Page 9 of Chasing Wild Heart

I start walking toward the closest booth but stop when I see a familiar face. With her brown eyes downcast at a sketchbook and her hand flying over the paper with a pencil, Juni occupiesa booth by herself. Judging from the full glass of ice water and no other dishes on the table, I guess she’s been here a minute or two.

Still feeling slightly salty from my conversation with my mom, I silently stalk over to her and slide into the empty bench across from her.

My sudden presence startles her, her head snapping up from the sketchbook and her hand stopping in mid-air.

“What the …” she trails off, staring at me with confusion before her pretty pink lips form a scowl. “What are you doing?”

“What’s it look like?” I shrug out of my coat and stash it at the end of the bench. “Grabbing dinner obviously.”

“Go sit at another table.”

“Uh,” the young server stammers, glancing nervously between us, unsure about her role in an awkward situation.

“I’ll just have a water for now,” I say smoothly with a wink and smile, gently tugging the laminated menu from her hand.

“Um, okay,” she replies, shooting an uncertain look at Juni, who rolls her eyes and slightly shakes her head, before heading toward the bar.

“Where are your manners, Juniper?” I tsk playfully, peeking at the menu.

“Where areyourmanners?” she shoots back, jabbing the sharpened end of her pencil in my direction. “I don’t remember inviting you to my table.”

“I’m not a vampire. I don’t need an invitation.”

Juni huffs as the brunette server returns with my water and her dinner plate.

“I’ll take the mushroom and Swiss burger,” I order after she sets the glass down and some sort of breakfast skillet in front of Juni. “For my side, I’d like the salad with Italian dressing please.”

The server named Mindy bounces away with the promise my order will be ready shortly.

Juni quietly lifts a slim brow as she frees her utensils from the napkin wrap.

I shrug before sweeping a hand over my torso area. “French fries will wreck this girlish figure I’ve worked so hard for.”

The sound of her light, genuine laugh sends an unexpected pulse of warmth through my chest.

Even though I see her most days at practice, she somehow looks different in this moment in an old faded black t-shirt. Her black hair isn’t pulled back into a ponytail but instead messily swept into a clip with tendrils framing her face. A few flecks of paint or ink stick to her unpainted and short fingernails, and a few more faint smudges linger on her wrists and part of her cheek.

Other than the light sheen of lip gloss, she’s not wearing an ounce of makeup. But she looks refreshingly beautiful – as always.

“What’s up your butt?” Juni asks, sinking a fork into her over-easy eggs sitting on top of what appears to be biscuits and gravy.

With my brain still functioning like a bratty teen, I bite out, “Your mom.”

“Considering my mom is a tiger mom, she’s up everyone’s butt,” she throws back just as quick before taking a bite and sighing softly in happiness. “My brothers and I learned a long time ago to never mess with her.”

I smile at her reaction, reaching for my utensils wrapped in a napkin.

“Why you so grouchy?” Juni amends her earlier question.

My initial instinct is to deflect, allowing the familiar irritation to slowly fester into anger. But for some reason, I have an urge to vent. Maybe I need to talk to someone other than my sisters.

“My mom,” I admit, reaching across the table with my fork and swiping a bite of biscuits and gravy.

“Hey,” she protests weakly, pulling the skillet closer to her.

The surprisingly delicious taste makes me wonder how I missed the breakfast section on the menu and if it’s too late to change my order.

“My parents separated when I was ten,” I continue, laying my fork on the napkin and leaning back. “My dad fell in love with someone else and moved out of the house. But six months later, he came crawling back and begged Mom for a second chance. Because my mom is a hopeless romantic, she took him back.

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