Because here — in this messy kitchen, with this woman who somehow made me want to believe again — maybe I could find my way back.
I wish I could say that dinner was delicious. My mom had gone out of her way to make myfavoritemeal. There was nothing quite like my mom’s three-dip dinner — Ilovea good appetizer. But the guacamole had no flavor, the queso she’d handmade burned my tongue, and the salsa… God, I was so wrapped up in this studio thing.
The kitchen was finally winding down. My mom had disappeared with a pile of dishes, humming something I couldn’t quite place. Juniper and I moved like quiet ghosts, gathering the last of our things for the morning.
Outside, the window framed a world turning cold — trees flaming red and gold one day, stripped bare the next. The fall was slipping away fast, and with it, a part of the warmth I thought I could hold on to here.
Juniper broke the silence, sliding next to me on the couch with a grin that smelled like leftover key lime pie and hope. “You think if we eat enough of Nadine’s cooking, we’ll survive the studio’s wrath?”
I smiled, but it didn’t quite reach my eyes. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ll just starve under the weight of my own screw-ups.”
She nudged me, playful but gentle. “Hey, don’t do that. You’re here. You’re breathing. That’s something.”
I wanted to believe her. I wanted to lean into that warmth, that softness. But my mind was already racing — Kellogg’s anger, the final scene, all the ways I could still mess this up.
Juniper caught my hand, fingers weaving between mine. “Hey,” she said softly. “You’re not alone in this.”
The way she said it — so simple, so certain — it pulled me out of my head like a lifeline.
I pulled her close, wrapping my arms around her like I could hold the world at bay if I just held her tight enough. Her hair smelled like cinnamon and something homey, and I could feel her heartbeat steady against my chest. “I wish I could freeze this moment,” I whispered. “Just this quiet. Just you.”
She smiled into my neck. “Me too.”
We sat like that for a long time — two people holding on before the storm. But even in the stillness, I could feel the weight of the quiet pressing down, but also… lingering somewhere just below, was the kind of softness that could almost make me forget what tomorrow held. Juniper sat beside me, her fingers lacing through mine like an anchor.
She smirked, a mischievous glint lighting her eyes. “You know, if you brood any harder, the leaves outside are going to fall just to cheer you up.”
I rolled my eyes, but the corners of my mouth twitched. “Yeah, well, if I stare at these damn trees any longer, I might just try to climb one and hide.”
She bumped her shoulder against mine. “Coward.”
I squeezed her hand, trying to shove the panic back down. Juniper couldn’t keep Kellogg’s text from echoing in my brain like a warning bell — like I was already standing on the edge of a cliff and the ground beneath was crumbling.
But she didn’t flinch. She didn’t pull away when I was trying to sabotage. Instead, she leaned her head on my shoulder, warm and steady. “You’re not alone,” she said again, softer this time.
The truth in that simple sentence cut through the noise. I shifted, pulling her closer until she fit perfectly against me — her breath light against my skin, the steady beat of her heart beneath my palm.
“Sometimes,” I admitted, voice low, “I just want to run. To leave it all behind.”
“Do it,” Juniper chuckled, the sound like a balm. “But… don’t forget to take me with you, if you do.”
I laughed — genuine this time — and for a moment, the storm inside me stilled.
“We’ve got pie for the morning,” she teased, brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “And a guest room with a bed way too small for both of us.”
I groaned, but kissed her temple. “Pooh bear,” I muttered, remembering her grin.
She smiled, eyes closing. “That was all you, hotshot. I wouldn’t mind another glimpse, though.” And as the last light faded outside, I let myself sink into the moment — messy, imperfect, but ours.
Because morning was coming.
CHAPTER 62
The hum of the engine was steady, but my mind was racing. I stole a glance at Juniper, her eyes heavy-lidded but bright with stubbornness. “I can drop you off at your dad’s,” I offered, voice low. “You shouldn’t have to deal with my mess.”
She shook her head, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “I’m staying with you.”
I snorted, one hand tightening on the wheel. “Your clothes are still a disaster. You’ve got like, what, three layers of me on you?”
