Chapter Eight
Elias
The room is still dark when I wake, the sound of rain tapping softly against the window. Juniper’s warm body is curled against mine, her leg tangled over my thigh, her arm across my chest. I can feel the even rise and fall of her breath, her skin soft where it brushes mine.
I shouldn’t touch her. I shouldn’t hold her like this, but I can’t bring myself to move. Last night wasn’t supposed to happen. Not again.
It wasn’t the plan. What happened last night wasn’t fake. It was everything I’ve been trying to pretend I don’t want. Her skin. Her laugh. The way she looks at me like I’m not broken.
She shifts in her sleep, her hand splaying over my chest, and I swear my heart thunders like she can feel it.
I drag a hand down my face, trying to ground myself. It doesn’t work. Everything about her is in my head—her voice, her curves, her scent still lingering on my skin.
She’s not the problem. I am.
I ease out of bed, careful not to wake her, and pull on jeans and a t-shirt. The cabin is quiet, except for the wind pressing against the glass. I move through the house on autopilot, stepping into the kitchen, needing space.
I stare out the window, arms braced on the sink. What the hell am I doing? This was supposed to be about Wren. About keeping her out of the system and giving her a stable place to live. Not dragging Juniper into my mess.
She deserves more than that. I hear her footsteps a few minutes later—barefoot on the creaky floorboards.
“Morning,” she says softly.
I turn. She’s wearing one of my flannels, oversized and hitting mid-thigh. Her hair is still damp, skin flushed, lips pink. She looks like a dream.
“Coffee?” she asks.
I nod, and she moves to the cabinet like she’s lived here for years. The silence stretches as she fills the kettle and scoops grounds into the press.
I force myself to speak. “Last night can’t happen again.”
She doesn’t flinch. Just nods, lips pressed tight.
“This marriage is for Wren. Nothing’s changed.”
Except everything has.
She sets the mug down with a soft clink. “Right.”
Her voice is light, but I know I’ve hurt her. Before I can say another word, Wren walks into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. She pauses, glancing between us.
Her brow arches.
Juniper doesn’t miss a beat. “Morning! Hope you like cinnamon rolls. I made them last night.”
She gestures to the covered pan on the counter.
Wren blinks. “You bake?”
Juniper grins. “I’m a woman of many talents. Cinnamon rolls are just one of my superpowers.”
Wren snorts, but her lips twitch. She grabs a plate and helps herself.
I watch the two of them from the doorway, feeling like a stranger in my own home. Except… it doesn’t feel like mine anymore. It feels like ours. The kitchen smells like cinnamon and sugar. There’s laughter. All I can think is how right it feels.
Later that afternoon, I’m finishing the living room build when Wren wanders in, sketchbook tucked under her arm.
“Need help?” she asks.
I pause. “Sure.”
She puts the sketchbook down and picks up the other end of the beam I’m bracing. She’s strong for her age. She looks so much like her mother. I swallow that thought.
We work in quiet, the rhythmic thump of the hammer filling the space.
“Juniper’s cool,” she says suddenly.
I grunt. “Yeah.”
“She’s weird. In a good way.”
I glance at her, and she shrugs.
“She leaves notes in my sketchbook. Little quotes and stuff. Also, she doesn’t freak out when I’m quiet.”
I nod again, throat tight. “She makes this place feel less empty.”
I don’t know what to say to that, because she’s right. Juniper filled every room the moment she walked through the door.
Later that night, I find Juniper on the porch, curled up under a blanket, sipping something from a mug. She doesn’t look at me as I sit beside her.
“I owe you an apology,” I say quietly.
She doesn’t speak.
“I said it was fake. That it was just for Wren, I said it because I’m scared.”
Now she turns. “Of what?”
“Of how real it feels.”
She blinks. “You don’t have to be scared of me, Elias.”
I reach over and take the mug from her hand, setting it aside. My fingers curl around hers.
“I’m not. Not anymore.”
Her eyes search mine, and I let her see it. The want and the need. The beginning of something I can’t name.
She leans in first, and when I kiss her, it’s not rushed. It’s not angry. It’s the promise of something more. Something real.
She shifts in closer, curling into my side, it’s as if the world tilts into place. The quiet certainty that this life, this home, this woman beside me—it’s not pretend anymore. It never really was.
I hold her until her breathing deepens, until the mug of tea grows cold between our feet. Until the stars blink awake above the trees, and I let myself believe, just for tonight, that maybe I haven’t ruined everything.
Maybe I still have a chance to build something good, not just for Wren, but for all three of us.