6. A Proclivity for Petty #2
By the second commercial break, Junie has redesigned the scoring matrix on the back of four scorecards and is in an animated debate with Katie about whether the lead is emotionally constipated or protectively stoic. It’s hitting a little too close to home.
“Emotionally constipated, obviously,” Katie insists. “The man hasn’t expressed a single genuine feeling in four episodes.”
“I’m seeing protectively stoic,” Junie fires back, gesturing with a too-full wineglass that sloshes rosé dangerously close to Dollie’s cookie tin.
“He’s not withholding because he doesn’t feel things.
He’s withholding because he feels too much and doesn’t know what to do with it.
He’s a protector. A fixer. Those guys don’t talk about their feelings. ”
My beer stops halfway to my mouth.
Is she talking about me?
I set my beer down because my hands caught a tremor I can’t hide.
Bea, who has said nothing all evening, catches my eye from across the room. Her look says a thousand words that all relay the same message: I see what’s happening here. Do you?
I busy myself by tossing an empty wine bottle, but my focus snaps to attention when Dollie mentions the cocktail party dress code and Junie laughs.
She…laughs.
Not the sharp, controlled one she parcels out like a woman on a budget. This one escaped her defenses. It’s loud and startled and immediate. She claps her hand over her mouth as though she can shove it back in.
But it’s too late.
I heard it.
The sound hits me somewhere I wasn’t braced for. Which is every-fucking-where. That’s the problem with Junie—she doesn’t aim, but she never misses.
Katie turns to me with a saccharine smile that’s pure vindication. “Smiling. Again,” she mouths, then taps something into her phone.
I’ll talk to Katie later about whatever data she’s collecting. But not tonight. Tonight, I’m too busy memorizing the exact pitch of a sound I thought I’d never hear again.
The S&S members return to their debate, but Junie’s posture has changed, and I’m cataloguing that too.
Her arms are uncrossed. She’s leaning forward.
Several minutes into the second episode, Stanley refills her glass without being asked, and she takes it without breaking eye contact with the screen because she’s smiling.
It’s sweet and unguarded.
And it makes me forget all reason.
As stealthily as possible, I capture the moment on my phone and send a message before I can talk myself out of it.
Fen & Tonic:
Cole: Picture sent.
I hadn’t noticed until just now, but while Junie stares at the screen, Dollie’s staring at Junie and Katie’s staring at…me with a smirk that says gotcha.
Shit.
Fen: Holy fuck.
Hudson: She’s…
Hudson: Smiling.
Fen: How does that make you feel, Cole?
Goddamn it. That was a mistake. I blame the second beer I downed after seeing her in action.
What the fuck will Nolan think?
He doesn’t make me wait long. Even with the time difference, Nolan always responds to our group chat. Especially when it concerns his sister.
Nolan: Thank you, Cole.
Jesus. For what? For creeping on his sister? For capturing her smile? For not fucking touching her? For loving her?
“Chris is a narcissist,” Junie shouts at the TV, and I drop my phone into my back pocket.
But the damage is done. My control is slipping, and it’s only a matter of time before the whole world knows it.
“She’s giving main character energy.” Katie laughs with Dollie. “Delightfully feral.” She nods to Junie, sitting between them, up on her knees with a fist raised at the television.
And for once, I don’t disagree with Katie.
The clubhouse empties slowly. Stanley offers Junie a ride home in his golf cart, which she declines with more grace than I expected after he chased her into town.
“I’ll schedule a scoring methodology review session for Saturday,” Marley says, clutching Junie’s scoring matrix like it’s a sacred text.
“Ah, sure,” Junie replies. “Why not?” The two glasses of wine must have gone to her head. There wasn’t an ounce of spite or sass in her reply.
The walk back to my property takes less than five minutes, but I’m halfway across my yard before I realize she didn’t break off toward her apartment—she’s heading to my porch.
I slow my pace to match hers.
She sits on the top step without an invitation—it’s not as though she’s ever needed one—but this feels…intentional. Junie tucks her feet under her, just as she used to do in Boston, and doesn’t say a word.
I hesitate at the base of the stairs, then take a seat two steps below her. Not beside her. I never sit beside her. Distance is the only rule I seem to be able to follow in her presence.
The lanterns frame us in amber light, and the night sounds of The Haven mingle with the gentle waves of the ocean a hundred yards away.
The silence should be uncomfortable. With anyone else, it would be.
“They’re…insane,” she says finally. There’s no bite in it though, and I smother a smile.
“Completely.”
“That scoring system had so many structural flaws, I don’t even know where to begin.”
I relax my fists in my lap. “Whatever you did on that scorecard seems like a good start. I’m pretty sure Marley’s going home to laminate it.”
She drops her feet to the stair I’m sitting on, bumping my shoulder on the way down. Glancing back at her, I find the corner of her lips tilting up. Not a full smile, but a crack in the foundation. “Katie asked me to come back on Monday for the other show they watch.”
“What did you say?”
She picks at a thread on her sweatshirt. “I said maybe.”
From Junie, that’s a yes. She just doesn’t know it yet.
“Careful what you agree to,” I say playfully. “They’re known to have four shows going at any given time.”
It’s time to go inside. Pour myself a drink and lock myself away in my upstairs office to work on something that doesn’t cause this heartburn. But the quiet between us is the kind that used to make her talk, and I’m selfish for wanting it now.
“What were you working on earlier?” she finally asks. “Upstairs? Before S&S. I—your light was on.”
Using more pressure than necessary, I grip the back of my neck.
“Just…designs.” Designs I’d love to show you but you’ll never get to see.
“Designs for what?”
Distract and deflect. It’s the right thing to do, but she has her guard down for the first time since she got here, and it makes me want to offer her something in return.
“A community garden,” I say. It’s not a lie—it’s just not the full truth. “For The Haven. I’ve been working on it for a while. Raised beds, accessible pathways, a greenhouse for Frank because he’s been asking for one since they moved in.”
She slides away from me, and the tendons in my neck tighten. When I meet her gaze, swallowing becomes a futile task. There’s something in her expression, or maybe it’s the absence of the thing she’s been using to keep me at arm’s length.
“You’re still designing?”
Crack! The lock around my heart splinters.
There’s just so much she doesn’t know.
“It’s what I do,” I mutter with a shrug that feels anything but casual.
“I remember.” Her voice is quieter now. “I used to watch you at three in the morning at home with graph paper littering the kitchen table. I was always in…awe. Before you, I didn’t know anyone could see things that weren’t there yet and make them real.”
The air between us thickens. My lungs forget their entire purpose.
“Will you show me? What you’re working on now?”