Hallpass

Chapter 23

Iwas going to fall asleep at the counter.

After a terrible night of tossing and turning — and two very unsatisfying rounds with my vibrator — I’d officially reached the horny hangover stage of regret. My whole body was a little achy, like my skin remembered Ansel’s hands and was actively mourning their absence.

The shop was quiet. It was still early. I was nursing a coffee — hot, a little chocolatey, and absolutely not strong enough to knock out whatever this was.

I had every intention of coasting through my shift in a haze of self-delusion.

Until Lara walked in.

They were fuming. Their hair was wild, like they’d stormed here the second they saw… whatever it was they saw. I certainly didn’t know. But they had two cups of coffee in hand, so I figured if they were about to kill me, at least they were going to caffeinate me first.

“Juniper Paige Haddock.”

Oh no.

“Hi, Lara,” I chirped. “It’s so good to see you.”

They did not smile. Instead, they slammed a coffee in front of me like it was bail money and I was in holding. Then they dropped a piece of paper on top of it — folded in half, but ominous as hell.

“Are you here for the new dark romance drop?” I offered, voice too bright. “I saved you a signed—”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

I swallowed, unfolding the paper.

Yep.

There it was.

Ansel. Me. Practically in his lap. With one of his hands on my back, the other in my hair. His mouth on my neck like we were trying to summon the gods of PDA.

I cringed.

“Seriously, Juniper?” Lara’s voice cracked. “How long has this been going on?”

“Nothing’s going on!” I blurted. “It was a weird pool party moment, okay? We’re friends. It got weird. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Lara looked unimpressed. “You’re literally glowing. You look like you got spiritually rearranged.”

“That is rude,” I said, covering my cheeks with both hands. “But also… horrifyingly fair.”

Lara opened their mouth again — no doubt to read me for filth — but the bell above the door rang.

I froze. My soul left my body.

No.

He was here.

Ansel fucking Barlowe strolled in, hair still a little messy from sleep, carrying two iced coffees in his hands.

“Hey,” he said easily, like he hadn’t just blown up my life. “Brought you the strong stuff.”

I blinked.

Lara turned slowly. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”When they saw who it was, their face did something. A twitch, a blink. Like a tiny part of them short-circuited. “Oh my god,” they said under their breath. “You weren’t lying.”

“Hi,” Ansel said, completely oblivious to the high-stakes emotional theater happening around him. “I didn’t know if you’d already had coffee, so I brought you the backup kind. The turbo blend. Figured you probably slept about the same as I have considering—”

He held it out like a peace offering. Or a mate gift.

I died inside.

Lara was staring. Mouth fully hanging open. I could see the fangirl in there. The one who cried with me during the episode four arc. The one who made Ansel mood boards. The one who once spent four hours explaining how his character arc was a study in repressed longing.

And then they blinked.

The fan disappeared. The friend took over.

“You know what?” Lara said, voice deadly calm. “I’m gonna go.”

“You don’t have to—” I tried.

“No, I do.” They backed away with both coffees clutched in their hands like emotional support beverages. “Because if I stay here, I’m going to say something mean. And I am a good person.”

“Lara—”

“We had a pact, Juniper!” they whisper-yelled. “I thought this—” they motioned between the two of us. “—was a onetime thing.”

“I didn’t plan this!”

“You didn’t not plan either!”

Ansel looked between us like he’d walked into a movie halfway through. “Should I come back later?”

Lara let out the most betrayed sigh I’d ever heard. “And he’s polite. You bitch.” Then they spun on their heels and stormed out, the bell above the door jingling aggressively behind them.

I pouted — a little childishly. “Lara took my coffee.”

“I brought you—” He set it in front of me. “Sorry.”

I took it. “Not strong enough.”

“You haven’t even tasted it.”

I sipped. “Not strong enough.”

He crossed his arms, looking unfairly soft in a hoodie that had definitely seen a dryer or two. “You know, I was going to ask how you were doing.”

“Oh, I’m great,” I said brightly. “Very normal morning. Just got yelled at by my best friend for allegedly making out with a hot actor in a pool. Can you imagine?”

“I can imagine a lot of things,” he said, eyes locked on mine for a beat too long. “Not only can I imagine, I can remember.”

He gave me a look. A real one — head tilted, mouth curved, eyes low-lidded like he was trying to see through all my walls at once. “You okay though? For real?”

“Nope,” I said cheerfully. “But I’ve got caffeine and sarcasm, so it’s likely I’ll survive.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, leaning a hip against the counter. “Lara seemed... intense.”

“Lara is passionate,” I replied, “about books, justice, and me not making life-ruining choices.”

His eyes flicked over me — from the messy bun to the oversized sweater and then to my lips… Without my permission, my rogue tongue darted out over my bottom lip. “So,” he said carefully, eyes a little glassy, “am I a life-ruining choice?”

I choked. “I think I’m the one who climbed on top of you, actually.”

“Not complaining,” he said immediately. Too immediately. “I mean — God. I just meant—”

I squinted at him. “Ansel. Are you nervous?”

“No.”

“You are, around me.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re doing the face,” I pointed out. “You’re scrunched up and uncomfortable.”

“I don’t want to make a mistake, June.”

I went very still. Because the way he said it — low and certain and almost scared — wasn’t about regret. It wasn’t about screwing up.

It was about trying.

And that scared the hell out of me.

I swallowed hard. “Why do you sound like you think I’m the mistake?”

His head snapped up. “I don’t. God, Juniper—”

“Because I’ve already been someone’s bad decision.” My laugh was bitter, quieter than I meant. “I know what that looks like.”

“You really think I’d be here if I thought that?”

I didn’t answer. I stared down at my coffee as if it had secrets to offer. “Hey,” he whispered, stepping closer. “I’m not him.”

I winced. “I know that,” I said. “It’s just… when someone loves you the wrong way for long enough, you start assuming the problem must be you.”

He looked at me for a long time. Like I was a book he didn’t dare dog-ear. Like he wanted to understand the whole story before he touched the page. “You deserve better,” he said softly. “Not just from me. From yourself.”

I hated how fast my throat closed up. “You have to stop saying things like that.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to believe you.”

He took another step.

I took a half step back.

Not far.

But enough.

“You don’t have to be scared of me,” he said.

“I’m scared of me,” I whispered. “I’m the one who doesn’t know how to stop.”

“Maybe you don’t have to stop,” he said. “Maybe you just have to pick someone who actually wants to catch you.”

My heart did something awful.

Hopeful. Hungry.

God, I hated it.

I hated how much I wanted to believe that.

He must’ve seen something flicker across my face, because he didn’t push. Didn’t reach. Just stood there with his coffee and his soft hoodie and his too-sincere face like some walking, talking fanfic dream I hadn’t written yet.

“I’m here,” he said again. “Even if you need time. Even if you need space. Just… don’t shut the door all the way. Please.”

And for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

Until his phone rang.

He glanced down at it and immediately swore under his breath. “Shit. Sorry. It’s—”

“Go,” I said, backing up with both hands raised like I’d just been caught stealing. “It’s fine.”

He looked at me, hesitant. “It’s my publicist.”

“Of course it is.”

I tried to sound flippant. I think I succeeded. I had so much practice pretending not to care. He sighed and answered it with the weariness of a man already losing the fight.

“Yeah, I saw,” he said immediately. A pause. He glanced over at me. “No, I didn’t leak it — Jesus, are you serious? We were barely—” Another pause. Then, quieter, “Look, I’ll handle it. Don’t freak out, okay?”

I was already halfway turned away, retreating behind the counter, behind my mug, behind whatever dignity I had left.

Ansel hung up a second later, rubbing his jaw like the call physically hurt him.

I kept my voice even. “So. I’m guessing that was about me?”

His wince was answer enough.

“There’s a picture,” he admitted. “It’s… not great.”

“I’ve seen it,” I said lightly, even though my pulse was roaring in my ears. “The last time I went viral, it was for a tweet about avocado toast and nihilism. This is definitely more exciting.”

He frowned. “Juniper—”

“No, really. It’s fine.” I waved it off as if it were funny. Like I was funny. “Just let me know what your PR team wants me to say when the gossip accounts find out I work at a bookstore and can’t afford name-brand cereal.”

His whole expression crumpled. “That’s not what this is.”

“Isn’t it?”

Silence stretched long between us.

Finally, he said, “I didn’t plan for any of this either, June. I just… wanted to see you.”

I didn’t say anything. Because I wasn’t just the girl he made out with. I was now apparently the girl on the internet, pressed against him like a groupie.

And he was famous.

And I was… me.

He opened his mouth again, then paused. Something shifted behind his eyes. “There’s… one thing,” he said carefully. “That might make this go away. Or, well — make it make sense.”

I blinked. “You’re not about to suggest we kill someone, are you?”

“No.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “God, I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a total asshole, but — my team thinks we should lean in. Just for a little while.”

“Lean in to what?” I asked, though part of me already knew. I could feel it curling behind my ribs.

“To… us. Or like the idea of us. Together.” He winced as though the words physically hurt him. “Just in public. Just for a few weeks. Let the storm pass. Make it look intentional.”

I stared.

Then laughed. “That’s — wow. That’s hilarious. You want me to fake date you?”

He had the decency to look sheepish. “I know it sounds insane.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” he said immediately. “But it would just be for a little while. Appearances. Couple posts. A few events. My publicist spins the narrative. You… maybe get more followers. Or book sales. Or hate mail. I don’t know how the internet works anymore.”

“I work in a bookstore,” I said flatly.

He gave me a small, helpless smile. “Exactly. That’s kind of perfect. You’re wholesome. Grounded. You’re not a celebrity ex or an influencer or a walking headline. You’re just… you. And the world already seems to love that.”

My pulse fluttered.

He was still looking at me like it wasn’t just business. Like he didn’t want it to be just business. “Not a footnote or a punchline or an addendum to my story, Juniper. You can say no.”

I crossed my arms. “You think this’ll help your image?”

He shrugged. “I’m more excited about this giving me more excuses to see you.”

“Oh my God,” I groaned, covering my face. “You’re so annoying.”

He grinned. “Is that a yes?”

I peeked through my fingers. “No. That was me having a stroke.”

“Okay,” he said, way too hopeful for someone being told no. “But if it was a yes…”

“I will throw this coffee at you.”

“I brought you that coffee.”

“I know. That’s why I’m not already throwing it.”