3. Juniper
Chapter three
Juniper
Needing a break is an understatement. Going through my belongings and bringing up old memories is what led me to baking in the first place.
Growing up through my teenage years, it was always a way to distract myself. Thankfully, because I needed it so often, I became good at throwing desserts together as my own personal escape from reality.
My excuse wasn't entirely a lie. Thankfully, I had someone who deserved them after the effort he'd put in.
I still can't figure out why he'd done so much without me uttering a single word, but if he hadn't, I wouldn't be here in his home otherwise.
Hunter leads me to his living room, sweeping his hand toward the couch, motioning me to sit while he sets the tray down right there on the table in front.
"Would you care for anything to drink?"
Working my coat off, I decline his offer and try to focus on anything else but the troubling thoughts swarming my mind. Not just of my father, but the feelings that are bubbling up because of his next-door neighbor.
Hunter is the definition of distracting. As he leaves the room, my eyes follow without fail. Once he's gone, I look around.
His home carries a warmth to it, and that's only slightly because of the flickering fire against the wall. Golden light flickers around the fireplace as wood crackles and pops against the growing heat.
His fire is bright and alive, radiating the kind of warmth that made my fire come off as pitiable. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if mine was already out by the time I returned. It's going to be such a pain to get it going again.
More reason not to stick around, yet here I am, sinking deep into his comfortable couch. At my side, there's the fuzziest wool blanket I've ever felt. Without realizing it, I'm growing calmer by the second as my fingers stroke the fabric.
Breathing in, the faint smell of pine needles clings to the air, making me realize that's something that comes with this mountain. But here, there's also the lingering scent of coffee grounds.
"Don't mind the mess," Hunter excuses himself as he returns with a glass of milk, warning me about something that doesn't exist as he approaches.
When he sits next to me, the cushion sinks with his weight, and gravity almost makes me lean in with him.
If I weren't paying attention, I might have stumbled right onto this man's lap. Thankfully, he doesn't seem to notice.
"How are things going over there?" Keeping his attention on the platter, he carefully unwraps the dish. It's a disk that's chipped on the corner. That's how a lot of the dishware is, unfortunately.
I'm still looking for a way to toss it without struggling.
Beginning to spiral in my head, I forget that he's expecting some kind of answer.
"Oh, I mean, as good as it can." Tangling my fingers together, I hesitate on my next words.
I don't know what kind of man Hunter was friends with, or if he knew who my father was before coming up here.
I had braced myself for a disaster zone—for sticky floors, mountain ranges of empty bottles, and the sour stench of a bender. I thought I’d be scrubbing away the evidence of a man drowning himself toward his maker. It had been his liver that took him out, so I assumed, but...
Instead, I walked into neat counters and folded blankets. It was lived in, cared for—and bone-chillingly cold in a way that had nothing to do with the winter.
A warmth appears against my knuckles when I take too long to continue, and I realize it's his fingers brushing against them. He's got this pinch on his brows and a frown that isn't radiating anger. More worried than annoyed.
It's a nice warmth, but having him right here trying to console me is having the opposite effect. Instead of easing this pain in my chest, it's creating a different kind of ache.
Cradling my hands closer to my stomach to break free, I work a smile onto my face as his hand curls away.
"I'm alright, really. It's just, I came here with certain expectations, and they weren't met," I try to explain before grimacing. "In a good way, though. But now, I'm not sure what to make of it."
The way Hunter looks at me, his brows lowering and his stare lingering, I know he wants to ask for more information despite his silence.
Maybe if there weren't a little piece of me that still cared about what my father thought, I'd be straight with him and reveal the truth of what kind of person he was during the never-ending length of my childhood.
"If you need any help, outside of the labor, let me know.
" He keeps his voice so soft that it makes me want to immediately cave to what he's offering.
When he's not radiating anger, he's got this look about him that makes me want to use one of those broad shoulders to lean on.
If I'm not careful, I might accidentally trauma dump on him, and I don't think the poor guy deserves to experience that after only speaking to me twice.
Then again, he did go out of his way to help me out without being asked. Maybe he would be willing to give an ear while he's at it.
"Right now, I think I'm okay." Taking in a deep breath, I try to smile more naturally. "But if the time comes, I may take you up on that offer. We'll see what happens. Now, enough about me. If Gregory really did talk me up, then you should set your bar really high."
Urging him to eat my creation, I put my focus on his opinion of them, even as old habits die hard. They're simple peanut butter cookies, but they're still warm enough to make that milk a fantastic addition.
He reaches over and plucks one from the platter. "You don't want one?"
"I think I eat enough sweets as is," I joke as I pat my stomach. "Please, they're all yours."
His eyes dip down to where my hand is, and his brows bunch together once more. The man doesn't even try to hide his thoughts, but I can't tell if he agrees or disagrees with what I'm implying.
I own a bakery; there's no way I don't have a little extra fat here and there from my job. With how many new recipes I try to create? It's impossible to enjoy sweets off the clock, anyway.
From the way his lips purse into a thin line, I'm left to believe he disagrees. Even if that isn't the case, I still have that fuzzy, warm sensation rolling around my stomach at the thought.
Thankfully, his eyes don't linger long enough to catch the way my flush is starting to lift above my collar. Instead, he sinks his teeth into one of the cookies and lets out the deepest rumble of a groan that I've ever heard.
That's the kind of sound that can haunt a woman.
My toes curl on instinct, and my fingers do the same against my lap.
"Jesus," he mutters before giving me a view of his tongue as it flicks out to catch the few crumbs clinging to his bottom lip. "You said this is from scratch?"
When my mouth curves, this time, it's all natural. "Just a few ingredients I threw together. It's nothing special."
He shakes his head before the rest of the cookie disappears like magic. He doesn't bother touching his milk and goes for another cookie. Without realizing it, he's aiding in making my pride swell.
There's nothing I love more than having someone enjoy one of my creations. I never expected my grumpy neighbor to be one to melt at a little sugar.
"Yeah, Juniper. Make me these, and I'll do whatever you want," he offers between bites. "I mean it. Anything."
He's talking about the cabin, but my mind goes to terrible places.
Is it because I haven't been with a man properly in ages? Blind dates and online matches have always led to disappointment, but they've never been six-foot mountain men, either.
Just looking at his fingers around the cookie makes me bite my lip. They're thick enough to fit a man built as big as he is. Wait, is every part of him big?
At my sudden sputter, Hunter, clueless as can be, offers to pat my back and goes so far as to offer his glass of milk.
He doesn't tease me for choking on air, but from the way the corners of his eyes wrinkle, I think I may as well be ready to die of embarrassment.
It's only when he takes the glass from my hands, grazing my fingers with his, that he takes a large sip from the other side.
From the way his eyes linger, it feels like he knows exactly what he's doing.
There's no way. I'm imagining it.
Not that it matters. I'm not going to be hanging around long enough to entertain such a thought, even if it is a tempting one.