Chapter 8
Jason
The drive back to Juniper Bluff should have been peaceful.
But mostly, all I could think about was Brent's face in the parking lot. The way he'd kissed me goodbye like he was memorizing the feeling. The hollow space spreading through my chest as I'd watched him walk away, shoulders hunched against the falling snow.
As I drove into town, the houses along the road had gone full Christmas—inflatable Santas competing with light-up reindeer, one ambitious display featuring an entire nativity scene complete with spotlights. Every mailbox wore a wreath. Every porch had luminarias waiting for nightfall.
My phone buzzed in the cupholder. I glanced down—Garrett again. He'd been texting periodically since I'd left the retreat, checking in with increasing frequency as I got closer to home.
ETA? We're all at The Perch waiting for you.
I smiled despite the exhaustion. Of course they were. My family couldn't just let me arrive home quietly and decompress. They needed the full debrief immediately.
10 minutes. Don't start the interrogation without me.
No promises. Finn's already making theories about why you've been so quiet all week.
I crossed into Juniper Bluff proper as the sun kissed the mountain peaks.
Main Street was a Christmas card come to life—white lights spiraled up every lamppost, wreaths hung from every storefront, and the town's massive blue spruce stood in the square, absolutely dripping with enough lights to be seen from the next county.
Someone had added a new inflatable snowman family to the display outside the hardware store since I'd left.
Home.
Except it felt different somehow. Like I'd left as one person and come back as someone else entirely. Someone who'd been seen—really seen—and hadn't shattered from it.
I parked in my usual spot behind the library—the staff lot empty on Sunday evening.
Through The Perch's front windows across the street, I could see them all gathered at our corner table.
Garrett with his apron on, gesturing animatedly.
Finn's bulk unmistakable even from here, probably wearing one of his perpetual flannels.
Micah leaning forward, saying something that made the others laugh.
My phone buzzed. Brent: Just boarded. Miss you already.
My throat went tight. Miss you too. About to face the inquisition.
Good luck. Tell them I said hi. And that I'm very serious about you.
Warmth spread through my chest, pushing back some of the hollow. I will. Fly safe.
I grabbed my bag from the trunk—cold metal stinging my fingers—and headed across the street. The temperature had dropped with the sun, my breath fogging in front of me. Somewhere nearby, someone was burning wood, the smoke mixing with the scent of snow and pine.
The moment I pushed through The Perch's door, conversation stopped. Three pairs of eyes turned to me with varying degrees of curiosity and concern.
Inside, the coffee shop smelled like cinnamon and espresso and gingerbread.
Garland framed the counter, and someone had hung mistletoe over the pickup station—a running joke Garrett threatened to remove daily but never did.
A small Christmas tree stood in the corner by the bookshelf, decorated entirely with coffee-themed ornaments.
"He lives!" Finn stood from the corner table—our table, the one with the worn leather chairs and the view of Main Street. He pulled me into a brief, gruff hug that smelled like pine sap and wood smoke. "We were starting to think you'd been kidnapped by mountain writers."
"Close," I said, my voice rougher than I expected. "Just spent a week writing."
"Uh huh." Garrett appeared next, pulling me into his own hug. He smelled like coffee and the cardamom he'd been experimenting with lately. His dark eyes searched my face as he held on a beat longer than usual. "You okay?" he asked quietly, too low for the others to hear.
"Yeah." I meant it. "Really okay."
Micah stood last, his silver-gray sweater making his eyes look even more impossibly kind.
He hugged me without words, just squeezed my shoulder and nodded toward the table where a large coffee waited—exactly how I liked it, because Garrett was constitutionally incapable of not taking care of people.
We settled around the scarred wooden table. Garrett had what looked like some elaborate peppermint situation with far too much whipped cream. Finn nursed a plain black coffee in a mug the size of a soup bowl. Micah's tea smelled like chamomile and honey.
The normalcy of it loosened something in my chest. This. This was home too.
"So," Micah said, his voice gentle but curious. "How was it?"
"It was..." I wrapped both hands around my mug, letting the heat seep into my cold fingers. "It was amazing. The workshops were incredible. I learned so much about craft and structure. And I wrote—actually wrote—almost fifteen thousand words."
"That's fantastic!" Garrett said. "What about?"
Heat climbed my neck. "Different things. Some revisions on my manuscript. Some new pieces. Experimenting."
"And?" Finn leaned forward, his flannel—green and black check today—stretching across his broad shoulders. "What about B.L. Cross? You've barely mentioned him all week except to say he was your roommate."
"His name is Brent," I said quietly, studying my coffee. "And he was... generous with his feedback. Really helpful."
"Helpful," Finn repeated, his tone suggesting he heard everything I wasn't saying. "That's one word for it."
I looked up to find all three of them watching me. Garrett with his knowing smile. Finn with his protective-older-brother suspicion. Micah with his quiet, perceptive patience.
These were my people. They knew me too well for me to hide anything significant. And I didn't want to hide this. Not anymore.
"Okay," I said, setting down my mug before I strangled it. "So there's something you should know."
The table went very still. Even the espresso machine seemed to quiet.
"I kind of... we kind of..." I took a breath, forced myself to meet Garrett's eyes. "Brent and I. We're seeing each other. Dating. I don't know what to call it exactly, but it's real."
Silence. Then Finn let out a low whistle. "Well. That's not what I expected."
"Jason Foster," Garrett said slowly, leaning back in his chair. "Dating a bestselling author."
"Brent," I corrected, probably too quickly. "And yes. It just... happened. We were roommates and we started talking about writing, and then we were talking about everything, and then..." I trailed off, not sure how to explain falling for someone in seven days without sounding completely unhinged.
"And then you fell for each other," Micah finished softly. "The way people do."
I looked at him gratefully. "Yeah. Like that."
"But he lives in New York," Finn pointed out, ever the practical one. His coffee mug looked like a thimble in his work-rough hands. "And you live here. How does that work?"
"We're figuring it out." I wrapped both hands around my mug again, needing something to hold onto. "I might go visit for a weekend of he might come here. To visit. To meet you all properly and see the town and..." I swallowed. "And see if he can picture it."
"Picture what?" Garrett asked, though his expression said he already knew.
"Living here. Maybe. Eventually." The words felt huge saying them out loud, like they might tip the earth off its axis.
"He's not completely happy in New York anymore.
Hasn't been for a while. And this week, being at the retreat, working on his writing without all the pressure and the industry bullshit.
.. he remembered why he started writing in the first place. "
"And that involves you," Finn said. It wasn't a question.
"Yeah." I met his eyes, refusing to flinch. "It involves me."
Garrett was watching me with that intense look he got when he was trying to read someone, the one that made people confess things they hadn't planned to say. "Are you happy?"
The question cracked something open. "Terrified," I admitted. My hands shook slightly around the mug. "But yeah. Really happy."
His expression softened immediately, his whole face transforming. "Then we're happy for you."
"Even though it's complicated?" I asked. "Even though he's kind of famous and lives across the country and this might blow up in my face spectacularly?"
"Especially because it's complicated," Micah said quietly, wrapping his hands around his tea. "The best things usually are."
I looked around the table at these three men who'd become my family.
Who'd supported me when I'd moved here two years ago, knowing no one, searching for a life that would fit me better.
Who'd shown up at the library to practically push me toward the retreat because they knew I needed it.
Who sat here now, ready to catch me if I fell.
"I want it to work," I said quietly. "So much."
"Then we'll help make sure it does," Garrett said firmly, his voice taking on that fierce edge he got when he decided someone was under his protection.
"When he comes to visit, we'll show him why Juniper Bluff is special.
We'll welcome him. And if it doesn't work out—" his expression turned almost dangerous "—then we'll be here for that too. "
"Thank you." My voice came out rough. "I don't know what I did to deserve you all."
"Showed up," Finn said simply. "And stayed. That's enough."
Garrett raised his ridiculous peppermint concoction. "To Jason. And his fancy famous boyfriend who'd better treat him right or answer to us."
"He's not famous here," I protested, even as I was laughing and raising my own mug. "He's just Brent."
"Good," Finn said, his mug clinking against mine. "That's exactly how it should be."