Chapter 4
Juniper won’t stop fidgeting.
For the past hour, she’s been tapping her thumbs on the steering wheel, rubbing her palms on her thighs, and her hands tremble when she takes a sip of her drink. She keeps rolling her shoulders like she’s trying to stretch the muscle, and she won’t stop shifting in her seat.
At first, I thought she was trying to get comfortable, or maybe she was stiff from the drive, but I don’t think that’s it anymore. Does she need to use the bathroom? According to her phone, we’re twenty minutes away from our destination, but…
“Do you need to stop?” I finally ask, irritation prickling the back of my neck.
“No, why?”
“You’re fidgeting like you’re about to pee your pants.”
“Oh. Sorry. No, I’m okay.”
“Then why are you moving so much?”
“I’m a little restless. Long drive and all.”
I don’t believe her. That may be part of the reason, but it’s not the whole reason. I watch out of the corner of my eye as she clamps her lips shut and bites her cheek like she’s keeping in the words she wants to say.
I won’t lie—I half expected her to start peppering me with questions.
I know she probably has a million rattling around in that head of hers, and if I'm honest with myself, I have questions of my own.
Like, why was she so against coming today?
Was it because of me? The way her dad talked, it was almost like she was afraid of shopping.
Who’s scared of a grocery store?
“You can get out soon and stretch your legs.” I don’t know why I feel the need to offer her a bit of comfort, but the words slip out.
She hums in affirmation before the cab falls silent again.
Jesus, this is more awkward than I thought it would be. Then again, I’ve never run into a one-night stand again after and had to spend multiple hours with them in a truck.
I hope shopping doesn’t take too long.
We’re halfway through the list, walking down the aisle with all the spices, when some lady runs into our cart with hers. Juniper gasps, apologizing profusely even though it wasn’t her fault.
“You clumsy fool,” the lady shouts. “You should watch where you’re going.”
“She apologized. Move on,” I snap at the old bitch.
I’m not going to let her keep talking like that. It was an accident—one that was her fault, and one that wasn’t more than a bump. If anyone should be upset, it’s us.
Juniper’s blue eyes fill with tears, and I can tell she’s trying her best to hold them back. She uses one of her shaking hands to hastily wipe the fallen drops.
What the hell?
“You okay?” I ask
“Yep. Just… ready to be done.”
“Why don’t we split up? We can get it done faster that way.”
Panic crosses her face for a brief moment, but she doesn’t protest. She nods. “I’ll take the rest of the food items.”
“Let’s meet back by the pharmacy in twenty minutes.”
I head back to the front to grab another cart, pushing through the crowds of people. When I have everything, I make my way to the pharmacy to wait.
And wait.
And wait.
Ten minutes past when we said we’d meet. Frustration bubbles in my stomach, but there’s another feeling there too.
Worry.
I pull out my phone and send Juniper a text, asking where she is.
No response.
Where the hell did she go?
I try calling, but it goes straight to voicemail.
I park my cart off to the side and start hustling through each aisle, but I don’t see her or her denim overalls anywhere. I do, however, find an abandoned cart with the items on our list by the meat section.
That’s not a good sign.
I don’t know her well enough to know where she’d go, but she couldn’t have gotten far.
I don’t think she’d leave me stranded in the store.
I don’t think she has a malicious bone in her body.
My instincts are telling me to check the bathroom, so I head in that direction. I stop in front of a store employee.
“Excuse me, did you see a woman go into the bathroom? She’s about five feet tall, with brown hair, in overalls and a black long-sleeve shirt?”
“Yes, I saw her go in about fifteen minutes ago. Poor thing looked distraught. I think she was having a panic attack.”
Panic attack?
“Thanks.” I rush into the bathroom, checking under each stall until I find the pair of forest green tennis shoes I remember her wearing this morning.
Soft sniffles filter through the other side of the door.
There are a few other people in here. Has anyone heard or checked on her at all?
Has she been crying on the bathroom floor for fifteen minutes with no one coming to help?
The thought makes me want to rage.
“Juniper,” I whisper, knocking on the stall door. “It’s Addison. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she croaks, her voice wobbling.
“Clearly, since you’re sobbing on the floor of a Costco bathroom.” I don’t mean for my words to come out so harshly, but I can’t help it. She scared the shit out of me, and now she’s pretending she’s fine?
The toilet flushes, and the door creaks open. Her eyes are swollen, her face splotchy and red. I let her pass me to wash her hands, never taking my eyes off her. Her hands are shaking still, her shoulders slumped in defeat.
She splashes water over her cheeks, patting them dry with a paper towel before she turns to me. “I’m sorry I didn’t meet you at the designated time. Let’s just pay for our stuff and head to the next stop.”
“Hey, whoa. Stop.” I grab her arm. It’s the first time we’ve touched, and I swear my fingers tingle. “Are you not going to explain?”
“Explain what?”
I motion to the bathroom stall. “Whatever that was! You left me hanging for ten minutes, and I found you sobbing on the floor. I think I deserve an explanation.”
She won’t meet my eyes, and her shoulders deflate with an invisible weight. “I’ll tell you when we’re back in the truck. Please, let’s go.”
A protest sits on the tip of my tongue, but the weary look in her eyes stops me from voicing it aloud. I have to trust she’ll tell me later; I don’t want to add to her distress. I follow her out of the bathroom, back to our discarded carts.
We get through the checkout line and load everything in the back of the truck in silence. When we finally get into the truck, her shoulders relax a fraction. Her head slumps against the seat, and she takes a few deep breaths, her fingers tapping on her knees.
“I get panic attacks sometimes,” she finally whispers.
“Was it because of that bitchy lady?”
“Yes and no. I have anxiety and struggle a lot with being in big crowds. The lights were so bright, and there was so much noise. Her running into our cart spooked me. Then she yelled at me, and you wanted to split up, and I didn’t want to be a burden, but I couldn’t reach one of the items because it was too far back.
I was working up the courage to find someone to help, but it all got too overwhelming.
I ran to the bathroom to calm down. I’m sorry it took so long and that I worried you. ”
“I’m confused. You say you struggle with big crowds, but we met at a rodeo. You didn’t seem to be panicking then.”
As soon as the words come out of my mouth, I wish I could take them back. Juniper’s entire body tenses, and her knuckles turn white.
I’m an asshole.
“I don’t recall meeting you before,” she clips, but continues before I can reply.
“And it doesn’t happen all the time. I didn’t sleep well last night, and the last few weeks have been stressful.
There’s lots to do now that the ranch is opening early.
I’m fine. Can we forget about it and move on? I’d like to get home.”
There’s no way in hell I’m forgetting the stricken expression on her face in the bathroom or the sheen of tears in her eyes. I’m not ignoring the ache in my chest at her dismissal of our time together, even if I was the one who put us in this position in the first place.
Is this how she felt last week, like a 2,000-pound bull was pulverizing her heart? If she did, no wonder she ran out of there. I want to jump out of this truck and storm off. Or tell her I knew exactly who she was the second I walked in the door. It threw me for a loop, and I reacted poorly.
So, no. I can’t forget it, but I don’t think forcing her to open up is a good idea. I think it would push her further away.
Isn’t that what’s best, though? Keeping her at a distance?
We’ve spent four hours together, and I’m already invested.
I want to dig deeper, learn more about Juniper Calhoun.
I want to know what helps keep her calm, and how to help if this happens again.
I want to reach for my phone and look up everything about anxiety and panic attacks.
But she’s playing along as if we don’t know each other. As if we’re strangers. I guess, technically, we are. One night together doesn’t mean we know each other beyond the surface.
Why do I find myself wanting to dive deeper?
“Yeah,” I say. “Sure. We can move on. Do you want me to go into the next store alone so you can have a few minutes to yourself?”
She blinks her big blue eyes at me like she didn’t expect that answer. “If you don’t mind… I’m okay to go in if it’s too much of a bother.”
“It’s not a bother. I don’t want you exhausting yourself. Why don’t you drop me off, take a minute, maybe grab us lunch, and when you come back, we can load up?”
“I can do that. What do you want to eat?”
“I don’t care. I’m not picky.”
“Right. Okay. All the options then. Good. Let’s go.”
I think Juniper might have anxiety around making decisions, too.
After I loaded the back, I got in, and she handed me a bag with a cheeseburger, chicken tenders, fries, onion rings, tater tots, and a grilled chicken salad.
I motion to the bag. “What’s yours?”
“Oh, it’s all for you. I already ate. I also ordered you a shake and got two drinks, so you have options.”
“I’m not going to be able to eat all of this.”
“Just eat what you want, then. Oh!” She hands me a full, heavy bag of sauces; probably every sauce option they had. “Here’s some sauces.”
It’s cute.
In my twenty-eight years, no one’s ever gone above and beyond for me like this, and a warm, fuzzy feeling spreads through me at the realization she cares. Even a little bit.
Maybe it’s because I’m an employee, or this is her way of apologizing for what happened earlier.
Not that she needs to. Even though I don’t understand why or how someone can have a panic attack over grocery shopping, she clearly wasn’t faking it.
I’d never expect her to apologize for something she can’t control.
Juniper may be harder to ignore than I previously thought. She thinks I don’t notice her, watching everything at the ranch from afar, but I do.
It’s hard not to when she brightens up whatever room she’s in.
I notice when she sneaks down to the barn to feed Honeysuckle an extra apple. I see the way she tries to keep up with everyone’s conversations at Sunday dinner but rarely speaks. She’s watchful and attentive, but she thinks no one notices her.
But I notice her absence, too. When we’re having lunch in the cafeteria, when we have team meetings on Mondays to go over what needs to be done for the week. She’s the one who makes the lists, but she’s never there.
I can’t help but wonder if part of the reason for it is me.
And that makes me feel like shit.
I’m going to try to be friendlier to her. She’s my coworker and deserves at least that much.
Just friends. I can do that.
I eat the burger and fries on the way back, practically inhaling them. I didn’t eat breakfast this morning because I woke up a little later than I anticipated, and I was so worried about Juniper I forgot I was hungry until I smelled the grease wafting from the bag.
Best burger I’ve had.