Hopeful. Hungry.
God, I hated it.
I hatedhow muchI wanted to believe that.
He must’ve seen something flicker across my face, because he didn’t push. Didn’t reach. Just stood there with his coffee and his soft hoodie and his too-sincere face like some walking, talking fanfic dream I hadn’t written yet.
“I’m here,” he said again. “Even if you need time. Even if you need space. Just… don’t shut the door all the way. Please.”
And for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
Until his phone rang.
He glanced down at it and immediately swore under his breath. “Shit. Sorry. It’s?—”
“Go,” I said, backing up with both hands raised like I’d just been caught stealing. “It’s fine.”
He looked at me, hesitant. “It’s my publicist.”
“Of course it is.”
I tried to sound flippant. I think I succeeded. I hadso muchpractice pretending not to care. He sighed and answered it with the weariness of a man already losing the fight.
“Yeah, I saw,” he said immediately. A pause. He glanced over at me. “No, I didn’tleakit — Jesus, are you serious? We werebarely—” Another pause. Then, quieter, “Look, I’ll handle it. Don’t freak out, okay?”
I was already halfway turned away, retreating behind the counter, behind my mug, behind whatever dignity I had left.
Ansel hung up a second later, rubbing his jaw like the call physically hurt him.
I kept my voice even. “So. I’m guessing that was about me?”
His wince was answer enough.
“There’s a picture,” he admitted. “It’s… notgreat.”
“I’ve seen it,” I said lightly, even though my pulse was roaring in my ears. “The last time I went viral, it was for a tweet about avocado toast and nihilism. This is definitely more exciting.”
He frowned. “Juniper?—”
“No, really. It’s fine.” I waved it off as if it were funny. LikeIwas funny. “Just let me know what your PR team wants me to say when the gossip accounts find out I work at a bookstore and can’t afford name-brand cereal.”
His whole expression crumpled. “That’s not what this is.”
“Isn’t it?”
Silence stretched long between us.
Finally, he said, “I didn’t plan for any of this either, June. I just… wanted to see you.”
I didn’t say anything. Because I wasn’t just the girl he made out with. I was now apparently the girlon the internet,pressed against him like a groupie.
And he wasfamous.
And I was… me.
He opened his mouth again, then paused. Something shifted behind his eyes. “There’s… one thing,” he said carefully. “That might make this go away. Or, well — make it makesense.”
I blinked. “You’re not about to suggest we kill someone, are you?”
