“A dick?”
A grin stretched across his lips as he quirked an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you—” His cheeks tinted red.
“Was thatanotherflirt attempt, Barlowe?” I tried not to laugh, tried to keep myself calm and collected.
He mumbled an apology, eyes glued to the table. “Any chance you’d believe me if I said I’m just naturally charismatic?”
I laughed that time. “You do remember the whole ‘childhood crush’ thing, right?” I kept my gaze trained on him, watching. “Unless you’re a totally different man then when you filmed that godawful direct-to-streaming movie?” He choked on his coffee. “You madethreedifferent reporters cry. So forgive me if I don’t quite fall for the ‘naturally charismatic’ act.”
He coughed, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and gave me a look of utter betrayal. “That movie wontwodigital fan awards.”
“Oh, my mistake,” I said flatly. “Truly, you’re in the pantheon.”
Ansel groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I swear I’m not like that anymore.”
“That’s what all reformed child stars say.”
“Okay, Ms. Low Blow.”
I sipped my tea, enjoying this more than I should have. “Am I wrong?”
“No,” he admitted. “But I’m trying. Trying not to be… him.”
I didn’t say anything to that.
Something about the way he said it — not defensive, not bitter, maybe even a little… honest — made my stomach twist.
It was easier when we were sniping. Teasing. Holding each other at arm’s length.
He glanced up, and his voice was gentler this time. “I’m still a work in progress. But you should know, I haven’t madeanyonecry in like… eight months.”
I didn’t even hesitate. “Restart that clock, cowboy.”
His smile faltered.
I didn’t look at him when I said it. I just traced the rim of my mug with one finger and kept my voice light. Offhand. Like it was just another jab. Another joke.
But the silence that followed was heavier than I meant it to be.
He didn’t laugh. Didn’t even argue. Just sat there, mouth parted like he wanted to say something and couldn’t find the words.
Good, I thought. Let him sit with it. Let himfeelit.
But then, like the idiot I am, I looked up.
And there was something in his eyes I didn’t expect — not guilt, or anger. Iexpecteda snap back. A fight. But instead… I just got this quiet kind of sadness. Like he knew exactly what I meant. Like he’d been carrying it too.
The worst part was… maybe I believed him.
That he hadn’t meant to. That hehatedhe had.
But that didn’t mean I was going to let him off the hook.
“Juniper I’m?—”
“Please don’t apologize, Barlowe.”
“No, but you deserve an apology. What I said… It was out of line.” He drug his hand down his face with a groan. “I know you’re more than a footnote in some half-baked star’s story.”
