12. Chapter 12
Chapter 12
Juniper
A s if running into Rachel at the gym last week and seeing her in athletic wear every morning since hadn’t been bad enough, she wore similar leggings on Thanksgiving night, a departure from her usual jeans or skirts. When I’d gotten back to my suite that first day, I made myself take a cold shower to atone for how creepy I’d felt. That was now a recurring trend, my self-loathing at an all-time high because of it.
Now in a flannel with a button a smidge too tight across her chest and her black leggings hugging her hips, the desire to grip her curves returned. In moments like this, I wished I still thought she was the fake, corporate shill type. It would be a lot easier than wanting her.
“So,” she said, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. Every single time she did that, I wanted to be the one to do it for her, but I had to stand with my hands in my joggers’ pockets because I didn’t know what else to do with them. I didn’t trust myself to not run my fingers through her voluminous curls and down her sides to feel every dip and curve of her silhouette. I didn’t—
“Juniper?”
“I’m sorry. I just took my meds, so I’m a little spacey.” A partial lie to cover my ass, but at least it was based on the truth. “Can you repeat that?”
“What can I get started on?”
“Oh! Right. Uh, I already have the turkey in the oven.” Feeling like a total dolt, I completely froze, somehow forgetting everything I picked up at the grocery store and every Thanksgiving side dish in existence. Ironic, given the sides were the best part.
No, sitting across from Rachel was the best part. Not having to spend it alone, instead enjoying the company of someone who couldn’t give a rat’s ass how many titles and trophies back up my name, was far superior to anything else.
“Rosemary’s a good choice,” she said. “I know you said not to bring anything, but I do make a killer pecan pie, so.” She walked around me to set the bag hanging over her shoulder down on the table. From it, she retrieved the dessert in question, which called an aluminum and plastic pie container home. She popped it in the refrigerator and began pulling some various ingredients out.
“Thanks. I’ve got pumpkin in there, too.”
Rachel returned to her bag and moved it to hang off the back of a chair. Then, she grabbed something wrapped in a plastic gift bag. She untied the ribbon holding it together and then approached Sasquatch who sat on his dog bed. He perked up as she crouched down beside him and held out a cookie, shaped and decorated to look like a slice of pumpkin pie.
“And I didn’t forget about my favorite living thing in the whole wide world, no I didn’t!” She spoke in that almost-baby voice she used with him when he wasn’t working, and Sasquatch couldn’t have been more elated. He gnawed at the dog treat without hesitation, slobbering all over himself in the process.
“That was really sweet of you,” I said.
“There’s more in there,” Rachel said. “I found this cute little pet bakery, and they had so many Thanksgiving-themed treats that I couldn’t decide, so I may have gotten one of each.”
I could kiss her. I shouldn’t, but I could.
“Well, Sasquatch says thank you, as do I. If you want, I can cover the mac and cheese if you want to be on potato duty. I’ve already got noodles cooked, and the potatoes peeled and diced.”
“Solid.” She rolled her sleeves up to her elbows and then tied her hair back, revealing today’s earrings: cans of Ocean Spray cranberry sauce. It was probably her quirkiest pair yet.
“Are your earrings…?”
“The superior way to enjoy cranberry sauce?” She tested the softness of the potatoes, confirming I’d boiled them since I realized I hadn’t actually told her that in my stupor, and then she grabbed the masher. “Absolutely, they are.”
“Oh, thank God you said that.” I moved to the pantry to grab the last few ingredients I’d need. I’d pulled the recipe up on my phone, which I’d propped up against a vase on the counter. “My mom used to make this fancy homemade shit every year, and it made me want to literally gag.”
She snorted a laugh as she started washing the potatoes. “That makes me so sad for past you. Hopefully, she’s not the one who taught you how to cook.”
“No, no. Self-taught. This is going to sound really lame, but I actually didn’t really know how to cook until about four years ago.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Never had a need to. With snowboarding, I was always on the go. But then, after the accident, I eventually got tired of living off those ready-to-bake meals at the store.”
“Oh my God, I would have gone stir-crazy if that was all I ate.”
“Yeah, it got boring after a while. I’m not great, but it’s edible.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fantastic,” she said with a warm smile. I should have been paying more attention to the mac and cheese, but it couldn’t have been anything too complicated, so I let myself watch her. Her bottom lip found its way between her teeth as she put in some extra elbow grease when mashing some potatoes. The muscles on her arms flexed, still soft but undeniably strong. “My dad taught us how to cook, but my mom’s baking is unrivaled. She’s where the pecan pie recipe comes from.”
“Yeah?”
She nodded. “My great-grandparents brought all their recipes over when they immigrated to the States in the late thirties. They fled Poland when the Nazis started invading. It was one of their few belongings and it’s been passed down ever since. My grandmother had it turned into a cookbook.”
“That’s really special.”
One little cookbook held so much history. I wanted to sit with her and go through every page, to ask her more about her family, where they come from, who she looked like, and if they had a happy ending. As I lazily arranged the cheese in the baking dish with the cooked noodles, a part of me yearned to know everything I could about Rachel—things I had no right to know.
“Yeah, it is. It’s still at my mom’s, but I have most of the recipes memorized by heart at this point.” As I put the macaroni and cheese, which seemed done, into the oven to bake and let the cheese melt, she asked, “Your family couldn’t make it?”
As I closed the oven door with my left hip, I winced. “Actually, I didn’t invite them. They didn’t invite me, either.”
“Oh, fuck. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”
“It’s fine.” I grabbed the boxed stuffing and got to work over the stovetop, not bothering with homemade this year. “I actually prefer it that way.”
“Well, if you want to talk about it, I’m all ears. But we can drop it if you’d prefer.”
An unfamiliar warmth spread through my chest as I felt the desire to hug her, to wrap my arms around her, and bury my face in her hair as she embraced me and told me everything was okay now. It was as if she was winning a game of tug-of-war even though she wasn’t aware we were playing, pulling on a rope that brought me closer to her.
“We’ll cross that bridge one of these days. But I’ll spare the Ocean Spray cans for now.”
She laughed. “Alright, fair deal.”
Once the macaroni and cheese was done, I took a small spoonful and nearly choked on the overwhelming flavor. I covered my mouth with my hand as Rachel’s back was to me, giving Sasquatch another cookie. Instead of tasting the savory cheeses and buttery noodles, there was an overwhelmingly sweet, gritty taste left behind on my tongue.
I must have swapped an ingredient when I was distracted. That’s what I get for checking her out instead of paying attention.
I moved to the garbage can, quickly lifted the lid, and spit out the chewed-up macaroni before Rachel could turn back around. After chugging some water, I sighed, finally feeling most of it washed from my tongue. “Fuck.”
“What’s wrong?”
“This is garbage,” I said, pointing to the pan. “Taste if you dare.”
“It can’t be that bad.” Rachel grabbed the spoon from my hand to scoop a piece out. I watched as it reached her lips, moved to her mouth, and then her eyes widened with surprise. She swallowed it as if it hurt and then said, “Holy shit, Juniper.”
I couldn’t stop the nervous laugh. “I think I may have swapped the sugar and salt.”
“You think?”
“I’m sure you’re just living for this right now.”
“Not at all. I’ve got to eat this too. But hey, no worries!” She set the fork down and began sifting through the ingredients on the counter, surveying each label. “No sense kvetching over it when I think we can salvage this.”
“I’ll give you a raise if you can.”
She barked a laugh. “Challenge accepted.”
“You seriously think you can, huh?”
“While I know Florida isn’t technically part of the Deep South, we do make a mean mac and cheese like the rest of the southern states. So, you bet your ass I can.”
After we finally got the chance to sit down with our food, Rachel’s phone buzzed on the table with a FaceTime call from her mom. Since my mouth was full, I nodded when she glanced at me, seeking approval. With a grin by way of reply, she took the call.
“Hey, Ima! Happy Thanksgiving!”
“Happy Thanksgiving, Chamuda! Did I catch you at dinner? I keep forgetting you’re two hours behind us.”
“Yeah, but it’s no big deal. It’s just me and Juniper.”
“Oh, how lovely! Is he there?”
Before she could respond, I wiped my face with my napkin and stood, rounding the table to stand behind her. I tried to ignore the familiar scent of raspberry and vanilla wafting from her hair. “You must be Mrs. Friedman. Nice to meet you.”
I wasn’t sure what alternate reality I woke up in today where my hermit ass was voluntarily introducing myself to people’s mothers, but here we were.
“Juniper! You’re even more handsome than in your pictures!”
I laughed. “You’re too kind. I’m not half as good-looking as you, ma’am.”
Both Rachel and her mother blushed. Her mom replied, “What a charmer!”
“Just being honest, Mrs. Friedman.”
“Oh, please. Call me Miriam.” The sound of two people singing out of tune in the background interrupted her. She shook her head and said, “Ignore them. Your father and sister got wine drunk and keep singing that new Taylor Swift song, except they only know the chorus, so it’s the same four lines over and over again.”
Rachel snorted. “Again?”
“You know how they get. But hey, we’ve got everyone here!” Miriam flipped the camera around so we could see Rachel’s sister, her father in a yarmulke that matched his blue sweater, and who must have been her cousins. A few dogs scurried by, yapping playfully, which almost caught Sasquatch’s attention; he lifted his head but lowered it again once he realized it was through the phone. Her family looked up from the television to wave where the two cousins were playing a video game, but her father and sister both leaped from the couch to join her mom.
As Miriam flipped the camera back to selfie mode, Rachel’s dad asked, “Is that Rachel?” A few gray hairs peppered his brown beard. As much as Rachel looked like her mother, she had her dad’s eyes.
Miriam replied, “It is, Asher! And her boss, Juniper!”
They both stood behind her mom. Her sister—Sarah, if I remembered correctly—said, “ And Juniper? Ah, no way!”
“Happy to see you too, Sarah,” Rachel said with a roll of her eyes.
I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d told her sister about me or if she actually did know who I was when she took the job. Logically, I knew it was most likely my name came up before. But between that and her mother’s comments about photos of me, my brain went to its usual dark place, assuming betrayal.
Her father said, “Well, I don’t know who he is, so I’m excited to see you, honey. No offense, Juniper.”
I shrugged a shoulder in dismissal. “None taken.”
Through a giggle, Rachel said, “I’ve missed you guys.”
“Well, we booked our reservation, so we will see you on opening day! You both must be so proud.”
“Rachel deserves most of the credit,” I said. “She’s the brains behind the operation.”
“Yeah, she gets that from me,” Miriam said. “We got one of those fancy cabins. Figured it was worth the splurge.”
As she caught up with her parents, I made a mental note to comp their stay later. It was the least I could do to say thank you after all the leg work Rachel had put in.
“Well, we’ll let you finish your dinner. If there’s anything either of you need, call us, okay? I’ll get something airlifted if I gotta.”
“Thanks, Ima.” They passed around the Hebrew words for “I love you” before she hung up. Rachel set her phone down and turned to me. “Thanks. I’ve told them a lot about it here, so they were stoked to see you. You didn’t have to get up.”
I felt my shoulders relax as I sat across from her once more. “It’s cool. They seemed sweet.”
“And so were you, flirting with my mom!”
“She’s a beautiful woman.” I took a bite of the potatoes. “You and her look a lot alike.”
As pink dusted Rachel’s cheeks, she smiled and kept her eyes on her plate. She stabbed at some of the macaroni and cheese and then nearly gagged it out but forced herself to swallow with a grimace. My thoughts wandered, but I forced myself out of it.
Damn my hormonal, touch-starved mind.
“Okay, that is not as salvageable as I thought it would be. Instead of sweet, now it’s sweet and salty.”
Sweet and salty . Her word choice was not helping my dirty mind. “My bad. I haven’t been on my A-game lately.”
“Stressed about the opening?”
By some miracle, she didn’t suspect a thing. “Something like that.”
“Well, we’re in this together, so let me know what I can do to help.”
There was plenty she could do, but I didn’t dare voice a single one of those suggestions.
“On the bright side,” I said, “all that’s left are the cabins. Mid-January feels ambitious, but also doable, so I’m trying to not overthink things. Also, trying not to wonder what will happen if people hate it here.”
“I doubt that’ll be the case, but I’ll handle all that. Don’t worry about reviews.”
“Thank you. Seriously, you do so much. I should change the name of the lodge and name it after you.”
“Unnecessary, but if you insist, I’ll compromise with a ski run.”
“Consider it done.”
My deadpan tone must have caught her attention because she looked at me with soft, wide eyes as I took a bite of her mashed potatoes, the butter and chives settling on my tongue. They were, like everything else she touched, perfect.
“Wait, you’re serious.”
I nodded as I swallowed. “Yeah. Maybe one of the more difficult ones can be called Rachel’s Revenge.”
She raised a brow. “Revenge for what?”
“For all the times I was a dick to you.”
“Come on, Juniper, you can’t still be hung up on that.”
“Alright then. Revenge for all the work I made you do.”
“That I signed up for and get paid to do.”
“Revenge on your old boss, then?”
“Okay, I can live with that.” She winked at me. “Sasquatch should get one, too. Maybe one of the easier trails. Search for Sasquatch?”
“I like that.” Sasquatch perked up and prodded over at the sound of his name. “I’m sure he does, too.”