the old Wild Fern storefront. The one that’s under construction to become a wine bar. PourChoices wine bar.
My mind catches on that thought like a hook.
PourChoices.
The late-night forum replies that always made me feel less alone. The soft nudges to trust myself. The way PourChoices somehow knew exactly what to say to make me braver. Like he knew me. All the tiny, hidden, hopeful parts.
I turn to him, breath puffing in the cold air. “Liam…” There are a hundred questions in that single syllable, but only one answer I’m really asking for.
His mouth tips slightly, like he’s been waiting for me to put it together.
“You’re PourChoices.” The words come out low, like saying them too loud might break the spell.
Something shifts in his expression—not guilt exactly, but something heavier. “Yeah.” His voice is rough, like it costs him to say it.
“You could’ve just told me.”
He gives a small, almost rueful smile. “I didn’t know how. After that night—”
The words spark the memory before I can stop it.
Christmas Eve. Sitting together on my bed, his body warm beside mine as he read through my business proposal.
The way his gaze kept dropping to my mouth.
That kiss—soft, then deep—until I whispered what I wanted next.
How fast his warmth had vanished when he’d stood, fumbling for an excuse that wouldn’t wreck me.
The dull ache in my tailbone where I’d landed on the rug, matching the sharper one in my chest.
He exhales, pulling me back to the present. “I thought I’d ruined everything. But I couldn’t stay away. So, I found a way to be near you, even if it meant hiding behind a stupid screen name.”
The key in my palm suddenly feels like more than brass and weight—it’s a map of all the quiet ways he’s been here. His thumb brushes over my knuckles, slow, tender, and impossibly intimate. My chest tightens at the simple contact.
I glance at him, the questions still unspoken, and he gives the barest shrug, eyes soft and earnest. “I wanted to be part of your world, even if I wasn’t sure you’d let me.”
“Even if it meant all the secrets?” I whisper, almost to myself, but sharp enough for him to hear.
He nods, letting a shiver of confession pass between us. “Every one of them. I fell for you somewhere along the way. And I had no idea how to handle that. So, I hid.”
I look at the little brass key in my palm, my brain still processing his confession.
It was him.
He’s been here all along. Not just next door, but inside every message, every push, every time I needed someone to say you can do this.
My eyes flick from the key to him and back. Liam is PourChoices.
This wine bar is his. His messages. His plan. All of it tied up in one small, shiny key.
“Go on,” he says, so gentle I almost melt right there on the sidewalk.
I slide the key into the lock and turn. It sticks for half a second, like it’s testing me, then clicks open.
Inside, the smell of Wild Fern is gone. No more soil and wet leaves or the faint whiff of overwatered mint.
It smells like fresh paint and oak and new beginnings.
The pendant lights glow soft gold against deep green walls.
Shelves line one side, already stocked with wine bottles that catch the light.
The dark walnut bar gleams under soft brass fixtures.
A mural stretches across the far wall—delicate vines curling and twisting up toward the ceiling like they’re alive.
But it’s the sign that steals my breath: Juniper & Grove.
My name. His name. Tied together so soft and certain it makes my heart knock against my ribs.
I run my fingers over the brass inlay of the letters to make sure they’re real. They’re warm under the soft lights. Warm like him, like the way he feels pressed up against my back in the morning. Steady and solid and so impossibly here.
I turn to face him. He’s leaning back against the bar, watching me like he’s bracing for the part where I run. Or cry. Maybe both.
“So you’re staying.” It slips out like a secret I’ve been afraid to hope for.
He nods slowly. “Yeah. If you’ll have me.”
I let out a laugh that’s half a breath away from a sob. “Liam, your whole life is in New York. Jensen Innovations. Jasper. You can’t just stay here and run a wine bar.”