Page 65 of The Relationship Clause

I was a little worried after she closed herself in her bedroom that I’d gone too far earlier. I was so forward and blunt. I didn’t set out to say and do all those things, but they felt right to say in the moment.

The whole, “establish clear rules about PDA” thing honestly started out as a way to gauge her comfort level with me and figure out what we would be able to get away with in front of my dad. But then, the closer I got to her and the more I read her reactions to me and saw her walls coming down, well, it was fuel to a fire.

I’m craving her touch more than ever now. No, more than that, I’m craving plain intimacy in any sense of the word. Whether she’ll let me hold her hand and touch her cheek or whether she’ll open up to me about what’s going on in that beautiful head of hers, I’ll take whatever I can get. Both would be preferable, but I’ve got to go slow. She seems like she could spook and run at any moment.

Except, now, walking through the lodge together, joking about fashion blunders we’ve made in the past, it doesn’t feel like that. It feels like maybe something’s shifted. I don’t know what changed or how, but I’m here for it.

“That was the last time I ever wore orange,” Junie says as we leave the lodge. A gust of cold air blasts us as soon as we step outside, and Junie gasps, freezing on the spot.

I stop, turning back to her. “Everything okay?”

“Um, yeah, cool, cool. I was, um… Is it going to be like this the whole time we’re skiing?”

“Like what?”

“Like, you know, um, like death? Frigid and cold and like death?”

I smirk, thinking maybe she’s joking, but then she starts backing up toward the lodge again.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m super serious. Pneumonia serious. Find my body in a snowbank frozen stiff, serious.”

“Juniper—”

“Owen! Stop smiling at me like that!”

“Sorry, but come on, you knew we were coming here to ski. Did you think that meant balmy summer temperatures?”

Her eyes narrow, and her lip turns out into a small pout. I wish I could snap a picture. Actually, why not? I grab my phone from my pocket and start snapping away.

“What are you doing? Hey. Hey, stop taking pictures. Owen!” She charges me, making a swipe at my phone, but I’m a picture-taking ninja and hold it out of her reach, still clicking.

“Stop laughing,” she insists, even though there’s laughter in her voice too. “It’s not funny. I’m a good little southern girl, okay? I wasn’t made for this snow and cold.”

“Oh, yeah? What were you made for then?”

She jumps, and I let her knock my phone out of my hand. It goes sprawling onto a snowbank, but I don’t care. I have Junie right where I want her. I wrap my arms around her, pink snowsuit and all, holding her tight against me.

“What were you made for?” I prompt again.

She shrugs coyly. “Looking pretty while I gaze out at the snow-covered mountains from the safety of a fire-warmed room, of course. Never actually romping around in the snow.”

“Is that right?” I scratch my chin, pretending to seriously consider her words.

“Yes, that’s right. So, you go have fun. Hit those slopes, experience the fresh powder, make some snow angels for me. I’ll think of you while I’m inside, all nice and cozy.”

“You know what?” I say, slowly walking us back away from the lodge.

“What?”

“You’re cute. So cute, I almost want to let you win.”

“Oh? Just almost?”

“Yeah. But I’m not letting you off that easily. We came here to ski.”

She cocks her head. “I thought we came here to make your dad believe we were actually dating.”

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