Page 56 of When It Reins
juniper
The smellof hairspray was still swirling around my bathroom when the clock struck seven, and I was running behind.
After a midafternoon inventory at the bar, Annmarie and Thea had told me to head home and get ready. I’d been thoroughly confused. Then they explained that Mitch had something planned just for us tonight, and they had strict instructions to make sure I got home in time to get ready.
I’m not sure what kind of strict instructions they were, but if I had to guess, I would say Mitch probably said something like, “Hey, would you mind if Juniper got off a little earlier so she could change for a date I have in mind tonight?”
And my sisters took that very seriously.
I zip up the left boot before moving to the right, then stand and find my footing, taking a long look at myself in my bedroom’s full-length mirror. I’m not sure what the plan is, but a summer dress and boots always seem to work for a date night.
A knock sounds at my door, and I scurry through the apartment, picking up haphazard things along the way. I’m not amessy person, but with the little I knew about what I was doing tonight, I’d raced home to give myself enough time to prepare for anything.
Opening the door, I grin widely at the man standing on the other side. His cut is missing tonight, and in its place is a tan button-down shirt tucked into his jeans and brown boots on his feet.
And on his head…Ohheaven. He is wearing a cowboy hat.
This is a rare—extremely rare—occurrence. I know from looking him up online that the boy looked mighty,mightyfine in a cowboy hat, riding a bull and fighting for his life to stay on.
In person, I’ve only seen him wear them on special occasions, like baby christenings and weddings.
So, to him, this is a special occasion.
I calm the butterflies in my belly with a hand on my stomach and grin when he steps forward, tilting his head to make his lips meet mine in a desperate kiss. His hand snatches around my back, pulling me closer, and my hands grab onto his face, holding him to me.
We say no words as we stand here in each other’s embrace, no words of love or like or how much we missed each other.
It is said anyway, just in a different kind of language.
Finally, when we had our fill—at least for the next few minutes—he pulls back and looks at me, his gaze raking over my body in a way that sends shivers gliding all over my skin.
No one has ever made me feel that way. No one has ever looked at me like Mitch does, and I hope that no one ever does.
All I want for the rest of my forever is his gaze on me.
When my attention finally focuses, I notice the bouquet of flowers in his hand and gape at them.
“Flowers? For what?”
I take them, smelling the sweet scent of the bright red roses. They are probably the most beautiful roses I’ve ever seen in my life.
“For you,” Mitch answers, that gruff voice of his slithering through my brain like a really good song I never want to stop hearing.
“You didn’t have to,” I say, leading the way into the kitchen and hunting down a vase. I can’t seem to find one and wonder if I just don’t have one when I find a large Mason jar.
Perfect.
I grab the flowers and fill the jar with water, setting them gently in it for now and placing them on the counter in front of me. I don’t even realize I’m smiling at the flowers when Mitch’s presence grabs my attention again.
“You like flowers,” Mitch says, but his words are not a question. It’s a statement, a fact. One that I see him filing away.
“I guess I do,” I reply, my head tilting and grin growing wider. “But I think I like these, especially because of where they come from.”
Mitch seems to take that very seriously and gives me a nod. It was what I loved about him. He did take everything seriously, sometimes too much, but it was what made him a very stable person for me.
Even when he decided not to date me for the last couple of years, I always knew that I could count on him. Most men, if they found out you were interested, but they weren’t or weren’t ready for commitment, would stay far, far away.
Not Mitch.
