Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Junie and Margo head down the street to the hardware store to grab some more supplies, likely gabbing about our exchange the entire time.
As soon as they’re out of earshot, Grady, one of the guys on the team, asks, “Who’s the hater?”
I blink a few times, and Junie’s vibrant brown eyes that see everything somehow still in my line of vision. Her voice in my head. Her almond and orange blossom scent in my nose. I shouldn’t want her, I know better, but here we are.
Pierre says, “He has that glazed look.”
“You’re right. Unfortunately, it’s one I’m familiar with,” Grady adds.
Redd scoffs. “Don’t let Coach find out.”
“If Cruz is on our team, he already did. The sneaky Cupid,” comes another voice from my haze—Hayden possibly.
I have no idea what they’re talking about, only who. Junie wasn’t my first kiss. But she was my best kiss. The only one I want to kiss.
“This is going to be a hair salon?” Redd asks.
My hand drifts to my hair. I haven’t had a cut since Junie last took her scissors to it almost a year and a half ago, and it’s gotten long.
“From what I’ve heard, she’s right. You made yourself a real ladies’ man,” Pierre says.
Redd adds, “Trying to get her out of your system?”
Surfacing from my thoughts, I tell them, “We were rivals. I was best friends with her twin brother. Grew up teasing her while she always tried to keep up with the boys and prove herself.”
Grady says, “Looks like you’re the one who needs to prove himself.”
I’m not sure if he’s talking about proving myself to Junie or on the ice. Both?
I’ve never cared much about first impressions because usually, my older brothers did the dirty work for me—for better or worse.
But I’m not sure what my new team makes of what I lovingly refer to as the Popovik-Cruz Four-Hundred Twenty-Five-Day War.
Yes, I’m counting the days since we walked away from forever.
But they don’t bring it up again. Not when Junie and Margo return with cold drinks for everyone.
They also bring some cinnamon rolls and other pastries.
I wonder if Shane confessed his cinnamon bun addiction to Erica.
There are probably some things I should come clean to Junie about, but my mouth remains closed for the rest of the day.
I won’t give in to temptation. Not even when it’s right in front of my face.
The next day, after a team workout, Pop announces that he and Joey are headed to the salon. Word travels fast, but fiber optic cable has nothing on the Momzilla and Queen Kong wire. Even though I’ve already broken a sweat today, that’s my father’s way of volun-telling me that I’m going to help.
Together, we made quick work of knocking the interior of this place down to the studs, hauling out all the soggy drywall, revealing a hardwood floor, and exposing some wiring that needs updating.
Ma and Mrs. Popovik appear with coffee and cookies from the Busy Bee Bakery—same place as yesterday and I have to say I’m a fan. Knowing them, they probably tried to upstage the owner and each other.
All the while, I notice how Junie tosses her hair, tips her head back when she laughs, and scowls at me out of the corner of her eye.
Eventually, Pop’s work lights fend off dusk as I sweep up the last of the dust from the floor of Junie’s new salon. Granted, it’s little more than a husk, but at least now she has a space to build her dream upon.
A few of the guys from the team drift in to check on our progress. They invite us to head over to the local pub when we’re done.
Everyone clears out, some heading to O’Neely’s Fish Bowl and others to Spaglietti’s—Grady claims they have the best pizza on the planet. I’ll be the judge of that.
Junie appears from behind the bathroom door, arms lifted in the air in surrender. Her twisted expression makes me want to chuckle.
I hold back, instead saying, “Saved the worst for last?”
She looks around the now-empty space and replies, “You might say that.”
“Don’t be angry that we made two days’ work out of what would’ve taken you at least a week, if not more. You could say thank you.”
She grunts. “I owe them big.”
“What about me?”
She looks up at me with those big brown eyes as if measuring who owes whom.
“Looks like Momzilla and Queen Kong picked up where they left off,” I say.
“They had a close encounter with Nancy Linderberg, a standard poodle disguised as a woman who should not parade around town. She’s an anti-welcoming committee. That prompted the moms to form an alliance.”
I chuckle and have hope that maybe things will work out here in Cobbiton after all.
Jaw set, she says, “But we won’t be.”
“Junie, let’s drop the temperature a bit.”
“Shouldn’t be hard to do, considering you’re a hockey player.”
“That used to be one of your favorite things about me.”
And this is where the conversation could get complicated. Thankfully, I get an assist from my cell phone. It’s a message from Shane, telling me that Erica asked me to check on Juniper since she’s not answering her phone.
I tap to call him. “I’ve got eyes on her.”
Junie’s brow furrows, only privy to my half of the conversation.
Through the phone’s speaker, Erica hollers, “Is she okay? I haven’t heard from her all day. I’ve texted and called.”
“My phone died,” Junie says.
“Our first pick catering company had a last-minute cancellation, but they’ll only hold our spot if you bring them a deposit. I sent you a PayBuddy, but they want a check, so if you don’t mind writing one, the payment I sent you will cover it.”
“We got this,” I say.
Junie’s face squishes up as if she’s preparing to take a swing. I back up a little.
Erica, delighted, says, “Thank you, guys. You’re the best.”
Shane adds, “Rae of Bite has the best dishes for the money. My cousin had them cater their wedding a few years ago.”
“They’re expecting you at six thirty for a tasting.”
Shane says, “Make sure you try the Santa Maria Style Tri-tips. Chef’s kiss.”
Erica says, “Okay, gotta get back to class. Love you.” Through the phone comes the sound of them exchanging a kiss and then the line goes quiet.
Junie rolls her eyes.
“Oh, come on. They’re adorable. In love.”
She mutters something that sounds an awful lot like Ew barf.
“I have to go feed Burt. Let’s go.”
Of course, Junie doesn’t move. “Burt?”
“Yeah. I don’t want to let Shane down, so let’s not be late.”
“I can meet you at Rae of Bite or whatever.” Junie turns in a slow circle as if hoping to find one more task to do, but the salon space is a contractor’s dream, ready for a build-out.
And this woman is a dream I’ve tried to convince myself I don’t have—angsty comments and all.
Am I a sucker? I hope not.
Do I believe we can figure things out? Maybe.
Will I try? I don’t have anything else to lose.
“Looks like you have a big expense ahead of you. We’ll carpool. Save on gas,” I say, edging toward the door.
With a huffy sigh, she follows as if eager for some fresh air, then protests. “I’m filthy from cleaning.”
“My car has seen plenty of post-practice hockey player sweat.”
Unlike the rest of the guys on the team who drive trucks, I have a Maserati, which is slightly less flashy than a Ferrari or a Lamborghini, but equally fun to drive.
What can I say? It’s in the blood. It was my first gift to myself when I signed with the NHL.
I open the passenger side door for Junie.
She gestures to herself and her clothing. “Sweat is different than grime.”
I don’t have X-ray vision, but I definitely see past the dirt. “I think I can handle it.”
“But can you handle a car ride with me?” she counters.
“I’ll manage.”
“But—” She starts to protest.
“Junie, can we not fight about one thing?”
“One thing. Fine. This will be the one thing we won’t fight about.” She gets into the passenger seat with a grumble.
Closing the door, I let out a sigh and round to the driver’s side, checking the time. I shoot my brother a quick text about Burt.
The car ride is laced tight with tension. She doesn’t say a word until we pull up to Rae of Bite Catering Company, housed in a whitewashed building with dark trim and a movable feast mural on the wall.
My stomach rumbles. “Just in time for some samples.”
“Please be on your best behavior.” Her stomach makes a hungry sound.
“Me? I always am. Don’t bite anyone’s head off.”
“Why would I—?”
“We both know what happens when we get hangry.”
“Let’s get this over with,” she says, but she knows I’m right and we tend to fight when our stomachs run empty.
Inside, the scent of smoked meat and baked bread greets us, along with a woman with red hair and chef’s whites.
“I’m Rae. You must be Shane and Erica. It’s nice to meet you.
Please, come in, sit down, and make yourselves comfortable.
I have plank salmon with lemon and garlic rice coming off the grill.
The citrus-spice ribs will be ready in five.
Oh, and of course, the usual beef dishes along with sesame peanut noodles for the vegetarian guests and those with dietary restrictions.
Sit tight and we’ll get the contract signed, then get down to business.
The business of eating.” She’s a bit frazzled as she whisks away through a door, which I imagine is the kitchen.
Left alone in an office space that doubles as a dining room, noting Rae’s case of mistaken identity to Junie, I say, “Hey, Erica. What did you have in mind for the honeymoon?”
“Nice try, Miguel.” Wildfire blazes in her eyes.
“I wish you’d call me by the name my friends use.”
Her lip curls. “We’re not friends.”
“We’re more than friends, Junie.”
“We were more than friends. You said it would be best for us to just be friends, so here we are, Miguel.” She gestures with a flourish.
“By that logic, we’re friends, which means you can call me Mikey.”
“Peppino.”
“I’ll get you back for that.”
“Will you?” she taunts.
“I’m hatching a plan as we speak, Erica,” I say, knowing exactly how to drive her mad.