Chapter 56
The guest room was small. It was an office several lifetimes ago. You could still tell where the bookshelves had sat; the rest of the paint was sun-faded and dull. Mom never repainted — said that she liked the memories, and the aged look of the paint.
There were soft quilted blankets folded at the foot of the bed and a single lamp flickering in the corner like it was waiting for some gentle night just like this.
One bed. A full, not even a queen. Close enough, I could breathe her in without moving. I could still hear my mother humming from the kitchen, far too pleased with herself.
“She so planned this,” Juniper whispered beside me, arms crossed as she stood just inside the doorway. “She totally did.”
“Of course she did,” I muttered, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. “She’s a menace.”
“She said she didn’t have time to clean your room.”
“She’s retired. She has time for everything.”
Juniper huffed, but I saw the corner of her mouth twitch. She wasn’t mad. She was flushed. And maybe — just maybe — a little flustered. “Are we really sharing this bed?”
I turned, meeting her eyes. “We don’t have to.”
“But you want to,” she said softly.
God, of course I did.
I shrugged one shoulder, as casually as I could manage. “Only if you do.”
Juniper took a breath, stepped inside. Pulled her sweatshirt tighter around her ribs like it was armor. “I mean. It’s not like we haven’t—”
“Right.”
“—done worse.”
“Definitely.”
She moved first, finally — brushing past me with the faintest touch of her hand to my lower back.
My whole body tensed like a live fucking wire.
And then she crawled onto the bed, on top of the covers, curling onto the side closest to the wall.
Curled up small and quiet, like a cat, blinking at me with eyes already soft from sleep.
“Come on, then,” she said. “Before I get cold.”
I didn’t let her say it twice. I clicked off the lamp, pulled my shirt over my head, and slid in beside her. We didn’t touch at first. Just lay there, barely breathing, trying to figure out what the rules were.
“For the record, cowboy. I want to, too.” She whispered as she scooted towards me. Just enough so that her spine brushed my chest.
And that was it. The universe tilted. Everything slowed.
My arm slid around her like it had a mind of its own.
She made this soft, sleepy noise — almost a purr — and I swear to god it cracked something wide open in my chest. “You comfortable?” I whispered.
She nodded against the pillow. “You’re warm.”
“Good,” I said, even as my voice caught. “I want you warm.”
Silence settled around us. Steady, gentle. Nothing like the chaos we’d left behind.
“Ansel?” she mumbled, already halfway gone.
“Yeah?”
A pause. A breath. A maybe.
But then, just… “Thank you.”
I pressed a kiss to the back of her head, to the messy curls spilling over her neck. I didn’t ask ‘for what’, because I wasn’t sure she’d be able to answer. Maybe she didn’t know. Maybe it didn’t matter.
She was here. In my arms. Letting herself be held.
And I would’ve stayed there forever if she asked.
Her breathing slowed within minutes, the gentle rise and fall of her chest steady underneath my arm. And while my heart ached at the closeness —
It wasn’t the only part of me.
I felt like I was taking advantage of the situation, trying to send my brain anywhere but where it was… focused on the swell of her ass pressed against my hardening dick.
The smooth skin of her thighs pressed against my legs.
Fuck.
Instead of counting sheep, I counted naked Kelloggs. Praying that his ugly mug could be enough to keep my chub away as I held her against me.
Once I finally drifted off… the night was quick.
Too fast.
I wanted to stay here in this cramped bed with Juniper curled around me for eternity.
When my eyes finally tore open, the little not-office was glowing. Not with anything dramatic — not some divine revelation, not a miracle. Just the slow, golden kind of light that came through the old curtains. It kind of felt like warmth and safety and maybe even… grace.
Juniper was still asleep.
Sort of.
She’d shifted sometime in the night — no longer curled up on her side, but all over me. Her head tucked beneath my chin, lips parted where they pressed to my collarbone. One leg thrown across my hips. One arm across my chest. And her hair — God, her hair was everywhere.
It was in my mouth. It was under my arm. It was across both our faces like the world’s softest net.
I didn’t care.
I couldn’t breathe too hard. Couldn’t move. Didn’t want to wake her. Because it was so rare, this version of her. The one with no armor. No sharp tongue. No walls pulled tight around her ribs like a cage.
Just her.
Soft.
Asleep.
Trusting me.
And I’d rather die than fuck that up.
A slow, sleepy sound buzzed low in her throat. A hum, maybe. Or a growl? She shifted again — closer, if that was possible — and let her nose press against the line of my jaw.
Then she froze. I felt her wake up by inches.
“You’re fine,” I said quickly. Too quickly. “You’re more than fine.” My arms tightened around her, keeping her from moving too far from me.
She opened one eye and squinted up at me. “How long have you been awake?”
“Not long.”
She narrowed her eye, clearly not buying it. “You’re lying.”
“I didn’t want to wake you.”
“You didn’t want to move.”
I grinned. “Also that.”
She stretched a little, groaned, and buried her face in my chest again. “God. Do you think your mom heard me snore?”
“Impossible,” I murmured. “You don’t snore.”
“I do. Like a lumberjack.”
“Sexy.”
She pinched my side. I yelped, louder than I needed to, but enough to drag a quiet giggle from her. She settled again. Still and quiet and content. “You’re good at this,” she said, almost too low for me to hear.
“Good at what?”
A pause. A breath.
“Letting me feel safe.”
I didn’t say anything. The words locked up in my throat like they didn’t want to ruin this moment. So I just kissed the top of her head. Let my fingers slide into her hair, down her spine, slow and careful and reverent. “Stay as long as you want,” I whispered. “You never have to go.”
She didn’t answer. Not with her words. But she didn’t pull away.
Juniper’s breath was warm and slow against my skin, her fingers tracing lazy patterns over my ribs. I caught a glimpse of her half-lidded eyes and the slight curve of a smile playing at the edges of her mouth.
“You ever think about how weird mornings are?” she murmured, voice thick with sleep. “Like… we spend all day running around pretending we have it together, then we get here and just… don’t.”
I smiled, shifting slightly so her arm rested more comfortably across my chest. “Yeah. Mornings are honest. No masks.”
She snorted softly, snuggling closer. “So this is the real us? Half-asleep, tangled like a mess of yarn?”
“Exactly.” I brushed a stray strand of hair from her forehead. My pulse pounded heavy in my chest. “No pretending. Just us.”
Her eyes fluttered closed again, but she whispered, “Don’t ever stop doing this. The safe, quiet stuff. The part where I don’t have to fight for air.”
I kissed her temple, careful not to wake her fully. “I won’t. I promise.”
She hummed, the softest sound of approval, and I realized maybe this was the kind of forever I was willing to fight for.
I could tell the moment it changed, though — the rhythm of her breath, the way her fingers twitched against my ribs. She’d been half-asleep for the past ten minutes, melted over me like she belonged there, like we hadn't spent the past year trying not to fall apart.
Then her voice, small and raw, “I think I—”
I went still.
So did she.
Her whole body locked up, and I swear I felt her heart stutter against mine. She didn’t finish it. Of course she didn’t. She wasn’t ready. But the sound of it — just the start of it — was enough to knock the air clean out of my lungs.
I didn’t dare move. Didn’t want to scare her back into her shell.
She tried again. “Ansel, I — I…” And then it broke her. I could hear it in her voice, feel it in the way her throat worked against the words. My chest ached.
I tilted my head down, pressed my forehead to hers like it was the only tether I had. Quiet and calm. “It’s okay,” I said, barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to.”
She didn’t answer, but her hand curled into my shirt. “I know what you were gonna say,” I added. “And I don’t need you to rush it. Not ever.”
I kissed her temple. Then the corner of her mouth.
“I want to.” She whispered, “I know I do. It’s just—” And I felt it — that truth she wasn’t ready to give voice to. It sat between us like sunlight behind a curtain. Warm. Unspoken. Waiting.
And I could wait. God help me, I could wait as long as she needed. I would.