Chapter 30 Juniper
THIRTY
JUNIPER
By the time we make it to my parents’ house, it’s snowing again. Soft, fat flakes that cling to the porch lights and turn the yard into a winter wonderland.
Inside, it’s a riot of cinnamon and pine and too many people talking over each other.
Stella’s at the kitchen counter with my mom, trying to keep her from making a third pie just in case.
Jasper is by the fireplace, arms crossed, watching Liam like he’s debating whether to tackle him or hug him.
Beck’s already found the cookie tray and is stealth-eating sugar cookies behind the tree, thinking no one notices.
And Liam? He’s at my side the whole time. His fingers brush mine when I pass him a mug of cider, his palm warm at the small of my back when Jasper corners him for a brotherly talk that I pretend not to overhear. Every time I look up, he’s there. Mine.
It shouldn’t feel this simple. But it does.
When my mom drags everyone into the living room for presents and polite chaos, Liam catches my wrist. His palm slides against mine, our fingers threading easy as breathing. He leans in, warm breath against my hair.
“Come here, Firefly.” His voice is low, rough like he’s been laughing too much today. Like he’s not quite ready to share every part of this with everyone else just yet.
He tugs me down the hallway, past the old photos and the creaky floorboard we always tried to avoid when we were sneaking out at sixteen.
We slip into my childhood bedroom where my aunt and uncle are staying.
It’s a little too pink, a little too small, and for a second, it’s like time folds over on itself.
Last year, it was this room and my heart in Liam’s hands.
I turn to find him already close, so close. His eyes soft and a little sharp at the same time. It’s a look that makes my knees wobble.
“I didn’t say it earlier,” he murmurs, voice so gentle my chest squeezes. “Not like this. Not the way I wanted to.”
He cups my jaw, thumb brushing under my chin. His other hand slips around my waist, pulling me closer like he can’t stand even an inch between us.
“I love you, Juniper,” he says. Simple as that. Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I love you for every smart mouth thing you say, for every risk you take, for putting your heart out there and making me braver than I deserved to be. I love you. All of you. Always.”
It hits me, soft but sharp, like the first breath after stepping inside from the cold. I feel it in every part of me.
“Say it back,” he whispers, and he’s smiling but his eyes are pleading. Like he’s still the guy from last year, terrified and trying anyway.
I lift my hands to his face, brushing my thumbs over his obnoxiously perfect cheekbones, the scruff I love so much.
“I love you,” I say, and it’s so easy, so true I almost laugh. “You and your possessive streak, and your over-the-top grand gestures. Your half-finished mugs of coffee all over the place and the way you argue with podcasts in the shower.”
“So you’ve been listening to me in the shower?”
“It’s hard not to.”
His laugh breaks between us, then he kisses me like there’s nothing left to prove. Like we have every Christmas morning after this one to get it right.
Somewhere downstairs, Beck yells that he’s eating my share of pie if I don’t come back. My mom’s voice rises, trying to herd everyone through the chaos of gift unwrapping and dessert plates. The kids squeal about who got what. The whole house is alive with warmth and noise.
But none of it really registers because I’m here; in Liam’s arms, warm and safe and exactly where I belong.