Chapter 62
The hum of the engine was steady, but my mind was racing. I stole a glance at Juniper, her eyes heavy-lidded but bright with stubbornness. “I can drop you off at your dad’s,” I offered, voice low. “You shouldn’t have to deal with my mess.”
She shook her head, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “I’m staying with you.”
I snorted, one hand tightening on the wheel. “Your clothes are still a disaster. You’ve got like, what, three layers of me on you?”
She shrugged, cool and defiant. “Do you not have a washing machine at your place?”
“I do…” I laughed, the sound rough. “But the bookstore’s still standing, right?”
“Technically, I still have three days off,” she said, her voice a little teasing now. “So if you want me to go, you better make a damn strong case.” And then — with a sharp little smile lighting up her eyes. “Trying to get rid of me?”
My chest tightened. How could I say no without sounding desperate? Because the truth was, I wasn’t trying to get rid of her. I was terrified she’d see how much I was still unraveling. “No,” I said, voice catching. “Not even close.”
Her hand found my thigh, warm and steady.
I caught her smirk in the rearview mirror, and damn if it didn’t make my chest tighten. “I’m not great at this, you know.”
“Neither am I,” she admitted, reaching over to squeeze my thigh. “But you’ve been really good at showing up for me.” That squeeze was a promise. A lifeline. “Let me show up for you, cowboy.”
I exhaled slowly, then glanced back at her — this stubborn, brilliant woman who was hellbent on being close, even if it drove me crazy. “Alright,” I said finally, voice rough with something close to relief. “Stay. But only if you promise to help me keep the chaos contained.”
She laughed, the sound warm in the car’s quiet. “Deal.”
The car hummed quietly beneath us, the world outside dark and still. No music. No words. Just the soft rhythm of tires on pavement and the steady beat of our breathing.
It was one of those rare silences — heavy with everything we didn’t need to say, but full of the promise of what was yet to come.
When I pulled into the driveway, the stupid, large rental house loomed in the shadowed quiet, lights glowing warm and soft through the windows. It was almost eight o’clock.
We stepped inside; the door closed behind us with a gentle click that felt louder than it should in the calm of the night. The air was cool, smelling faintly of pine and wood smoke, the last traces of fall clinging to the windowsill.
Junie leaned into me, a weight and a comfort I didn’t want to lose. “Home,” I murmured, more to myself than her.
“There’s no place else I’d rather be,” she murmured, the soft thud of her bags hitting the floor breaking the quiet.
The house smelled faintly of cedar and old books — a place I’d lived in for months but somehow felt different now. Better. Softer. Like maybe it wasn’t just mine anymore.
She moved around easily, tossing her coat over the back of a chair, kicking off her shoes without a care. Watching her make herself at home like she belonged was both comforting and terrifying.
I stood just inside the doorway, hands shoved in my pockets, muscles tight in ways I couldn’t shake. The noise of the world outside — the chaos of the film, Kellogg’s rage — still buzzed in my ears, but here it softened.
“This is home,” I mumbled, more to myself than her.
June glanced up, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Feels like it.”
I wanted to believe her. I needed to.
She came over then, gently pressing her palm to my cheek, her touch light but grounding. “You don’t have to carry it all alone, you know.”
I swallowed, the weight of everything pressing down, but with her there — with her hand on me — it felt a little less heavy. “I’m trying not to break,” I said, voice rough.
“Why?” she whispered. “You’re allowed to hurt, Ansel.”
And just like that, the house felt less empty. She was already unpacking, tossing her things onto the worn couch like she’d claimed it — like it was hers, not just mine.
The low hum of the heater filled the room. I found myself just watching her, the way her fingers lingered on the fabric of the blanket draped over the armrest, how her hair caught the dim light.
She caught my gaze, raising an eyebrow with a small, knowing smile. “You’re just staring now,” she said softly.
I grinned, stepping closer until the space between us was almost nothing. “You’re distracting.”
Her hand slid up to my chest, thumb brushing over my collarbone. “I’m… home,” she said, voice low, full of something I wouldn’t dare name but wanted to hold on to.
I reached out, fingertips tracing the curve of her jaw, then threading into her hair, pulling her closer so our foreheads rested together. The tension I’d carried all day started to melt — not completely, but enough to breathe again.
“Let’s not talk about tomorrow,” I murmured. “Not yet.”
Juniper nodded, eyes closing as she leaned into the touch. “Alright,” she whispered. “Just this.”
We sank down onto the couch, bodies folding together like puzzle pieces finally found. I wrapped an arm around her, feeling the steady beat of her heart against my ribs.
She sighed, a soft sound that made something ache inside me. She didn’t say much after that, just curled in closer, and the weight of her against me was like the softest promise. Her breath slowed, her lashes resting against her cheeks — and then, before I knew it, she was asleep.
I stayed still for a moment, letting the quiet swell around us. My heart hammered in my chest — not from adrenaline, but from something deeper. I couldn’t believe this was real. That she was here, again, asleep on my chest.
Careful not to wake her, I eased my arms around her, lifting her up like she was made of glass and moonlight. Every movement felt sacred as I carried her to my — our — bedroom down the hall, the one she’d fallen asleep in all that time ago.
Her head lolled softly against my shoulder as I laid her down on the bed. I pulled the covers up around her, tucking her in like she was the most precious thing I’d ever known.
I sat down beside her, barely breathing, watching the rise and fall of her chest. “Juniper,” I whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead, my fingertips lingering.
Her eyes fluttered open, sleepy and soft. “Hey,” she murmured, voice thick with dreams.
“I’m still here,” I said, voice low. “But I’m still not convinced this isn’t a beautiful, impossible dream.”
She smiled, a tiny, tender thing, reaching up to thread her fingers through mine. “It’s real. I’m real.”
I cupped her face, thumb tracing slow circles. “You’re everything.”
She shifted closer, sighing, and I let my hands wander — slow, reverent caresses along her arms, tracing the delicate line of her jaw, down to cradle her neck. “Don’t go getting all sappy on me, cowboy.”
We didn’t say much else. Words felt too loud, too big. But in those quiet moments, with our bodies tangled and breaths mingling, everything spoke — all the love, all the fear, all the hope we’d been holding back. “Don’t move,” I whispered, quickly grabbing her a shirt from the dresser.
I tugged her sleepy frame up, one hand splayed against her back to keep her steady. “Arms up, kid.” I instructed, tugging her road trip dress off of her in a single motion.
Her smile softened, warmed into something that I could have found myself falling into… maybe even forever.
With the dress tossed aside, her fingers fumbled behind her for her bra clasp. “Hate this stupid thing,” she muttered, her words still rough around the edges.
“Let me?” I offered — my hands hovering just above hers. She nodded, pressing her forehead to my collarbone. “I consider myself somewhat of an expert,” I joked, turning to press a kiss to her temple.
She laughed, but didn’t move as I unhooked it, sliding it off without a thought.
That’s when I knew something was deeply broken inside of me. Because instead of ogling her perfect shape… I just wanted to hold her. I dressed her in my shirt before pulling her against my chest. With the smallest of sighs, she nestled in close.
I brushed a stray curl behind her ear, fingers lingering at the nape of her neck. She sighed again — a small, content sound that made my chest tighten.
“Feels like I could just stay right here forever,” she murmured, voice thick with sleep. I tightened my arms around her, careful not to crush her, just enough to let her know I was here, that I wasn’t going anywhere.
Her breath tickled my collarbone as she shifted, pressing a light kiss there, warm and tentative.
This, this, was richer than any movie could have made me. More heartfelt and real than any script or fame or check.
And I’ll be damned if I let this stupid indie film let me forget how this feels.