Chapter Sixteen
Juniper
Since Zade dropped the idea of the resort and focused on turning The Opal into a five-star hotel, I seriously began considering working for him.
My decision isn't swayed by the kisses he gave me, although those moments linger in my mind more than I care to admit.
This job is an opportunity I can't afford to pass up.
On my first day in the kitchen, the atmosphere buzzes with anticipation. The countertops gleam, the scent of fresh ingredients fills the air, and the staff hustles around like they’re in a high-energy dance.
I’m introduced to the team, a group of passionate, skilled individuals who welcome me warmly. “Hey, Juniper, I’m Marco,” says a tall, dark-haired guy with a charming smile. His eyes sparkle with mischief and warmth.
“Nice to meet you, Marco. I’m excited to be here,” I reply, feeling a sense of camaraderie already forming. The energy in the kitchen is contagious, and I can’t wait to dive in.
As the morning progresses, I dive into my work, preparing a variety of desserts.
A petite, red-haired woman named Sophie works next to me; her movements are quick and efficient. “Your apricot pie from the interview was amazing. Mr. Patterson had us try it once you left,” she says, glancing over with a friendly smile.
Just the mention of that apricot pie leaves me sweating, and I clear my throat. “Thanks, Sophie. I’m glad you liked it.” I say, trying to control the tremor in my voice.
As I work, I notice the intricate dance of the kitchen staff.
Each person moves with purpose, their actions synchronized like a well-rehearsed ballet.
Marco expertly flips a pan of sautéing vegetables, the aroma making my stomach rumble.
Sophie pipes delicate rosettes of buttercream onto a row of cupcakes with precision.
The pastry section, where I’m stationed, is a haven of creativity and focus.
My hands move swiftly, rolling out dough for croissants and folding it over layers of butter with meticulous care.
I shape the pastries, feeling the smooth, cool dough under my fingers.
The repetition is soothing, each motion a step toward perfection.
“Juniper, can you pass me the vanilla extract?” Sophie asks, not missing a beat in her work.
“Sure,” I reply, reaching for the bottle and handing it to her. “Here you go.”
“Thanks. By the way, where did you learn to bake?” She inquires, her eyes curious.
“I actually learned from the best. My mentor owns a café in Silverton; that’s the talk of the town.
I also attended several baking workshops.
I’ve always loved baking—it’s a form of art for me,” I explain, but in my heart, I fear that they might judge me because I know everyone here is a trained and qualified chef, and I’m the odd one out with my background.
But what Sophie says next puts me at ease. “That’s amazing. Baking is definitely love. We’re lucky to have you here,” she tells me with a genuinely warm smile.
As the morning flies by, I move on to making a selection of tarts.
I prepare the buttery crusts, blind-baking them to a perfect golden brown.
The smell of the pastries fills the kitchen, mingling with the scent of fresh fruit and caramel.
I fill the tart shells with rich vanilla custard, carefully arranging sliced strawberries and kiwi on top.
The colors are vibrant, and the presentation is meticulous.
I catch Marco watching me as I work, a grin spreading across his face.
“Damn, Juniper, you know what you’re doing. Those tarts look amazing,” he says, like he actually means it.
“Thanks, Marco. I just hope they taste as good as they look,” I reply, my cheeks warming at the compliment.
“They will,” he assures me with a wink.
By lunchtime, I’ve managed to prepare an array of pastries that fill the kitchen with a mouth-watering aroma. The staff gathers to taste my creations, their expressions lighting up with delight.
“Juniper, these are fantastic!” Marco exclaims, taking a bite of a delicate éclair. “You ’ve definitely raised the bar.”
I smile, feeling a sense of accomplishment. “I’m glad you think so. I’m really happy to be part of this team.”
Feeling a surge of happiness, I take out my phone and snap a picture of the desserts, sending it to Jacob and Cora. “First day at The Opal! Look what I made!” I text, adding a few excited emojis.
Sophie nudges me with her elbow. “What’s that smile for?”
“Just sending a picture to my brother and friend. They’re my biggest supporters,” I say, my heart warming at the thought of their reactions.
The afternoon flies by, and soon it’s time to clean up. Once I’m done, I leave the kitchen and make my way to the exit, but the receptionist stops me. “Juniper, Mr. Patterson wants to see you in his office.”
My heart skips a beat, and anxiety floods my senses. “Alright, thank you,” I say, making my way to Zade’s office.
I knock on the door, and his deep voice invites me in. Zade is sitting behind his large desk, the room dimly lit and exuding an air of authority. He looks up, his gaze piercing through me.
"Juniper, come in," he says calmly, but I know he means business.
I step inside, closing the door behind me. “You wanted to see me?”
“Yes,” he replies, standing up and walking around the desk. “How was your first day? ”
“It was great. The team is wonderful, and I think I did well,” I answer, trying to keep my voice steady.
He nods, his eyes darkening with something more than just professional interest. “Good. I knew you’d be an asset to this hotel.”
He moves closer, his presence overwhelming. I can feel the tension between us brewing, and my breath quickens. “Zade, what is this about?” I ask. My voice is almost inaudible.
He leans in, his expression intense. “Why do you always have to question everything, Juniper?”
I frown, crossing my arms over my chest. “Because I need to know what I’m getting into. You’re always so cryptic.”
He scoffs, a smirk playing on his lips. “Maybe if you stopped overthinking, you’d see the bigger picture.”
I step closer, anger flaring inside me. “And maybe if you were more transparent, I wouldn’t have to guess your intentions.”
He narrows his eyes. “You don’t trust me, do you?”
I hold his gaze, defiant. “Trust is earned, Zade. And you haven’t exactly been forthcoming.”
His jaw clenches, and he takes another step closer, our faces inches apart. “You think you know everything, don’t you? Always so self-righteous.”
“At least I’m not hiding behind half-truths and manipulations,” I snap back, my body trembling with anger .
For a moment, we stand there, our breaths mingling, the air around us charged with electricity. The room seems to shrink, with the intensity of our emotions filling every corner. I can feel the heat radiating from his body, and the fire in his eyes matches my own.
“You drive me crazy,” he growls.
“Good,” I retort, my pulse racing. “Because you infuriate me too.”
Something shifts between us. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just a feeling—like the last bit of patience we were both holding onto finally slips.
Zade leans in. No warning. His hand touches my cheek, slow but sure.
He sets them somewhere. I don’t even see where. Then he pulls me in.
And he kisses me.
It’s not slow. It’s not careful. His mouth hits mine like he’s done waiting.
I grab his jacket with both hands. I don’t mean to. I just do. I need something to hang onto, something that feels solid because this? This feels like falling.
I kiss him back. Hard. There’s no plan to it. I’m not thinking. I’m just... doing.
He tilts his head, shifts a little, and everything gets deeper. Hotter. His thumb brushes under my jaw. I feel it everywhere.
There’s no space between us now. Not even air. Just heat and pressure and all the stuff we didn ’t say getting pushed out through this.
I make a noise — not loud, just a breath that catches in my throat — and he reacts to it like he’s been waiting for it. His grip tightens, not rough, but like he doesn’t want to stop.
Neither do I.
When he finally pulls away, it’s not far. His forehead rests against mine. We’re both breathing hard, like we’ve just come up for air after being underwater too long. He mutters quietly. “Tell me to stop.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. It’s not that I don’t have anything to say. I do. Too much. But none of it feels right. Anything besides don’t stop would be a lie.
He’s still close. I can feel his breath. He doesn’t kiss me again. His hand just moves to my waist and stays there, like he’s grounding himself. Like he’s making sure this is still happening.
He looks at me. In the eye. Too long.
And it messes with my head.
It’s not like I’m blushing or flustered or anything dumb like that. It’s something quieter. Like a flutter under my ribs. Not sexual. Just… exposed. I hate it.
“You look at me like I’m someone I’m not,” I say.
He blinks once. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t smile. Just holds steady.
“You’re thinking too hard,” he says. His voice stays even. “Juniper, I kissed you because I wanted to. You kissed me back because you wanted it too.”
It’s simple. Too simple. But he’s not wrong.
And that makes it worse.
I let go of his shirt. I don’t remember grabbing it, but my hands are empty now. I take half a step back. I feel like I need air, but there’s plenty. I just… can’t breathe right.
“Zade—” I try, but the rest of it sticks in my throat.
And then it hits. Fast. Loud.
I’m eighteen again. Brian grinning like a winner, that smug look on his face. I thought it was love. Turned out it was a setup. My name in every inbox. My picture in every hallway. People laughed. People whispered. I felt like garbage.
I blink hard. Once. Twice. Trying to shut it out.
I can’t do that again.
“I can’t,” the words scrape out of me. “I can’t do this.”