I looked up at him then, heart pounding. “You’re not supposed tolikethat I bailed you out.”
“Oh, I like it a lot,” he teased, voice dropping, lips brushing the edge of my hairline. “Kinda hot, actually. My very own knight in shining armor.”
“Ansel—”
“Hmm?”
My chest tightened. “Don’t leave again.”
Something in his expression shifted — gentle, reverent, like I’d just handed him something fragile.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, brushing his thumb over my knuckles where my hands rested in my lap. “Not unless you tell me to.”
I swallowed hard, blinking back tears.
“And June bug?”
“Yeah?”
“Youareworth it. Every single bit of you. So stop waiting for me to realize otherwise — because it’s not happening.”
My breath hitched as I tried not to cry.
“One more thing,” his forehead pressed against my temple, “for the record…”
I turned my head slightly toward him. “What?”
He grinned just enough to make my stomach flip.
“I didn’t leave, Juniper. I told you I loved you —you’rethe one who let me walk out.”
My words snagged in my throat as I watched his expression morph. His easy smile turned into a smarmy grin, nose crinkling as he poked me in the side.
“You’re impossible,” I whispered, but it couldn’t stop the tears.
He brushed them away with the pad of his thumb. “Yeah, kid. I am. But I want to beyours.”
I snorted into my coffee. “You know the paparazzi are having an absolute field day right now.”
Ansel leaned back in the booth, smirking. “Oh, totally. ‘Ansel Barlowe: Arrested. Bailed Out by New Girl. Seen Canoodling at Breakfast.’”
“Canoodling?” I laughed.
“Canoodling,” he repeated solemnly, lips twitching. “They love that word. Makes it sound way dirtier than it is.”
I covered my face with one hand. “God, and Joel… oh my God, the speculation. Half of them probably think you snapped because you can’t get over being the rebound.”
Ansel grinned, eyes glinting. “Or maybe I’m spiraling out of control. Hollywood bad boy, fresh off a bar fight, ruining his career for the love of a small-town bookstore clerk.”
“Stop.”
He leaned in closer, dropping his voice to a mock-dramatic whisper. “Is Ansel Barlowe off the rails? More at eleven.”
I was laughing too hard to breathe, shoving at his shoulder, still grinning when I felt his fingers brush over mine under the table. A light touch. Barely there. But my whole body stilled.
Ansel didn’t look down. Didn’t make a big deal of it. Just twined his fingers with mine like it was the most natural thing inthe world. “You know,” he said casually, “if this whole acting thing doesn’t work out, I might just open a bakery.”
My brows lifted. “A bakery?”
