1. Trial by TikTok #3
His hand drops, but he doesn’t step back to give me space. He just stands there, watching me wrestle the bag across his cobblestone driveway like a man physically restraining himself from calibrating a problem I didn’t ask him to solve.
“Junie—” His voice is rough, clipped, and it makes me irrationally irate.
He doesn’t get to be mad, or sad, or confused. I hold all the stock there.
“Juniper,” I hiss, cutting him off before he can say something that will bring out emotions I’m not here to face. “You should probably call me Juniper now. You know, since you’re my boss.”
He drags a palm down his face, but it doesn’t hide the pain there.
“Right,” he says quietly. “Juniper. Your apartment is above the garage. Nana Mae left the key under the mat. She wanted to welcome you, but she had a…scheduling conflict with her club.”
I don’t respond. I was never particularly close with his Nana Mae, not like the boys are. She’d already moved back to South Carolina when they all came to live with us anyway, and I refused to go when they visited over school vacations.
She’d only relocated to Boston to raise Cole after his parents died when he was five, so I think she was ready to get back to her life in the Carolinas when he graduated high school.
Nodding, I continue dragging my suitcase toward the garage where I’ll figure out what the hell to do with my life now.
“Juniper.”
His voice stops me cold. My body remembers him, and it feels like a betrayal. How can it still long for someone who actively broke my heart?
There’s a beat of silence. Then, as though the words are being cut out of him with dull knives, he says, “I’m glad you’re here. Even if you’re not.”
My chest is too tight, and my eyes are too hot as I drag my suitcase as fast as I can toward the stairs.
With his eyes burning into my back, I make it to the landing, willing my hands to stop shaking as I search for the key.
But the door flies open, and the woman from the sidewalk tugs me inside.
“Katie,” Cole barks from below. “Get the hell out of there and leave her alone.”
Am I being kidnapped now?
“I’m Katie,” tube-top woman says, shutting the door and dragging me toward a small table set up under a window that looks out over the driveway.
Cole’s standing in the glow of the lanterns, staring up at my apartment as though he expects me to storm out at any second.
He should know better—confrontation isn’t my style.
“Oh, shit.” The woman hums. “You’re holding onto something explosive. You’re a powder keg of emotion.”
I turn away from the window to find this stranger assessing me. “I’m sorry, who are you?”
“Katie, your new best friend.”
“No.”
She ignores me. “I showed your TikTok to Mae. The welcoming committee will be by with their own basket, but after what you’ve been through, a bunch of cinnamon rolls just isn’t going to cut it.
” She bends down and lifts a heavy-looking box.
“I was kicked off the welcome committee for this exact reason, but sometimes, a woman just has to handle things herself. Am I right?”
Glass clinks inside when she drops the box on the table with a thud.
“Now,” she says with a grin. “I don’t know your preference yet, so I brought a bouquet. Bourbon, gin, vodka, red wine, white wine, and my favorite, Fireball. I’ll let you get settled. But don’t worry, I’ll be back tomorrow with the mixers, and we’ll have our first official ladies’ night.”
This strange little woman wraps her arms around me and squeezes the fuck out of my ribs, then she trots off on espadrilles that make my toes ache and shuts the front door behind her.
I’m not sure what I expected upon arriving here. Maybe screaming or crying. Maybe a confrontation, or at the very least an explanation from Cole.
Instead, I got a “nice to see ya, pal,” an aggressively awkward attempt at a bro-hug, and a new best friend literally one second after declaring myself a no-friend zone.
My phone buzzes in my hand, so I flop down onto the tiny two-person sofa, then groan when I see the group chat.
Juniper & Her Berries:
Fen has always had an affinity for group chat names. This one has been alive since I was fourteen.
Fen: Proof of arrival.
Fen: Picture sent.
Oh, God. He captured Cole’s awkward attempt at a hug. Cole looks broken, but I look like I always do—pissed off and planning someone’s demise. It’s something I’ve been working on. Today, I obviously failed.
Hudson: Awkward, but she didn’t gut him, so it’s progress.
Jesus. Maybe Cole and I haven’t been as stealthy in our friendship breakup as I thought.
Nolan: Junie. Check in.
Cole doesn’t respond. He never does. Not since he left.
Begrudgingly, I reply.
Junie: Alive. Arrived. Almost got taken out by a Jaws-wielding golf cart and an aggressive new “bestie,” but alive.
Nolan: And Cole?
I drop my phone face down onto the cushion next to me. I’m not answering that.
Through the front window, his porch light glows, steady and golden.
Where the lights are always on.
I don’t know if that’s a promise or a warning, but I guess I’m about to find out.