Ansel sighed, eyes still closed but a smile tugging at his lips. “She’s got that ‘I’m your mother, not your maid’ tone going on.”
I chuckled, but my heart twisted a little. Mom’s voice. Reality creeping in.
“I guess we better,” I murmured, reluctantly pulling myself away from him. The too-small bed suddenly felt a little too empty.
Ansel sat up, stretching his arms over his head like a big, sleepy bear. “Come on, kid. Breakfast smells like it could start a war over who gets the last bite.”
As he tugged on a pair of sweatpants and a shirt, my heart panged a little. “Hey, cowboy?” My words came out a little rougher around the edges than I had anticipated.
“Juniper?” He stepped forward, hands gently clasping my shoulders.
“I know it won’t always be like this. Warm and safe and tucked away from the world but—” A snag.
“I’m not going anywhere, kid. You’re stuck with me.
I reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. “Race you downstairs?”
And just like that, the bubble burst — but I didn’t mind. Because I had him, even the world outside this little guest room seemed softer somehow.
The smell of bacon and fresh coffee greeted us as we shuffled into the kitchen. The morning sun slipped through the curtains, painting everything gold. Ansel’s mom — Nadine — stood by the stove, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips.
“Well, well,” Nadine said, turning to face us with an eyebrow raised. “Looks like someone left the lights on last night.” Her eyes twinkled with amusement as she jabbed a spatula into a sizzling pan. “I rarely have to remind grown adults that the guest room walls are paper thin.”
Ansel’s cheeks flushed a deep red, and he shot me a sheepish grin.
“I think the entire house could have heard you two,” she continued, voice light but full of teasing judgment. “Luckily it was just the three of us — I would have had to charge for the show.”
I was stuck somewhere between mortified and somehow… oddly pleased. I tugged at the hem of my shirt, suddenly aware of every crease and fold.
“Mom,” Ansel groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’re not children.”
“Oh, believe me, I know,” Nadine shot back, smirking. “But I’m a mother, and mothersalwaysknow.” She moved to pour coffee into three mugs, setting one in front of each of us. “So, spill it — at what point did you two decide to turn this visit into a rom-com? Should I get popcorn for act two?”
Ansel laughed, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m your mom. Impossible is my brand,” she winked. “Now eat up. And Juniper, honey, if you ever need a place to make a littlenoise again, you’re always welcome.” I caught Ansel’s eye, and we shared a grin — flushed and full of promise.
But I couldn’t meethereyes. I could feel my heart pounding at the back of my throat. That age-old shame of finding joy or pleasure in something internally beating me up. Not just that, though — Ansel’smomhad heard us. Had heard me?—
I could feel Nadine watching me over her coffee, her eyes sharp but not unkind. “So, Juniper — what keeps you going? What doyouwant if it’s not just Ansel?”
I hesitated. It felt like the kind of question no one had asked me in a long time, if ever. “I… I want a space that feels like home. A bookstore maybe, but not just selling books. A place where people can come and find something... quiet. A community. I’ve never had that. Not really.” My voice was soft, almost a whisper.
She nodded slowly, as if weighing every word. “That’s honest. I like that. You’re not here for the bright lights or the easy ride, huh?”
“No,” I said, feeling a flutter in my chest. “I’m scared, sure. Things haven’t been easy for me — or Ansel.” I took another deep breath. “You know I’m divorced. It was rough on me and?—”
Ansel reached over and gave my hand a gentle squeeze.
“—I wasn’t unscathed. But Ansel helped, in his weird, terrible-at-flirting kind of way.
Nadine smiled then, softer, like she’d just seen something she was glad was true. “Good. Because I’m not handing him over to just anyone.”
CHAPTER 61
The grocery store was small enough that you could hear the door chime from anywhere inside. Late afternoon light slanted through the front windows, catching on the dust in the air, and for once, my shoulders weren’t locked up around my ears.
Mom was in the produce section, squeezing avocados like she was negotiating a hostage release. “These are too hard. You don’t want hard ones for guac.”
