Chapter 3 #2
Having initially participated in the planning of my wedding before Momzilla and Queen Kong barged in, it’s not entirely new territory.
Although it’ll be a big load, considering I’m opening a salon, it could be free advertising.
Plus, Erica is a good friend and I’m not the kind of person who says no, well, except that one time when Miguel and I called off our wedding—saying no to the future we’d hoped for.
I tell her, “Maybe my mother can help. It’ll get her out of the house.”
“Actually, I already have an assistant for you.”
“Super. The more hands the better.” I’m guessing Shane has a sister or cousin.
But Erica shrinks slightly. “Actually, it’s Shane’s best man.”
I lift my latte to my lips. She wears an expression of apology and leans close like she’s preparing to tackle me if I put up a fight.
“Seriously. This is great. I’m so happy for you guys,” I say, poised to enjoy the last of my latte and not have it spill.
“It’s the best man,” Erica repeats.
Cup aloft, I look from left to right as if I’m missing something. “Right. Got it. We’ll taste the cake, order the flowers, do whatever you need to do.”
She clears her throat. “Shane’s best man, Mike—” From behind us in the café comes a clatter of falling dishware. I turn to see about the commotion.
Someone calls, “It’s okay! Nothing was hurt except my pride.”
Facing Erica, again, I pause on what she said. I don’t know Shane nearly as well as I do his bride-to-be, but I’m pretty sure his brother is named Steve and there’s no close friend named Mike.
Erica tenses and adds, “Mikey.”
It takes me a moment to place the name—not because it’s unfamiliar but because I’m desperate to cover the tattoo of those letters in my mind. Turns out there’s a very good reason she was hesitant.
I don’t choke on my latte. No, the warm liquid goes down cold as I realize who she means. The enemy of all enemies—not that I have many stacked up. However, my grip on the paper cup tells a different story.
“Seriously?” I ask.
“As serious as pumpkin pie.” She’s trying to lighten the mood because she knows I had a slice for breakfast, but no. This can’t be happening.
Miguel was a moron, a menace, a mega, mighty, massive mistake. Why can’t my brain can’t get past the letter M? I press my fist to my forehead and close my eyes because I know why ... I’m not over him.
When I open my eyes, Erica is frozen, gazing out the window, pale like she’s seen a ghost or made a grave error. I follow her line of sight. At that very moment, I spot him through the window of the Honey & Lavender Bakery and Coffee Shop.
“Juniper, please don’t be mad—”
I don’t hear the rest of what she says because my pulse roars in my ears.
Miguel, also known as Mikey, is tall and well-built, resembling a gladiator, with a physique reminiscent of one of the famous, larger-than-life statues in Italy.
He has a commanding presence and is cockier than a rooster—that’s what Mama says.
However, unlike polished marble, he’s swarthy with dark hair and eyes.
He wears jeans and a hoodie under a leather jacket, along with a hat, likely to remain somewhat incognito. As if.
The guy loves attention and brakes for it.
Yet, there is no denying Miguel Guiseppe Cruz is frustratingly, infuriatingly handsome as heads turn. My fists tighten as if by instinct. As if we’re at his early hockey games all over again, before that winter walk home that changed everything.
He could’ve been mine. He was until he ruined it all.
Don’t get whiplash, ladies. He won’t think twice about breaking your heart.
Even dudes appraise him as if in the presence of greatness. If they’re looking for loyalty, they won’t find it in him—he’s played for several different teams so far in his NHL career, if that says anything.
Our gazes meet and I hope he sees the lava-like heat in mine, burning him to a crisp.
“Please be on your best behavior,” Erica says, a plea in her voice.
“I’m not making any promises,” I mutter, getting to my feet and fortifying the battlements.
Shane walks in like a normal person, while Miguel saunters as if he knows everyone is watching him.
Also, like a normal human being, Shane is of average height, weight, and looks. He’s attractive in a standard way, unlike Miguel, who thinks he’s the best in show.
Yeah, he’s a dog, alright. No, he never cheated on me, but given what I’ve seen of him on social media in the company of various women, he’s taken his fourteen months of bachelorhood very seriously.
Of course, I look ... notice ... social media stalk him. Whatever. Not often. Occasionally. On Saturday nights, when nothing is going on and I’m home alone. I just want to make sure he’s as miserable as possible and not having the time of his life in exotic places during his off-season.
His gaze lands on me. If he’s surprised by this meeting, he doesn’t show it. His heavy-lidded gaze doesn’t widen. However, the smirk on his lips only deepens.
He stops a pace away from me, facing me, making us nearly toe to toe.
Tipping my head back, I look up and up some more.
No, I didn’t forget how tall he is, how broad his shoulders are, or how the way he wears his clothes teases me about how toned he is.
I haven’t gotten over how unfair it is that this guy is half-Italian like me, and a veritable giant.
While my maternal kinsfolk aren’t known for being overly genetically gifted in the height department, I got slotted with the short genes, never mind that I’m also half Russian with a lot of height in my paternal ancestry.
Erica and Shane exchange a loving embrace as if they’ve been apart for days rather than a few hours.
Be on my best behavior? Pfft.
Not breaking eye contact with Miguel, I say, “The enemy has arrived.”
He tilts his head to the side. “As charming as ever. It’s nice to see you, too, Junie.”
Like a cat that heard the rustle of the treat bag, Erica perks up and turns around. “Junie?”
“You didn’t hear that,” I mutter, not appreciating that Miguel still uses his nickname for me. I dropped his, chained to a cinderblock, into the East River.
Turning back to him, I ask, “By nice, you must think you’re still asleep because this is a nightmare.”
“You said it, not me.”
“Children, please,” Erica says, scolding us.
Shane sits down, and she joins him, holding hands.
Miguel and I turn slightly to face them. In the crowded café, we’re closer than I’d like to be, especially since he must’ve recently showered and smells like aftershave and ... I grit my teeth, not wanting to let myself think it. Fine. He smells like home. Familiar and comforting.
“Listen, guys, we know you two have a past, but we’re starting our future,” Shane begins tactfully, demonstrating that he’ll make a great father someday.
When I got out of line, mine pinched my ear to remind me to listen. Miguel’s pinched the back of his arm when he wouldn’t keep his hands to himself.
I hate that I know everything about him, even the contours of the tight muscles on the back of said arm, the tattoo with my name on it against a banner, and surrounded by roses. He probably had it covered up with a skull and crossbones.
Erica takes Shane’s hand, a united front. “Kids, we think this is going to be a really good learning and growing experience for you.”
I cut a glare at Miguel. “Kids? More like a baby who can grow a beard.”
His eyes crinkle at the corners like he’s amused and holding back laughter.
I don’t want him to think my comment is funny.
No, I want him to go crying home to mommy.
Never mind. She’d call my mother, and I’d face worse than a pinch on the ear.
Mama also went for the soft spot on the back of the arm when Asher and I would get out of line.
“Manners,” Erica hisses.
I cross my arms in front of my chest and roll my eyes. To his credit, Miguel seems nonplussed by this situation, as if this is just a regular Thursday. Meanwhile, I’m seething.
How could Erica do this to me?
Forget that, why would she think this is a good idea?
Then another question hops the turnstile.
“How will this work? He lives in St. Louis, last I checked.” My comment and complaint slow to a mumble because I don’t want Miguel to think that I’m keeping tabs on him or anything.
But they do say to keep your enemies close.
Maybe that’s why Mama and Carlotta Cruz lived in the same city for so long.
Shane nods as if he anticipated this and any other objections I have. “Right. Erica and I discussed our plans at length. Juniper, since you’re moving to my home state—Go Knights!” He pumps the air.
I expect Miguel to counter with the battle cry of his team du jour—in the three years of his career, he’s been in three different organizations. I’m about to hype the Kings, we’re in New York, after all.
However, Erica picks up where her fiancé left off.
“Shane has T-minus six weeks until his residency is over. Woot! Woot! But we’re stuck here until my program is done in December, making it hard for us to do the planning remotely.
See, Shane’s Gam-Gam can’t travel anymore and my family is all over the country, so they’d have to travel no matter where we host the wedding.
We figured it’s perfect because you’ll both be local. ”
The words bump into each other but refuse to fall in line. I say, “We’ll both be local? Have you looked at a map lately? Nebraska and Missouri aren’t exactly neighbors.”
Shane nods and smiles. “Actually, you will be. Well, maybe not technically, but in the same town.”
Erica jumps in, classic tag-team parenting style. “Juniper, with you moving to Nebraska, I don’t have too many ties left here. Because Shane’s family is there and we want our future children to grow up around family and with their cousins—”
“Wait, Junie, is moving to Nebraska?” Miguel asks “Mom and Dad” as if I’m not right here.
I flash him a dirty look. “Yes, and I’m opening a salon. Thanks for asking. No free haircuts on your birthday.”
Miguel blinks a few times as if processing the new information. “Shane, you didn’t mention this.”
Biting his teeth together, Shane says, “Oh, I didn’t? Could’ve sworn I said something ...”
“Could’ve been because you had your mouth full of cinnamon—”
Shane’s foot juts out and kicks Miguel’s leather boot.
He turns to me.
I hold up my hands. “I didn’t do it.”
Miguel lets out a hearty laugh as if piecing together what my brain refuses to compute. “Junie, you’re moving to Nebraska. I got traded to the Knights, so that means ...”
The comment takes a moment to catch up with me as it skates past his first team—the Kings—when we were still together. Then to the Cascades, pauses at the St. Louis Liberators ... and stops at the Nebraska Knights.
“This is news to me,” I say, having missed some sports news while preparing for my departure.
His voice is robotic when he says, “Yeah. Me too. Well, that we’ll both be in Nebraska.”
“Guys, Shane is finishing his residency. I’m wrapping up nursing school. We’re excited to have you share in our special day. Please set aside your differences and do this for us,” the bride-to-be says.
“We know you can make it work,” the groom-to-be adds.
The latte has me boiling over. I imagine steam coming out of my ears like on the espresso machine. My lips bunch up and a throaty laugh escapes because this must be an early Halloween trick.
Erica’s eyebrows pinch together. “Please play nice.”
“Miguel has never played nice a day in his life.”
He chuckles. “That’s but one of the things you loved about me.”
I scoff. “You wish.”
As if we’re two players at either end of an air hockey table, we pivot to face each other.
His gaze swings to mine. I toss my hair, doing anything I can to avoid locking eyes.
Sure, I can stare down strangers and creepers in this city, but I’ve never been able to resist this man, at least not since we ‘Broke the seal’ on that winter walk.
The corner of his lip hooks into a smile as if he’s reading me like a book. I glimpse his stupid, dimpled chin and my gaze travels up his defined jaw dotted with stubble to his full lips, and ... I lose when I meet his dark eyes, lined with thick lashes.
This is so unfair.
His jaw ticks as we have a staring contest. I shoot invisible fire darts his way. In return, I get his smolder that’s somehow icy. Or at least I want it to be because your girl Juniper could really stand to cool off right now.
However, the sweat isn’t from the latte. But I’d never admit he still makes me weak in the knees. Nor would I tell him that he’s right. Loved. Past tense. Ew. Gag. But it’s true that he never played nice and that was something I loved about him. A lot, actually.
But I am no longer in love with Miguel Cruz.
Much.
This is the guy who ruined love for me, who ruined our wedding. Now, I have to plan one for another couple with him.
Start digging the grave now because one of us isn’t going to survive this.