Chapter Forty-Three
Juniper
A month has passed since I moved into The Opal, and every day feels like it’s blending into the next.
Somewhere along the way, lights went up around town and soft Christmas music started leaking through the hotel lobby speakers,but none of it really touched me.
Zade is always around, trying to keep me steady, but no matter what he does, I’m still lost in my own thoughts.
The beautiful rooms, the soft fabrics, the stunning views,they’re all supposed to help, to make me feel better, but instead, they just make me feel more distant.
Every morning, I wake up and find Zade already watching me from the armchair across the room, a quiet smile playing on his mouth like he’s been waiting for me to open my eyes.
He never says much, just that look, that gentle nod, like he’s reminding me I’m not alone.
The bed still carries his warmth, and the light pouring in through the big windows should feel comforting, but most days, it doesn’t.
I sit up because he’s there. Because I know he cares.
And because pretending I’m okay is easier when someone’s watching.
Brian is out of the picture now. After everything he did, the town finally turned on him.
The corruption caught up with him, and he was jailed.
Dominique, still a doctor, has tried reaching out to Jacob and me.
I’ve forgiven her because she saved my brother’s life, but Jacob…
Jacob hasn’t. He’s not ready to let go of what she did, and I see the pain in his eyes whenever her name comes up.
One morning, Zade enters the room, and I sit up, trying to shake off the heaviness. “Morning,” I say, attempting a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach my eyes. Zade notices, but he doesn’t push. He just smiles back, his eyes soft and understanding.
“How about a walk today?” he suggests, hoping to get me out of my room. “We could get some fresh air, maybe grab a coffee? They’ve got a huge tree up in the square now. Lights, carolers, the works.”
“I’m not up for it today,” I reply, knowing I should try,for him, for myself. But the thought of stepping outside, of pretending everything’s okay, feels too overwhelming.
He nods. “That’s okay,” he says gently. “Maybe tomorrow.”
“Maybe,” I say, though we both know it’s unlikely. Then he leaves, giving me space, even though I can see how much he wants to help, how much he wishes he could make things better.
Jacob is always on my mind too. After everything with Dominique, he’s withdrawn, moving into a small apartment near The Opal.
It's small, cozy..feels exactly like the fresh start he needed after leaving Mom and Dad's. He’s working at the hotel now, trying to keep busy, trying to distract himself from the pain. Zade offered him the job, and I’m grateful, but I can see how much it’s taking a toll on my brother.
Physically, Jacob is getting better. The kidney transplant went well, an d his strength is slowly returning.
But the emotional wounds are deep, and I see the sadness in his eyes whenever I visit.
He tries to hide it, to act strong for me, but I know him too well.
He’s hurting, and it breaks my heart to see him like this.
I visit him often, bringing him meals, checking on him, but our conversations are awkward. There’s a distance between us that wasn’t there before, a gap created by everything that’s happened. We talk about small things,the weather, his job,but we avoid the real issues.
Today, I made chicken and rice, his favorite.
When I get to his place, he’s out on the balcony, staring down at the town.
Someone in the building put up a string of red and green lights on the balcony rail, but Jacob hasn’t touched them.
There’s a tiny fake tree on his kitchen counter, still in the box.
He looks worn out, his face pale, shadows under his eyes.
“Hey,” I say softly, stepping out onto the balcony with him. “I brought your favorite.”
He manages a small smile. “Thanks, Juniper. You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to,” I reply, setting the container on the small table between us. “How’re you holding up?”
“Just getting by,” he says, but his voice lacks conviction. “Taking it one day at a time, I guess.”
I no d. “Yeah, that’s all we can really do.”
He sighs, leaning back in his chair, his eyes distant. “It just feels... empty, you know? Like, I’m here, but not really living.”
His words hit me hard because they mirror how I’ve been feeling. I reach out, taking his hand in mine. “I get it,” I respond. “But you’re stronger than you think, Jacob. You always have been.”
He shakes his head, his eyes welling up. “I don’t feel strong, Juniper. I feel lost. Everything that’s happened... it’s like I don’t even know who I am anymore.”
“You’re still my brother,” I say firmly, squeezing his hand. “You’re kind, and you’ve been through hell, but you’re still here. That takes strength, even if you can’t see it right now.”
He looks at me, really looks at me, and for the first time in a long while, I catch a glimpse of the old Jacob. “Thanks,” he whispers. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You won’t have to find out,” I reply, blinking back my own tears.
We sit in silence for a while, the weight of everything between us settling without words. I want to say more, to tell him I understand, but I can’t find the words. So we just sit there, holding hands, finding a little comfort in each other’s presence.
Later, back at The Opal, I’m in the room with Zade. I’ve been thinking a lot about how lost I’ve been. As much as I appreciate Zade’s efforts, I know I need to do something to pull myself out of this.
“I need to get back to work,” I say suddenly. “I need to bake again. It’s the only thing that’s ever made me feel alive.”
“It’s Christmas in a few days,” I say, almost to myself. “Might as well pretend I’m feeling festive.”
Zade’s smirk grows as he watches me, that playful glint in his eyes. “You should. I mean, I love being your emotional crutch and all, but you might want to add a hobby to your list of coping mechanisms.”
I can’t help but roll my eyes at his sarcasm, but there’s a warmth in his gaze that makes it hard to stay annoyed. “I’m going to the kitchen. Let’s see what I can whip up.”
"I'll be right here, love," he answers, teasing me a little but clearly meaning it. That gets a small smile out of me.
I head down to the kitchen, and as soon as I step inside, the familiar scents and sounds wrap around me.
The hum of the appliances, the clinking of measuring cups, and the soft aroma of flour and sugar in the air,they all bring a sense of peace I haven’t felt in a while.
I reach for the cinnamon without thinking, and suddenly I’m adding a pinch of nutmeg too.
The batter smells like holidays I used to care about.
I start measuring ingredients, mixing batter, and sliding trays into the oven, each movement grounding me a little more, making the heaviness I’ve been carrying feel just a bit lighter.
It’s not much, but it’s something. And right now, that’s enough.
By the time the cupcakes are done, I’m smiling,a real, genuine smile. I decorate them with care, adding a swirl of frosting to each one. For the first time in weeks, I feel like I’m doing something that matters, something that brings me joy .
I carefully arrange the cupcakes on a tray and add a can of whipped cream.
I pause for a second, savoring the quiet anticipation before I pick up the tray and head to the suite.
The elevator ride up feels different today, lighter somehow.
Maybe it's because I finally did something that felt like me.
When I step into the suite, Zade is on the couch flipping through a book.
He looks up as the door shuts behind me, and his expression shifts immediately.
His whole face lights up in that quiet, surprised way it sometimes does when he sees me,like he didn’t expect me to come back, but hoped I would anyway.
“What’s all this?” he asks, raising one brow in that maddening, cocky way of his.
“Just a little something I whipped up,” I say casually, even though my pulse kicks like I’ve just run three flights. I balance the tray carefully in my hands.
He leans forward, intrigued, then picks up one of the cupcakes and brings it close, inspecting it like he’s holding something rare. “These look amazing,” he murmurs, taking a small bite. “Tastes like Christmas.”
His eyes close for a moment,just a moment,and when they open again, something’s shifted. There’s a new glint there. Mischief, yes. But something warmer too. Softer. It catches me off guard.
“But,” he adds, reaching for the can of whipped cream beside the tray, “I think they could use a little something extra.”
He gives the can a firm shake, then sprays a generous swirl onto the top of the cupcake.
When he holds it out to me, I lean in and take a bite.
The sweetness hits instantly, but it’s not the taste that lingers.
It’s the way he watches me. Like my reaction means something.
Like the fact that I’m here—sharing this stupid cupcake—is bigger than it should be.
Then, before I can even blink, he sets the cupcake down and pulls me onto his lap in one smooth motion.
My breath catches. His hands are warm as they slide up my back, unhurried, strong.
He finds the back of my neck and draws me in, and the kiss that follows starts off soft but quickly deepens, like he’s been waiting all day and finally gave up pretending otherwise.
“Juniper,” he murmurs against my lips. “I need you.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Well, I’m right here,” I say. My voice comes out quieter than I expect. Almost unsure. “What’s taking you so long?”
He huffs out a laugh, low and amused. Not smug.
Just full of something unspoken. Then he stands, lifting me effortlessly, and carries me to the bed like I weigh nothing at all.
He lays me down gently and hovers for a moment, his body close but not touching, his eyes scanning mine like he’s still not sure this is real.
Then he grabs the whipped cream again.
"Dessert's not over," he tells me, half-serious, half-playing around.
He sprays a line of cream along my collarbone—not lower—and the cold makes me s hiver. But that sensation vanishes when his mouth follows the trail, soft and warm. His lips brush against my skin with the kind of care that doesn’t feel like a game.
My fingers curl in the sheets. His hand rests just above my ribs, not quite under my shirt, but close enough that I forget how to breathe evenly.
“Zade…” I whisper, but I don’t even know what I’m asking. For more? For less?
He pauses and looks up. I look at him too. There’s a familiar mischief there, but it’s tempered by something else. Something serious. “I’m distracting you,” he says softly. “Unless you want me to stop.”
I shake my head. It’s the only thing I can manage.
He leans down again, pressing a kiss to my cheek, then another to the edge of my jaw. His mouth never lingers long, just enough to make my skin spark. He stays above the blanket, never pushing, never crossing lines. But every touch leaves a mark.
His hands move to my waist, adjusting the blanket to cover us both. He settles beside me, one arm curled behind my head, the other brushing soft, slow strokes down the side of my body.
“I think you’re trying to kill me,” I murmur, eyes fluttering shut for a second.
“If I was,” he says, brushing a kiss to the top of my head, “I’d make sure it felt good.”
My head tips forward, resting against his collarbo ne. He feels warm against me. That’s all I notice. The whole room fades until all I can feel is his hand at my back and the rhythm of his breathing.
Everything about this feels… charged. Not overwhelming. Just precise. Like one wrong word or the slightest move could send it all sideways.
His fingers continue tracing slow, thoughtful lines. Every once in a while, he murmurs something under his breath—not quite a word, more like a sound—but it anchors me all the same.
“Do you know what you do to me?” he asks quietly.
I don’t answer, not because I’m trying to be coy, but because I genuinely don’t know. I’ve never made someone look at me the way he’s looking at me now. I’ve never been held like I mattered.
“You make me want to be careful,” he says. “Like maybe this isn’t just fun anymore.”
Something shifts in my chest, low and deep. His words land in a part of me I don’t like to touch too often—the place where disappointment builds houses out of old regrets.
I don’t try to respond with cleverness. I just reach for him again. I kiss him. Slower this time. More certain. And when we part, I see the change in his face—the small crack in that effortless confidence he wears like a second skin.
We lie like that for a long time. No more words. Just quiet touches. The blanket tucked around us. The soft scent of vanilla from the cupcakes still lingering in the room.
At some point, he shifts again, grabbing the whipped cream can from the nightstand .
“You know,” he says, glancing down at me with a half-smile, “we still have some dessert left.”
I laugh and take the can from him, squirting a dollop onto my finger. I hold it up between us like a dare. “Let’s see who finishes first.”
He leans forward, his eyes never leaving mine, and closes his mouth around my finger. The way his lips part, the way he lingers for a second too long. When he pulls back, his voice is low.
“I like a challenge.”
The moment turns quiet again. Not awkward—just… tender. He lies back, pulling me against his chest, one arm snug around my waist. I feel his breath against my hair, his heartbeat under my palm. I close my eyes, letting myself sink into the warmth.
I don’t know how long we stay like that.
Minutes. Maybe longer. My mind drifts, and I think of all the times I’ve been in rooms with men who made me feel like I had to shrink to fit beside them.
Zade isn’t like that. He doesn’t ask me to shrink.
If anything, he takes up space and dares me to meet him there.
His fingers brush the side of my face, and I open my eyes. He’s looking at me like I’m something he didn’t plan for. Something he doesn’t know what to do with, but wants anyway.
“Hey,” he says softly. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I whisper.
A nd I mean it.