Chapter 26
She stepped over the threshold like she was afraid of taking up too much space. Careful. Quiet. As if this was someone else’s house instead of mine — instead of a rental I’d deep-cleaned in a panic, like disinfecting countertops could make me less of a disaster.
Juniper didn’t look at me at first. Just shrugged out of her jacket and folded it neatly over the back of a chair. I watched her the whole time, completely useless, heart thudding in my chest like I was seventeen and about to make out with my first girlfriend.
I didn’t touch her.
Not yet.
“I, uh…” I scratched the back of my neck. “Didn’t know what you liked, so I got a few things.”
She turned then, brows lifted. “A few things?”
There was a spread laid out on the kitchen counter — charcuterie stuff, takeout containers, a pint of vegan ice cream I wasn’t sure she even liked but had bought anyway because it said plant-based on the label.
Was she even vegan?
I'd made it look effortless. Like I wasn’t trying. Like I didn’t google easy food that doesn’t scream I’m in love with you.
Juniper stared at the counter, then at me, and I saw it — the flicker of something soft in her expression. Dangerous. Warm.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” she said.
“I know,” I said. “But I wanted to.”
“The ice cream has probably melted.”
I stepped a little closer. Not enough to crowd her. Just enough that I could smell her shampoo — that barely there citrus and warm salt I’d started associating with her.
She was still staring at me, so I reached out — gently. My fingers brushed her elbow. Soft. Tentative. Like a test I already knew I’d fail.
She didn’t pull away.
I let myself smile, a little crooked. “You hungry?”
Her lips parted like she was going to say something, but she didn’t. Just nodded. I kept my hand there a beat longer than necessary before stepping away.
If I didn’t touch her again soon, I was going to lose my mind.
We didn’t sit at the table.
She drifted toward the couch with a plate in one hand and a can of soda in the other, and I followed like gravity pulled me behind her. She sat first, careful again — always careful — and tucked one leg up under herself, just like I knew she would.
God, I wanted to reach out and rearrange her hair, tuck that loose strand behind her ear, rest my hand on her knee like I even had the right to it.
Instead, I offered the blanket. “It’s not cold, but…”
She looked at it like it was a peace offering. And maybe it was.
“Thanks,” she said, voice low, and when she reached for it, our fingers brushed.
That should’ve been it.
But I didn’t move. I held onto that brush of contact like a live wire, watched the way her eyes flicked to mine, and I think I forgot how to breathe for a second.
“You okay?” she asked softly, and that was the worst part — she meant it.
I nodded. Swallowed. “I just…” My hand was still on her arm. I traced a tiny circle with my thumb, the warmth of her skin soft under my touch. “You’re here.”
She didn’t say anything.
Didn’t pull away.
Didn’t tell me to stop.
So I kept touching her — like it was inevitable. Like it was the very reason I was put on this planet. My hand slid down her forearm until I could take her fingers in mine. Her rings were cold from the soda can. Mine must’ve felt warm in comparison, because she let out the tiniest breath.
That sound? It was going to haunt me.
“You’re staring,” she whispered.
“Can you blame me?” I whispered back.
She didn’t smile. Not really. But something shifted — something that made me brave.
I brought her hand to my mouth and kissed her knuckles.
Soft. Reverent. Stupid.
She looked at me like she almost wanted to let go.
And I knew right then — if I kissed her again, for real, it was over for me.
She shivered, pulling the blanket a little tighter around her. “Shit—” I stood quickly, half-jogging back to my bedroom. I yanked a sweatshirt out of my closet and fumbled it awkwardly before holding it out to her. “I’m so sorry. I like it chilly.”
When she pulled the hoodie over her t-shirt, my heart practically stopped.
There had never been a moment like this. In all my past relationships. Hell — even in my dumb marriage, I had never felt this throbbing ache in my chest looking at someone else.
Wanting to freeze the moment forever, just like this.
Juniper cleared her throat. Not loud — more like she was swallowing something too big for her chest.
“We should probably,” she said, not meeting my eyes, “talk about rules. Or whatever. Ground rules. Boundaries.”
Right. Of course. That’s why we were here. Not because I’d memorized the shape of her smile or the way she laughed when she thought no one was listening. Not because I was falling hopelessly, irrevocably —
“Yeah,” I said. “Rules. Definitely.”
She pulled her hand back. I let her. I think it might’ve hurt more than it should have.
“No PDA unless there are cameras.” Her tone had gone flat — safe. “And even then, nothing — serious. No kissing unless it’s expected. Not unless someone’s watching.”
My chest ached. “Right.”
“No staying over. We make a few appearances. A couple joint interviews, if it comes up. Maybe an Instagram post or something. But it ends after promo.”
“When the movie drops,” I repeated. My voice didn’t sound like mine. “Two weeks after.”
She nodded, as if the decision had already been made. “We fake it, and then we’re done.”
Something in me splintered.
Because I’d already done the pretending part. And it had felt a hell of a lot more real than anything in a long time. “And you’re okay with all that?” I asked, quieter now.
She hesitated. “I don’t think I’d survive the real thing.”
That gutted me.
I didn’t say anything for a moment — I just sat there, watching her pick at the hem of my hoodie like it might unravel her whole life.
“Okay,” I said finally. “We fake it.”
But I was already breaking the rules.
Because she was in my house.
In my hoodie.
With my heart in my hands.
And she didn’t even know it.