Chapter Thirty-Six
Juniper
The next morning dawns crisp and clear, and I wake up to the smell of coffee. As I stretch and sit up, Zade walks in, already dressed and looking determined. “Morning, sleepyhead,” he says with a grin. “I have plans for us today.”
I rub my eyes, still groggy. “Plans? What kind of plans?”
He hands me a steaming mug of coffee. “Shopping. You need something special for the party I’m planning.”
I blink, trying to process. “Shopping? Zade, I’m more of an online shopping girl.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Not today. You’re a store-shopping girl now. Get ready. We’re heading out in an hour.”
I get ready quickly. Zade has always been full of surprises, but this is new territory for me. Shopping for something special, something that will make me feel beautiful—it’s not something I’m used to. I pull on a long sweater dress, pairing it with knee-high boots.
When I step out of the bed room, Zade is waiting by the door, his eyes lighting up when he sees me. “You look great,” he says, and I can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm.
The drive to the boutique is pleasant, with Zade chatting about his plans for the event and how important it is for him to have me there. He’s careful not to reveal too much, keeping some elements of the night a surprise.
When we arrive at the boutique, I immediately feel out of place. The shop is filled with sleek, trendy clothes—none of which seem designed for someone of my size. Zade walks in confidently, but I hang back, feeling the stares of the salespeople.
“Can I help you?” The saleswoman, a stick-thin figure in her early 20s, chirps.
Her voice is all sugary-sweet politeness.
Seeing Zade, her eyes light up like he’s the last slice of cake at a party, and she’s been starving all day.
But when her eyes land on me, they’re busy scanning me up and down like I’m some kind of alien species.
“We’re looking for a dress,” Zade says, gesturing towards me.
The saleswoman’s smile tightens, barely hiding her disdain as she sizes me up.
“Sorry, we don’t carry sizes that big.” Her voice carries a hint of finality, but then she quickly shifts gears.
“But if you're interested in suits, we have plenty.” She pulls a jacket from the rack and smoothly drapes it over Zade's shoulders.
“This will look perfect on you, especially with those beautiful blue eyes.” Her attention is locked on him, completely ignoring my presence.
The lion, the w itch, the audacity of this bitch!
I’m burning with embarrassment, but before I can walk away, Zade snaps. “Did I hear you right? You don’t carry sizes for real women?”
The saleswoman’s eyes go wide, and she stammers, “I... I didn’t mean—“
“You did,” Zade says, stepping forward. “I run my own businesses. I know what service’s supposed to look like. What you just pulled… you’re not just rude, you’re wrecking your sales. We walked in ready to spend; now we’ll take our money somewhere else.”
He gives me a nod, and we head for the door, leaving the saleswoman standing there, too stunned to respond.
He grabs my hand and leads me out of the store, his grip reassuring. “You didn’t have to do that,” I mumble, my heart pounding.
“Yes, I did,” he replies. “You deserve better. And I know just the place.”
????????????????????
When he said he knew a place, I wasn’t expecting to be entering a private Jet!
As we step onto the jet, I can't help but look around in awe. The luxurious interior gleams with polished wood and soft leather seats. Everything about it feels so surreal, like stepping into a different world.
“Welcome aboard,” Zade says, guiding me to one of the plush seats. “Make yourself comfortable .”
I settle into the seat, feeling my curves fill the space in a way that makes me feel both self-conscious and oddly regal. Zade takes a seat across from me, watching as I look out the window.
“We're actually flying somewhere just to shop?” I ask, disbelief coloring my tone.
Zade nods, a smile playing at his lips. “Yes, we are. You deserve something special.”
I blush, looking down at my hands. “I’m not used to this kind of treatment, Zade.”
“You’d better get used to it,” he replies gently. “You’re worth it, Juniper.”
The jet engines roar to life, and the plane begins to taxi down the runway. I grip the armrests, my knuckles turning white. Zade notices and reaches out to take my hand, squeezing it reassuringly.
“Juniper, what’s wrong?” he asks, leaning forward.
I inhale carefully, searching for a thread of composure inside. “I’ve got to tell you something.”
He looks at me intently. “What is it?”
I exhale slowly, focusing on the way his thumb moves lightly against the back of my hand. “It’s my first time on a plane,” I admit. “And I kind of hate them.”
He doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t tease. He just leans closer and says, “You’re safe with me. ”
The plane lifts, and I try to pretend it doesn’t feel like my stomach is being left behind on the runway. My grip on his hand tightens, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans in closer. He doesn’t let go.
After a few minutes, the jet levels out. The seatbelt light clicks off, and Zade stands without a word. He crosses the aisle and slides into the seat beside me. I expect him to say something cocky, something to break the moment, but he doesn’t. He just sits. Close enough for his knee to brush mine.
He turns toward me, that familiar spark in his eyes. “You okay?”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I am.
“Want a distraction?”
He drops his words to a hush, like he’s offering something real.
I don’t answer with words. I just glance over at him, and somehow that’s enough.
He leans in, not all the way, not yet, but enough for me to feel the shift in the air between us.
His hand lifts, brushing a strand of hair away from my cheek, and then he touches my jaw—just lightly—and I feel it everywhere.
“I want you to feel grounded,” he murmurs, words softened to something almost reverent. “Not just… distracted. Not lost.”
My eyes flutter closed for a second. When I open them, he’s watching me, like he’s waiting for permission.
I give it in the quietest way possible—I lean into him.
His hand slips to my waist, and he pulls me gently into his lap. The motion is slow, careful, like he’s not sure I’ll let him. But I do. I settle there, my body fitting awkwardly and perfectly against his.
His arms wrap around me. His hand rests on my back, firm and calming, while the other presses lightly to my thigh. There’s no rush. No hurry to take anything further. Just warmth. Contact. Safety.
“Better?” he murmurs.
I nod against his chest. I can hear his heartbeat. It’s faster than I expect. Or maybe mine is the one pounding.
I tilt my head up. His eyes meet mine. He studies me again, like I’m a puzzle he wants to learn by touch. He leans down and kisses my temple first. Then my cheek. Then—finally—my mouth.
The kiss is slow. Deep. Like a thought he’s been holding onto too long and finally lets out.
There’s heat in it, but it’s not about hunger.
It’s something else. A pull. A longing. A fear he’s not saying out loud.
I feel his breath catch as he kisses me again, just a little firmer this time, and my hands slide up his chest, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt.
I don’t know how long we stay like that. Kissing, breathing, holding on to each other like the motion of the plane is the only thing keeping us from floating off into something we don’t know how to name.
At some point, he drapes a blanket over us. Not to hide what we’re doing—there’s nothing scandalous happening—but maybe just to make the space smaller. Quieter. Just ours .
His hand strokes my back. My head drops to his shoulder. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, and he kisses the top of my head like he’s sealing something in place.
“You feel real,” he says.
“So do you,” I whisper.
He holds me like that for a long time. No rush. No push. Just quiet understanding in the middle of a sky we both used to fear for different reasons.