Chapter 4
Juniper
Closing time at Hudson’s is always the same.
Turn the chairs. Sweep. Mop. Count my tips, the till, the booze, the bottles. And after I’ve finished the entire checklist, go outside for a few minutes to take in the waves in the dark.
I’m already exhausted, and the long days aren’t going to stop until after New Year’s.
It’s just me closing most nights. Sometimes Jasmine stays behind to help, but usually, after Chester cleans up and clocks out around eleven, I’m there to kick the night owls out and close it down.
I don’t mind. I like having an hour to myself and being able to clean the way I want to—music on, no one talking to me. I can shut my mask off and breathe, reflect on any awkward interactions I had and try to remember all the things I thought of and said, “Let me make a mental note of that.”
They never stick.
On today’s list of awkward shit… Nick.
I wonder if he saw the drool on the corner of my lip when he first walked in. My friends didn’t let me live down the exchange all afternoon. I was half-hoping he’d show up at closing and ask me out again, but past experience is telling me that I’ll never see him again anyway.
Every summer one-night stand I’ve ever had resulted in the same.
I’m not complaining. A lot of them were well-equipped.
However after thirty-two years, I have to say, I’m tired of small talk.
I’m tired of having only enough of a conversation to not feel like I’m sleeping with a complete stranger.
I don’t know that I want a relationship, but I want to skip the beginning and go straight to the middle.
Tell me your deepest secrets and the worst thing that ever happened to you. I’ll tell you mine, and we can fuck after until we forget about it all.
Pack circles around me and nudges my hand, her signal that she’s ready to go home and eat her dinner, then cozy on the end of the bed. She doesn’t sleep much at the bar, always alert and looking around for anyone offering scraps.
“Let’s go home,” I tell her.
We go back through the bar, and I make sure to lock everything up and turn off most of the lights. I don’t like leaving things in the pitch-dark. Not that I think a serial killer or one of the stupid twins is going to jump out of the shadows, it’s just eerie as fuck.
Except now that I’m thinking about getting kidnapped in the shadows, I leave an extra light on.
Would it be so bad, though?
Marge is in my head again.
My house is only a few streets over, and well-lit until we get off the main road. We walk to the stoplight a block up to cross the road and up a couple more streets, then turn left onto Fifteenth.
Oak trees cascade over the road, cutting through the moonlight overhead.
It’s a good thing most of the houses on this road leave their outside lights on, especially this time of year.
Holiday decorations and lights make the neighborhood look so magical.
Some nights, I walk a little longer just to take in the cheer.
There are a few people who entered into the Christmas display competition, and their spectacles always make me smile when I walk by.
And then there’s my house.
An old blue and brown mobile home, large screened-in porch barely hanging on still in the front. I have lights around the porch and my windows, along with a blown-up Santa in the front that Pack hates. She tries to bite its feet every time we go out, and tonight is no different.
I let her off the leash so she can put that blow-up Santa in his place and ascend the rickety steps to the open screen door, and finally, to my locked door. I kick my shoes off before slipping the key into the lock and leave the boots on the porch.
My cat, Oreo, is laying on the top of the cat tree by the entrance and swats at my hair when I walk in. Pack bursts in behind me with the zoomies, immediately jumping at Oreo, and I leave the pair to their nightly battle as I slip into the small kitchen, tossing my phone onto the couch.
I’m too tired to do anything except put a box of pizza rolls in the toaster oven.
I take my bra and leggings off as I turn the television on, closing the toaster oven door after. Oreo jumps onto the counter to get away from Pack and sits majestically at the edge like she’s a queen looking down upon her subject. Pack whines at the long-haired tuxedo, and I have to laugh at them.
As my food heats, I pour myself a glass of wine and choose a movie—Jack Frost.
Because apparently I feel like I need a good cry.
A few minutes after the opening movie credits begin, the toaster oven timer dings, and, weirdly, so does my phone.
No one ever texts me after work.
It’s probably a spam text, or one of the marketing messages from some company I’ve signed up to get alerts from. A holiday sale for people who stay up late shopping online for things they don’t need.
Something I do more often than I should.
I keep glancing at the device across the room while I take the pizza rolls out, bewildered by the fact that someone is texting me this late.
I toss the piping hot rolls onto a paper plate, grab my drink, my water tumbler, and hot cider from the microwave, then steadily make my way around the counter to the couch.
Oreo jumps across the space and walks on the back of the couch, and Pack jumps into her bed at the end to make sure the cat doesn’t reach it first.
Their playful rivalry always makes me chuckle.
My phone dings with the reminder that I have a message waiting, and I carefully place my drinks down, pull the coffee table toward the couch, and get comfy under my blanket before picking up the device.
Comfort first.
UNKNOWN
Hi
I frown and turn my phone back over, shaking my head. Got my curiosity peaked for nothing. High on the list of things I would never do is answer the phone for a number I don’t know—especially a text message. There are way too many weirdos and scammers dialing random numbers these days.
I grab the remote and turn the movie up, settling back into the couch so I can enjoy my dinner.
Except my phone dings again.
This time I huff.
Who the hell is—
UNKNOWN
Juniper, it’s Nick.
Oh.
Oh.
Oh shit.
I set my plate down beside me and stare at the screen for a beat. How…
UNKNOWN
Is it too late?
I pop a roll into my mouth and immediately regret it. It burns the roof of my mouth, but I’m no quitter. I hashshhashshshs chew that roll until I can’t feel my tongue, then swallow. Heat burns my throat, and I can feel the warmth in my stomach when it goes down.
Drink.
Wipe my hands.
Pick up the phone.
Hey.
Danielle gave me your number.
I hope that’s okay.
Figures.
I knew it had to be her or Jasmine.
They’re adorable together, and I love them, but damn this is the fourth guy they’ve tried to set me up with in the last year.
You could have asked.
You were too distracting.
I forgot and didn’t want to look too desperate by going back inside.
I kind of like desperate.
Shows initiative.
Noted.
So, what are you doing up this late? Are you a night owl?
I actually enjoy sunrises. Darkness is unpredictable.
And daylight isn’t?
I like the predictability of the sun. The moon invites tides, phases, and chaos. Every night is uncertain.
I stare at the phone for a few seconds, debating what to say.
I didn’t peg you as a rule follower.
I’m not.
But I do ask there to be a little order to the chaos.
Then I would argue the moon is a perfect example of that. We know the phases and tides. The only unpredictability is its effect on human behavior.
You’ve given me something to think about, Juniper.
I relax my head against the couch as Pack nudges her nose under my arm, looking for a piece of pizza roll. Are we really discussing the moon right now? Is this real—is he real?
Does this usually work? Talking about the moon and tides?
Work for what?
Nick, I think we both know what we’re doing here.
I don’t.
It’s just you trying to get me into bed. Or across a table at the very least.
A table doesn’t seem very romantic.
Who said anything about romance?
The phone rings before I can take another sip of my drink. My heart skips a little as I see that he’s requested a video chat. Shit. I look like hell. I tap the audio only option and lay the phone on the arm of the couch.
Nick’s face appears on the screen, and I can’t help the blush on my cheeks upon seeing him. It looks like he’s walking somewhere, lights flickering across his face, wind billowing his hair around his eyes.
“That’s not fair. I wanted to see you,” he says.
“What’s not fair is that you apparently look like you do all the time, and right now, I look like I was put through the dryer on high,” I reply.
He smiles. “I doubt that.”
“Where are you?” I ask.
“I’m not entirely sure. Around town. I couldn’t sleep. When I can’t sleep, I walk. Did you just get home?”
“Right before you texted.”
“If you’re trying to go to sleep, I can—”
“No, it’s fine,” I say quickly. “It usually takes me a while to wind down.”
Nick stops walking at what looks to be a stoplight, the street lights illuminating him. “Are you watching a movie?” he asks.
“Jack Frost,” I answer.
He wrinkles his nose. “That movie is so sad.”
“I like sad movies. They’re comforting.”
“We might have to have a conversation about the things you consider comforting.”
“What if I said I was watching a Krampus slasher film as a nighttime treat instead?”
His lip flickers upward. “Those movies put me to sleep.”
“Same, actually. Maybe you should come over. We’ll watch one and both of us can get some sleep.”
It’s a shot in the dark, and maybe too soon.
I just need to know where he is so I have time to freshen up.
He chuckles as he steps into the street to cross it. “I highly doubt I’d get any sleeping done with you.”
He’s not wrong.
“No? Why?”
He glances at the screen, hitting the curb on the other side of the road. “What was that you were just talking about before? A table?”
“Obviously the sleep would come after that.”
Nick doesn’t say anything for a beat. The playfulness in his expression wanes slowly, like someone is draining it, and the sight knots my stomach.
“I can’t come over tonight,” he finally says, eyes serious.
Fuck.
It was too soon.
Or maybe I’m reading this whole situation wrong.
“Why?”
I sound way more desperate than I should.
There’s a pause on the other end of the line, long enough that I pick up the phone to make sure the video hasn’t frozen, and when I do, I accidentally tap the camera option.
Shit.
God, he’s really going to think I’m really eager now.
Hang up. Hang up.
Only, his eyes light up so much when my face flashes across the screen that it pauses me. His previous serious look is entirely gone, and he’s smiling in a way that makes me shift in the seat, chest heating.
No one’s ever looked at me like that.
“There you are, angel,” he says.
A visible, jagged breath leaves me. I’d wonder why the air in my house is so cold that I can see my breath, except I realize I forgot to turn my heater on when I came inside.
“Hi,” I manage.
It’s too late to turn the video off now, especially with the way he’s regarding me.
A nervous laugh leaves him, and I swear there’s a blush on his cheeks too. “I didn’t think you’d let me see you tonight.”
“I literally just told you to come over,” I say, though my voice feels like it’s sticking.
“That’s really fucking tempting,” he says under his breath. “You… God, that’s tempting.”
I sit up further in the seat, leaned over and waiting on him to say yes. “What’s stopping you?”
Nick doesn’t speak for a few seconds. I can see the street lights drifting further and further behind him, like he’s walking into the dark area of the park by the beach.
His face disappears into the shadows, and all I can see is a soft illumination of the screen against his skin.
It makes his eyes look black, his bone structure sharper, and I swear there’s a glimmer of something long in his hair.
“I said something about romance. I want to romance you,” he says.
The screen darkens, and I have to clear my throat. “Something tells me your brand of romance isn’t tiny chocolates and roses.”
He chuckles, and even though he’s on the phone, I feel it radiate down my spine. With his face suddenly hidden, his voice feels like it’s in the room with me. Like I can feel a heated hand on my neck, a breeze across my bare knees.
“Chocolates and roses are on my list, just not in the way you’re thinking.”
“And the table?” I ask.
“If you want the table, baby, I’ll make you my feast.”
My thighs are already squeezing at the fantasy of him looking up at me from between my legs, his tongue flicking my clit. God help, if he can’t find it, I’m giving up sex entirely. I’m done with losers who talk a lot of game, but don’t know how women’s bodies work.
Still, I’m holding onto faith for this one.
“But not tonight,” he adds, voice hoarse.
Fuck.
Nick laughs softly, and I realize I said that out loud.
“I mean… Oh. Okay,” I say, wincing at my own embarrassment.
The screen stays dark. I gulp the longer he stays quiet on the other end. My chest is beginning to tighten, lump rising in my throat. I’m a ticking time bomb, ready to combust out of uncertainty waiting on him to say something—anything.
“Can I see you tomorrow?” he finally asks.
“Yes,” I breathe in relief.
“Goodnight, Juniper.”
“Night.”