Chapter 5
Juniper
Textbooks seated in the passenger side of my car, having driven straight to the library to pick them up, I find myself heading in the direction of town instead of straight back to my dorm.
Driving around the picturesque town has a perma-smile tugging at my lips, only the constant hustle and bustle of people milling around keeping the smiles at bay. A people person, I am not, and seeing more and more people, mainly fellow students, milling around has nerves prickling down my spine. It sets my teeth on edge, my body growing more and more tense as I watch students head in and out of different stores, laughing with one another, not a care in the world. If only I could be so carefree.
Gritting my teeth, I drive around for another long minute before I see the flash of a sign, a Help Wanted sign hanging in the window of a cute diner that looks more promising than any of the clubs or bars I used to work at.
Slotting the truck into a nearby parking spot outside the diner, I climb out into the fresh Fall breeze, tucking my hair behind my ear and straightening my clothes so they sit a little tidier than they feel. I bite my lip, eyeing the cute building before me. The sign reads ‘Gabby’s’ in big, red, sprawling writing across the top of the building, a red trim bordering the exterior walls. I spy red-leather booths inside, only a few patrons seated, a waitress dressed in a cute apron over a white shirt and red pants.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, I roll back my shoulders and head into the diner. I ignore the looks I feel as I enter, heading straight to the counter, placing my hands down gently as I look for someone who works here.
That comes in the form of a burly-looking woman that could easily bench press me one handed, her red hair curled beneath a Gabby’s cap, her shirt stretched over firm muscle. I scent something spicy, bittersweet and leathery, maybe Saffron? It tickles my nose as it leaks from the woman, her hand resting on the counter before me, biceps bulging as she leans close. I’m pretty she’s an alpha, her entire aura giving ‘big dick’ energy that would intimidate as fuck out of me if she wasn’t grinning ear to ear, the friendliest look on her face as she slides a menu across the counter for me to look at. Then, with a voice pitched higher than I would have assumed, she says, “Mornin’, sugar. What’ll it be to drink?”
My mouth blows raspberries with my next exhale, and I decide to take a seat as I peer wide-eyed at the woman who looks like she eats at least twelve eggs and a basket of spinach for breakfast. Her pinky looks like it could snap me in half.
“Coffee, please,” I rasp, clearing my throat right after, blinking as the hulking woman winks and whisks herself away, footsteps almost silent despite her size. Thankfully, it gives me a chance to shake myself, snapping myself out of my stunned state at the pure juxtaposition of the woman. At least she’s friendly, right? There’s no doubt I would have walked my ass right back out of here, tail tucked between my legs, if she’d have simply scowled at me. I know how to fight, I know how to defend and stick up for myself, but I’m not a tank. I know when I’m beat, and Big Betty here would surely kill me with one strike.
When she returns, I quickly read her name tag, almost rolling my eyes when I read her name. Gabby slides the coffee across to me, along with the sugar and a spoon tucked on the saucer beneath the cup. She’s still smiling, a sweet look that almost has me relaxing, as she asks, “You know what you want to order, sugar?”
“Uh, just the coffee for now, but thanks,” I reply, trying to find my lost courage to ask her for a job.
“Sure. Holler if you change your mind,” she offers, winking again before she makes to leave.
Before she can take a step, however, I blurt, “Actually, I was wondering if you still had any jobs available?”
Gabby pauses, eyeing me closely, before she nods her head, red curls falling from under her hat. “Sure do, hon. You looking for work?”
I nod in return, rolling the sleeves of my leather jacket up my arms. “I just moved to town. I’m starting at North Five on Monday, but I need a job that could fit around my schedule.”
“Wouldn’t be an issue here, sugar. We stay pretty quiet in the day. It’s the afternoons and evenings that we need an extra pair of hands,” she explains, and hope blooms in my chest. “You work in the food industry before?”
Taking a sip of my coffee after pouring an ungodly amount of sugar into the cup, I sigh before answering. “Yes, ma’am. I’ve worked at restaurants, clubs, and bars. Wouldn’t take long to train, just need to be shown the ropes.”
Gabby’s face morphs into a contemplative look, and she looks to think about it for a moment. Then she wonders, “When can you start?”
My mouth parts in shock, and the burly woman laughs with glittering amusement in her dark-green eyes, holding her meaty hand out for me to shake. I slip mine into hers, long fingers dwarfing mine, and she introduced herself. “Name’s Gabby. If you can start tomorrow, then you’re hired. I’ve not had much luck hiring the right kind of staff.”
She jerks her head at the waitress I saw through the window earlier, chewing bubble-gum and twirling her bleached hair around her finger as she yaps her pretty little head off to the customer trying to enjoy his eggs in peace.
Biting my lip to stop myself from smiling, I turn back to Gabby, and she grins widely. Clearly I’m not hiding my amusement very well, so I introduce myself to distract her from the fact that I find her funny. “Juniper Baines. I don’t like people, so you won’t get that problem from me.”
The house-sized woman laughs brightly, clapping the back of my hand before releasing me. She jerks her head to the back of the diner and says, “Come on, sugar. If you’ve got yourself a spare minute, I’ll show you around now and see if there’s a uniform in the back for you to take with you before you go. You can start tomorrow, right?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am. Monday is more of an introductory day at the school, from what I gather, so my classes won’t start until Tuesday, so I can do the evening shift. I can get you a copy of my schedule so you can fit me in wherever,” I explain, taking my coffee when I follow after her to the back of the diner.
“Perfect. Let me show you the ins and outs, then, hon,” she drawls, rolling her eyes at her other waitress as she cackles loudly. “I’m gonna fire that heifer, I swear.”
Snorting into my coffee cup, I almost splutter the liquid over the floor, pulling it away just in time to cover the sound with a cough. At least I’ll be amused while I work here, even if I have to deal with the public.
***
The day crawls by at snail’s pace once I get home, and I find myself time checking like a criminal, my nerves notching higher and higher with every passing minute. Since I’m not due to start school for another two days, I’m left sitting in my dorm, a stack of new textbooks sitting on my bare desk, a new work uniform hanging in my closet, and what little clothes options I have sprawled over my unmade bed .
“This is fucking ridiculous,” I grumble to myself, annoyed that I’m even worried about something as stupid as what to wear to this dinner. I’ve been staring at the same clothes for the past hour, trying things on like they’re going to look different to how they usually do. As though they won’t look as run down and grubby compared to the designer stuff I know the guys wear. Even as kids, I’d catch them in expensive clothing, from t-shirts that cost the entirety of one of my outfits, to sneakers that I could sell and use the money for food that would last me two weeks. I never begrudged them for it, because why would I? Each of their packs are well off for money, so if they have it to spend on their kids, to treat them with all of the nice things I never had or would ever have, then I simply considered it a better way to spend their money than how my parents were.
Frustrated that I’m even worrying about something as ridiculous as outfits, I decide to go for my usual torn-up skinny jeans, low-cut, oversized, gray tank that’ll reveal flashes of the lace bralette I’m wearing, and my leather jacket. I nab my gray ankle boots with a killer five-inch heel, strangely more comfortable in heels than flats after the years of having to wear them as a bartender and waitress at sleazy clubs and bars, and decide it’ll do. I’m not trying to impress anyone, after all. It’s just dinner, a chance to catch up with long-lost friends. That’s all.
Shaking my head, I drop into the desk chair as soon as I’m dressed save for my heels, and use a makeup wipe to clean my face, having already showered as soon as I returned from my errands. Since my hair has dried in beach waves that I could never have recreated with my old flatiron, I leave it alone, opting to simply tuck the right side behind my ear, revealing the line of earrings pierced through my ear. With my hair out of my face, I apply mascara, eyeliner, and a lick of Chapstick, and call it good.
With a check of the time, I find it ten minutes before seven, and I swallow hard as butterflies erupt in my stomach and my pulse skitters in both apprehension and a strange sort of excitement that feels completely unfamiliar. I don’t remember the last time I was excited about anything, North U excluded. Since before I received my acceptance letter, there wasn’t much to be excited about. After all, there’s nothing thrilling about wondering if I have enough money to pay rent or other bills, if I’ll have enough to scrape or if I’ll have to go without groceries for a few days. There certainly wasn’t anything exciting about moving around constantly, always looking over my shoulder for the bogyman in my story.
Blinking away my thoughts, I place my makeup back in the small bag I tuck into an empty drawer, run my hands through my hair without displacing the strands secured behind my ear, and reach for my purse. I’m just placing my keys and wallet inside when my cell chimes with a text message.
CREEK: I’m here. What room number are you?
I bite my lip and hesitate for a moment before I text back.
JUNO: More ammunition for your stalking?
A reply comes just as quickly.
CREEK: Obviously. But if you don’t want to tell me, I guess I’ll just have to drink this vile sugary shit you call coffee myself.
Bastard. I never had a mocha before today, and the thought of having another has my mouth watering in anticipation. I really want that coffee, and since I’m surely convincing myself that there’s nothing to worry about, I decide that there’s no harm in telling him which room number is mine. It’s Creek. I’m safe with him.
JUNO: 116. Bring the coffee. I’ve unlocked the door.
I head over to the door, unlatching the lock before heading back to the desk chair, picking up my shoes as I go. Just as I’m lacing my second shoe, the door opens, and Creek steps into the room holding a coffee and… are those roses?
Dressed in dark jeans, a navy button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and another ball cap that matches his shirt, Creek freezes, ocean eyes widening as they run over my hunched form as I finish with my boots. I have to force a swallow, my mouth drying at the sight of him, toned muscle on full display, outlined deliciously in clothes that complement him perfectly.
“Hi,” I greet, my voice a little breathy, much to my embarrassment. I have to clear my throat, internally chastising myself for sounding like an idiot.
Creek blows out a heavy breath, looking me over so slowly that I almost feel it like a physical touch, before he answers with his own rasped, “Hey. You look beautiful.”
I look down at myself and shrug, fighting a blush as my body heats strangely. “I look like I usually do.”
“Which is beautiful,” he insists, lips twitching with a suppressed smile that I desperately want to break free.
Raising an eyebrow, I reach for my purse and sling it over my shoulder, side-eyeing Creek as I say, “You haven’t seen me sick, first thing in the morning after waking up, or hugging a toilet bowl after one too many shots. Nothing beautiful about it.”
“Fucking hell, J. Take the compliment,” he laughs, holding out the beautiful eggplant-colored roses, the deep purple very similar to my hair. “Here, these are for you. Saw the color and knew… well, anyway, here.”
I accept the flowers, my insides turning to mush, looking down at them with a pinched brow and rolling wave of emotion. I’ve never had someone give me flowers before. It’s both weird and butterfly inducing. Clearing my throat, I lower the flowers and blurt, “I don’t have anything to put them in.”
“That’s okay. Bring them with us and I’ll find something for you,” he answers, shrugging like it’s nothing to worry about. Like it isn’t a big deal. Little does he know just how much it means to me. “Are you ready?”
Fishing my keys out of my purse, I nod wordlessly and follow him out, locking the door directly after me. As soon as they’re back in my purse, Creek is filling my empty hand with the coffee cup, taking the flowers from my hold, and replacing them with his own hand as he leads me out of the dorm building. I almost swallow my fucking tongue at the first touch, goosebumps rippling over my skin when he squeezes my hand gently.
Leading me to a luxurious car I know costs more than any of my organs ever would, Creek rubs a thumb over the back of my hand, sending sparks across my skin, everywhere he touches. “Jump in, beautiful.”
“Uh,” I stall, eyeing the pretty, white car, worried I might stain or smudge it somehow if I get too close. Not that that’s the reason for wanting to go in separate cars. If he drives, then how the hell do I get away if something goes wrong? I’m not expecting anything to go wrong, but what if? The idea of having no back up, no safety net, nothing at all in case of emergencies has my heart beating too quickly, my palms growing slightly sweaty, so I tell him, “I’m gonna take my car.”
Creek looks down at me, gaze roaming my face, before he nods slowly. It’s like he knows exactly why, likely from the tensing of my body, and is still willing to offer me that comfort.
“Alright. I’ll text you the address. Stick close, though, so I can keep an eye on you,” he softly demands, squeezing my hand before leading me to my truck instead, slipping his cell out of his back pocket and tapping away silently.
When I feel my cell buzz, I know the address is sitting in a text message, so I slip my cell out and keep it in hand until we reach my truck. Like a gentleman, Creek opens my door for me, still holding my hand as I climb into the driver’s side. I notice he doesn’t offer to ride with me instead, closing my door with a pinched brow, and I realize then that he knows why I’m riding alone. Or, rather, suspects. I’m sure he couldn’t have guessed the depths of my fucked-up psyche thanks to the pack that were meant to love me.
With a small tap on the roof of the truck, Creek heads to his own car, pulling out slowly and waiting for me to follow. I take a moment to put his address into the app on my phone, flashing my beams when I’m ready. A moment later, we’re both driving from the parking lot, Creek sticking close enough that not a single car could come between us.
Ten minutes later, we’re pulling down a long, winding road. It’s a little bumpy, but not enough to send my head colliding against the roof. Darkness is slowly descending all around us, the sun setting behind the mountains and trees, and I bite my lip as I keep a close eye on Creek’s taillights as he navigates the wonky road like he’s driven it countless times before. For all I know, he could have. Can’t be sure how his car has survived, though, because after a particular bump, my truck feels like it’s about to fall apart.
Just as I’m about to start questioning the integrity of the truck’s body, lights appear in the distance. Followed by the softly lit fucking mansion that sits proudly in the middle of the forestry that surrounds it.
“Holy shit,” I breathe, awe deeply embedded in the tone of my voice.
The house, not that it can be considered such, is made of pale brick with dark-wood accents, including window frames and the wrap-around porch that looks to span the entire house. I spy dark greenery spanning one side of the house, no doubt lush ivy adding color to the stone, adding to the surrounding greenery that borders the property. Several lights are on inside, adding to the warm glow of the porch lights, and whatever security lights are littered around the lavish home.
Eventually, the gravel road turns into smooth stone, one that leads to the front of the house and to the three-car drive and garage built in the same matching stone as the oversized building beside it. A gorgeous bike sits outside, along with a black Wrangler I would give both of my tits to own one day, and two supercars that I’ve only ever seen in magazines.
I find myself swallowing hard at the sight, because that means I was right. Four other vehicles for four other people. My gaze snaps to the house, and I’m certain I see a curtain quiver, a shadow of a silhouette darting to the side and vanishing from sight. Guess dinner will be more than a two-person affair.
Just as Creek parks, he climbs out of his car and gestures for me to slide my truck into an open space beside him. I do so with my heart in my throat, my pulse thrumming with nerves and anticipation, fear and a bone-deep curiosity.
But as I pull into the space, shooting a look at the house once more, I wonder if I’m ready to face the others. What happens when I step a foot through their door? The girl who disappeared, never to be seen again, only to show up on their doorstep years later? Would they even want me there?
Creek knocks on my window, eyebrows raised, and he jerks his head like he’s wordlessly gesturing for me to climb out of the car. Biting my lip, I eye the house one more time before pulling up my big girl panties. Guess we’re going to find out the answers to those questions, whether I’m ready for them or not.