Chapter 2
CHAPTER
TWO
I NEVER MADE A MOVE.
Sterling
If only a fool falls in love at first sight, then I’m a six-foot-five-inch fool.
Because I fell head over heels in love with Juniper Sky Ellington from the very first moment I laid eyes on her.
Dash, too. He didn’t tell me, but I sensed it. I felt it. The adoration and hard-on radiated from him, a familiar radiation. One that encapsulated me years ago.
Dash wore the same dazed expression the day when she came to the house and delivered jam. Based on his inability to form words until after she was gone, I knew he was a goner.
Highly relatable.
I’ve been a goner since that fateful morning when I drove up her road to collect her garbage. As the owner of Bluebell Sanitation, I didn’t always drive. But when my younger brother moved away to pursue his dream of acting, I became a true one-man show. That day was my first time on the route. And despite living in Bluebell my entire life, I wasn’t familiar with unknown nooks and secret crannies. My routine consisted of going to the sanitation plant then back home. My two places. Hell, my little brother was the one who got groceries. In a small town where everyone knows everyone, I didn’t truly become part of that culture until my brother left.
I miss him, but if he hadn’t left, I’d never have met Juni.
Or Dash.
Sometimes when my mind is overrun with filthy thoughts, I force myself to remember that day. To calm me down.
She was outside, feet bare, arms buried to the elbows in a wine barrel full of blue and purple berries, her blonde hair dancing in the breeze. I couldn’t steady my pulse or slow the drumming beat of my heart.
When I jumped off the truck to grab her cans, she lifted her gaze to the movement. Pure sage eyes glittered my way. Her plump lips quirked into a gorgeous little grin. She got to her feet, and with hands dripping purple goop, she slid one of hers into one of mine. “I’m Juniper Ellington, and who are you?”
I yanked my hat off and smoothed a hand through my hair, smearing it in bits of fruit and goop, making her giggle. Playing into my mistake, I smiled and shrugged while my heart privately swelled at the music of her soft laughter, and how it seemed to flood my veins like medicine, lifting my spirits and filling my soul with an urgent, undeniable tug of desire.
“I’m Sterling Ford, and it’s very nice to meet you, Juniper Ellington.”
Her grin captivated me, and I hardly noticed when she plucked a white washcloth from the apron tied to her body, rocking to her toes to sweep it through my hair. “Apple cider vinegar will get it out,” she said, her lips framing each word as if they were erotic promises. My cock stiffened right there in the middle of a dusty road, with my garbage truck roaring behind me.
After that day, I started to bring her flowers each time I came to collect the garbage. In return she’d start bringing me jam… by the spoonful . She’d stand on the step side of my truck, breasts pressed against the door as she leaned in through my rolled-down window, driving a spoonful of heaven into my mouth. Sometimes she’d wipe the corner of her mouth.
Sometimes I’d get straight home from work and jerk off, too.
I didn’t ever get the courage to ask her out, though. At some point, we started hanging out. And we had so much fun, I didn’t want to force her into rejecting me by asking for more. Her company as a friend meant too much. I don’t remember how it all happened, but we kept on spending time together. And now, many years later, Juniper and I know everything there is to know about one another.
She’s affectionate with me, but that adoration has never breached friendship. I’ve read He’s Just Not That Into You . I understand the concept spans genders. We hang out all the time.
Not once has she attempted a kiss, reached for my belt, or lingered in a hug longer than usual.
We’re friends, despite the fact I’d move mountains for her. While walking on a bed of shattered glass. Wearing no shoes. I would do anything for Juniper Ellington.
For the last two years, she and Dash have been building a similar relationship. It went from us watching a movie at my place to the three of us watching a movie at my and Dash’s place. From she and I bowling to the three of us bowling. To me and Juni facing off in an aggressive game of slapjack, to now taking turns on who’s slapping the jack or who’s making snacks.
I don’t feel cockblocked. I’m not angry.
I never made a move.
In fact, spending time with both of them has easily become the best part of my life.
Lately, though, I wonder if Dash wants happiness beyond our bubble, something more fulfilling. I mean, how could he not? He’s a perfect specimen made of lean muscle, showcased by purposely fitted clothing. He’s built to be the strapping husband in a nuclear family. He came here for small-town dreams— of course he wants a wife and family.
Dash and Juni are close in age when it comes to compatibility. Dash is twenty-five, and Juniper is only thirty-two. I’m rounding the corner on thirty-six. I feel old, comparatively.
This morning, on my route, all I can seem to focus on is how much sense the two of them make together.
The hunky young cop that Bluebell adores and the absolutely gorgeous jam maker. They make sense together. Nowhere in that equation is there room for the soft, middle-aged trashman.
Neither of them has ever made mention of wanting to date each other, and like me and Juni, I’ve yet to see Dash and Juni breach friendship. Still, he’s talked about her more lately. After he broke the law for her by letting her sister off the hook a few weeks back, I have to wonder if they’d explore a deeper bond if I weren’t a continual third wheel.
I know we love spending time together, but I can’t help but circle back on the idea that they’d find a traditional life together if I wasn’t always hanging around. I don’t know for a fact that they want that, but how could they not? I see the way he looks at her. I share that look. I know that look.
“Morning, Sterl,” Lucy calls from the street as she drops a tied-off black garbage bag into the can. With my window down, I lean out and smile.
“Hey, Luc, how are you this week? How’s your mom doing?” Pushing the lever, the mechanical claw snatches the trash can, the faded white letters reading GOODE’S smooshing together. While I’m emptying, Lucy smooths her hands down her apron, smiling.
“Oh, she’s good. Listen, hang on for a sec, we have fresh bear claws. I’ve got two wrapped up for ya inside,” she says, scurrying inside before I can protest.
I love bear claws. Dash’s breakfast was two hours ago but my stomach has been begging for the last two stops. She returns, holding out a white baggie for me to grab. I reach out the window, pinching the edge of my t-shirt so it doesn’t rise as I take the bag. I can do anything while holding my t-shirt down, I’ve had years of practice.
Opening the bag, the scent of almond paste hits my nose, making my mouth water. “Thanks, Lucy, these look incredible,” I say, peering inside. She smiles.
“Tell me how they were when I see you next week.”
After lowering the second empty can to the street, I wave goodbye, and head toward the next stop. While the truck dumps the hardware store can, I reach across the cab and push my glovebox till it pops open. Inside are three small jars of Juni’s jam. My “on the go” jam, as she calls it. Farmers market samplers.
I’ve always been a man to keep condiments in the glovebox, but never jam until Juni.
Dunking the end of the bear claw into Juni’s Carrot Cake Marmalade, I take a bite, my face and chest tingling from how good it is, from the comfort it brings.
I should urge Dash and Juniper to spend time together, without me. Though as I imagine telling Dash that I’m trying to give him a chance at a real thing with Juni, I can hear him arguing, telling me no. For him to make a move, I’ll have to remove myself on my own, or else they’ll never take the leap. I’m holding them back from what can be a wonderful life. I know I am. They’re just too shy or sweet to tell me.
Late nights and long mornings in bed, coffee and pancakes in the nude, shared fears and secrets, wedding bells and birth announcements—they can have all that if I remove myself. And as much as I love Juniper and Dash, they deserve something more than board games and bowling. They want more and I’m stopping them.
I know what I need to do. Sometimes you have to let go of those you love, knowing they may not come back.
That’s the definition of love.
Crumpling the wax paper, I pluck a crumb from my shirt and take a drink of Coke. Dash’s sandwich was absolutely fucking amazing, as always. He’s a great chef, and baker, too. Juniper makes the best jam, and a fucking killer cup of coffee. And her homemade ice cream? TDF.
To die for.
Sliding my phone from my pocket, I’m about to text Dash privately when I see I already have a message waiting from him. And not in our group thread.
Can we talk tonight?
Energy courses through me, directionless, leaving my pulse spiked. I text him back.
Sterling
Sure.
This has to be about Juniper. The timing is strange but maybe he’s ready to ask her out? Maybe he wants to ask me if I’m cool with it? Something in my chest goes a little wonky at that thought, but I swallow it down with my last warm sip of Coke while forcing my gaze out the open window. Sucking in a lungful of Bluebell’s fresh air, I decide right then and there to be happy for them.
I knew, deep down, this was coming.
I never made a move on her.
She never made one on me.
That speaks volumes. How could I expect that they wouldn’t fall for each other? I shift my truck into drive, and head toward the sanitation plant, done with my pickups and ready to call it a day.
On my way home, I’m gonna stop by the Eat O Rama market and grab a twelve-pack of beer.
I’ll do what’s right, but it doesn’t mean I have to do it sober.