Chapter 14
Ihadn’t even finished brushing my teeth.
The door had barely shut behind her — behind Juniper — and I was in motion.
“Shit,” I muttered, half-tripping over the fancy slippers the costume team had gifted me last week. I shoved them aside, found my Crocs under the kitchen island, and jammed them on — were Crocs still cool? I didn’t care. I couldn’t care.
“Phone, phone, wallet — shit, where’s my wallet—” I found it in the freezer.
Don’t ask.
Keys. T-shirt. Did I smell okay? I sniffed myself, winced, and yanked the hoodie off to replace it with the nearest tee I could find on the floor. It was a promotional shirt from three years ago. The sleeves were uneven. One armpit might have had a suspicious hole. Again… didn't care.
I barely remembered to lock the door behind me. The gravel on the driveway stuck to the soles of my Crocs as I ran — ran — to my car like a man possessed. I’d never driven anywhere so fast in my life. At one point, I’m pretty sure I thanked a traffic light.
Out loud.
She was going to leave. She was going to walk into the café, see the empty chair, and decide I hadn’t meant it. That it was some kind of pity acceptance. Or worse — some kind of trap. And I couldn’t let that happen. Not when she’d looked at me with something that could be forgiveness.
Not when she’d paused.
That’s when the thought hit me… clear as day…
Fuck.
I didn’t want to be her friend.
It landed like a gut punch.
I parked terribly. Absolutely diagonal. The meter blinked red as I jogged across the street, shoving the epiphany out of my mind as quickly as possible.
I didn’t have the time to deal with this problem. Not now.
And then —
There she was.
Inside already, seated at the corner table by the window. One knee bouncing. Hoodie sleeves tugged over her hands. Hair pulled back, she must have done it in the car, messy and uneven.
She hadn’t ordered anything yet. Just sat there, eyes fixed on the table. She looked as if she wasn’t even sure she was staying.
But she was there.
She’d come.
She’d stayed.
My breath caught and my Crocs squeaked against the tile as I opened the café door.
She looked up. Our eyes met.
And for the first time in weeks, the whole world went quiet.
I froze.
She blinked up at me, eyes squinting as if she were unsure if I was real or just a caffeine-deprived hallucination. And in that split second, I forgot every normal human word I’d ever known.
Say something, dumbass.
Smile.
Wave.
Use your limbs.
Instead I did this weird sort of… half-nod, half-limp-hand-lift like I was trying to salute a ghost. Her brows lifted. Not mockingly — just… surprised. Curious. A little confused.
“Hi,” I finally managed, and it came out too breathless, like I’d sprinted a mile — which, okay, not far off.
“You made it,” she said, quiet.
“You stayed,” I replied, even quieter.
She gestured to the other side of the table. Her expression was unreadable. She wasn’t sure what this was, either. But she hadn’t left. And I hadn’t chickened out. So that was something.
I sat. Immediately realized I was sitting weird. Tried to adjust. My Crocs made a loud farting noise on the tile and I very nearly died on the spot.
Juniper pressed her lips together; an expression that told me she was trying very hard not to laugh. And just like that, the pressure cracked.
“Sorry,” I muttered, looking down. “Wasn’t exactly planning on running out the door this morning like a deranged Muppet.”
She tilted her head. “Is that what you were going for?”
“Just trying to impress you.” I met her eyes. “Clearly, it’s working.”
This time, she did laugh — quick and sharp, and it hit me right in the chest.
I was so, so screwed.
“Nuh-uh.” She said quickly, clamping her mouth shut and shaking her head. “No flirty business. No funny business. I’ll leave, Barlowe.”
I held up both hands like she was a cop and I was absolutely guilty. “Not flirting. I swear.”
She narrowed her eyes. “That was flirting.”
“Okay, it was banter adjacent,” I allowed, carefully. “But not dangerous. Barely even flirt-shaped.”
“Flirt-shaped,” she repeated. “That’s not a thing.”
“It is now.” I leaned back, trying to look casual. It didn’t work — Crocs, remember. “Look, I get it. Truly. No funny business. No charming rogue act. Just… coffee. Maybe, eventually, friendship.”
She didn’t say anything to that. Just looked down at her sleeves, pulling the edge over her knuckles again and again.
“I wasn’t joking, you know,” I said, softer. “About the friend part. I don’t… I don’t have a lot of those. Not real ones.”
That got her eyes back on mine.
I shrugged, half-laughing to deflect. “Turns out, when the world thinks you’re a dick, most people don’t stop to ask if it’s true.”
She studied me for a long second.
Then, quietly, “Sometimes the world doesn’t care if you are a dick. They just decide you are and move on.”
Our eyes locked again. This time, there was something level in it. Something tired and understanding and just a little raw.
“Exactly,” I breathed.
And that’s when the silence changed.
Not soft, not tense — just… level. Familiar. Two people so very tired of pretending they’re okay.