Juniper stared at the counter, then at me, and I saw it — the flicker of something soft in her expression. Dangerous. Warm.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” she said.
“I know,” I said. “But I wanted to.”
“The ice cream has probably melted.”
I stepped a little closer. Not enough to crowd her. Just enough that I could smell her shampoo — that barely there citrus and warm salt I’d started associating with her.
She was still staring at me, so I reached out — gently. My fingers brushed her elbow. Soft. Tentative. Like a test I already knew I’d fail.
She didn’t pull away.
I let myself smile, a little crooked. “You hungry?”
Her lips parted like she was going to say something, but she didn’t. Just nodded. I kept my hand there a beat longer than necessary before stepping away.
If I didn’t touch her again soon, I was going to lose my mind.
We didn’t sit at the table.
She drifted toward the couch with a plate in one hand and a can of soda in the other, and I followed like gravity pulled me behind her. She sat first, careful again — always careful — and tucked one leg up under herself, just like I knew she would.
God, I wanted to reach out and rearrange her hair, tuck that loose strand behind her ear, rest my hand on her knee like I even had the right to it.
Instead, I offered the blanket. “It’s not cold, but…”
She looked at it like it was a peace offering. And maybe it was.
“Thanks,” she said, voice low, and when she reached for it, our fingers brushed.
That should’ve been it.
But I didn’t move. I held onto that brush of contact like a livewire, watched the way her eyes flicked to mine, and I think I forgot how to breathe for a second.
“You okay?” she asked softly, and that was the worst part — shemeantit.
I nodded. Swallowed. “I just…” My hand was still on her arm. I traced a tiny circle with my thumb, the warmth of her skin soft under my touch. “You’re here.”
She didn’t say anything.
Didn’t pull away.
Didn’t tell me to stop.
So I kept touching her — like it was inevitable. Like it was the very reason I was put on this planet. My hand slid down her forearm until I could take her fingers in mine. Her rings were cold from the soda can. Mine must’ve felt warm in comparison, because she let out the tiniest breath.
That sound? It was going tohauntme.
“You’re staring,” she whispered.
“Can you blame me?” I whispered back.
She didn’t smile. Not really. But something shifted — something that made me brave.
I brought her hand to my mouth and kissed her knuckles.
Soft. Reverent.Stupid.
