Chapter 47
The diner was half-empty, smelling faintly of bacon grease and stale coffee. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like they resented being awake at this hour.
I couldn’t blame them.
Ansel didn’t even hesitate — gesturing for me to slide into the booth first. I expected him to sit on the opposite side. But he slid in next to me and patted the space directly beside him like it was obvious I’d scoot closer to him.
And because I was weak, I did.
I tried to leave a little space between us, but his thigh brushed against mine anyway. His arm stretched casually along the back of the booth, fingers just barely grazing my shoulder.
“You’re awfully quiet,” he murmured, leaning close enough that I could feel his breath against my temple.
“Just wondering how it feels to be a hardened criminal.”
He chuckled low, the sound rumbling through me. “Pretty badass, actually. Think I’m gonna get a tattoo. Maybe a teardrop under my eye.”
I snorted. “You’d cry before the needle even touched your skin.”
He tilted his head, eyes sparkling. “You offering to hold my hand?”
“God, you’re insufferable.”
“Yeah, but you like me this way.” He ruffled my hair once with the hand that was pointedly not touching me.
The server came by, filling our mugs with coffee and dropping menus we didn’t touch. Ansel reached for his, the movement brushing his arm against mine, and my heart stuttered like a teenager’s.
“You’re not gonna yell at me?” he asked after a moment, voice casual but eyes sharp.
“For what? Getting arrested?”
He grinned. “Among other things.”
I shook my head. “You’ll just do that thing where you smile at me until I forgive you.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong.” His lips twitched. “But I think you love that smile.”
“Debatable.”
But my pulse was already quickening. Because, God, he was so close. Warm and solid and all I wanted was to lean into him. To fold myself into his arms and never leave.
“Ansel,” I said softly.
He hummed in acknowledgment, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of my shoulder.
“I saw it,” I whispered. “The fight. All of it.”
His grin faltered.
“You didn’t have to do that for me.” My voice cracked.
“Yeah,” he said, just as softly. “I did.”
I stared down at my coffee, blinking hard to keep the tears from spilling over. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” I said finally, the words scraped raw. “I keep thinking you’re going to realize I’m not worth it. That you’re wasting your time on me.”
His head turned sharply toward me, eyes blazing. “Juniper.”
“What?”
“You don’t get to say that shit about yourself.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “You’re so dramatic.”
“Don’t deflect.” But he grinned, leaning in until his nose brushed my hair. “You like me this way.”
I elbowed him weakly. “Maybe a little.”
He chuckled, the sound warm and low. “You’re ridiculous. Here I am, freshly out of jail, and you’re still pretending you’re not obsessed with me.”
I looked up at him then, heart pounding. “You’re not supposed to like that I bailed you out.”
“Oh, I like it a lot,” he teased, voice dropping, lips brushing the edge of my hairline. “Kinda hot, actually. My very own knight in shining armor.”
“Ansel—”
“Hmm?”
My chest tightened. “Don’t leave again.”
Something in his expression shifted — gentle, reverent, like I’d just handed him something fragile.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, brushing his thumb over my knuckles where my hands rested in my lap. “Not unless you tell me to.”
I swallowed hard, blinking back tears.
“And June bug?”
“Yeah?”
“You are worth it. Every single bit of you. So stop waiting for me to realize otherwise — because it’s not happening.”
My breath hitched as I tried not to cry.
“One more thing,” his forehead pressed against my temple, “for the record…”
I turned my head slightly toward him. “What?”
He grinned just enough to make my stomach flip.
“I didn’t leave, Juniper. I told you I loved you — you’re the one who let me walk out.”
My words snagged in my throat as I watched his expression morph. His easy smile turned into a smarmy grin, nose crinkling as he poked me in the side.
“You’re impossible,” I whispered, but it couldn’t stop the tears.
He brushed them away with the pad of his thumb. “Yeah, kid. I am. But I want to be yours.”
I snorted into my coffee. “You know the paparazzi are having an absolute field day right now.”
Ansel leaned back in the booth, smirking. “Oh, totally. ‘Ansel Barlowe: Arrested. Bailed Out by New Girl. Seen Canoodling at Breakfast.’”
“Canoodling?” I laughed.
“Canoodling,” he repeated solemnly, lips twitching. “They love that word. Makes it sound way dirtier than it is.”
I covered my face with one hand. “God, and Joel… oh my God, the speculation. Half of them probably think you snapped because you can’t get over being the rebound.”
Ansel grinned, eyes glinting. “Or maybe I’m spiraling out of control. Hollywood bad boy, fresh off a bar fight, ruining his career for the love of a small-town bookstore clerk.”
“Stop.”
He leaned in closer, dropping his voice to a mock-dramatic whisper. “Is Ansel Barlowe off the rails? More at eleven.”
I was laughing too hard to breathe, shoving at his shoulder, still grinning when I felt his fingers brush over mine under the table. A light touch. Barely there. But my whole body stilled.
Ansel didn’t look down. Didn’t make a big deal of it. Just twined his fingers with mine like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You know,” he said casually, “if this whole acting thing doesn’t work out, I might just open a bakery.”
My brows lifted. “A bakery?”
He shrugged. “You like breakfast. I enjoy making you smile. Feels like a solid business plan.”
I stared at him, stunned speechless for a second too long.
“What?” he asked, playful again. “Don’t think I could rock an apron?”
“No,” I whispered. “I think you’d kill in an apron.”
He blinked, surprised at how quiet my voice had gone — and when our eyes met again, something shifted.
“I don’t know what this is,” I said, my fingers curling tighter around his. “I don’t know where it’s going. But I know I missed you. I missed… this. Us.”
Ansel’s throat worked. “You don’t have to have the answers right now, Junebug.”
“I don’t,” I whispered. “But I think I want to try.”
He leaned forward again, resting his forehead against mine. And for a second, it was just the two of us. Our breath shared. Our hands linked. Our broken, bruised hearts still beating.
Then his voice was a whisper, teasing again. “You still haven’t said the three words I’m dying to hear, though.”
My heart lurched into my throat. I pulled back an inch, cautious. “What three words?”
His grin returned. “You were right.”
“Oh my God,” I laughed, groaning as I shoved him. “Absolutely not.”
He kissed the top of my head like he’d won anyway. “I’ll wait.”