Page 29 of Booked for the Holidays
I take a few photos then send them to Ellen with notes before locking up and heading back to Juniper’s flat.
Like her romance bookstore, Juniper’s flat radiates warmth and whimsy. Simply being in her space puts me at ease.
When I set the bag of pastries on the wooden coffee table, I notice a stack of books.
The one on top has different colored tabs sticking out of the pages. I pick it up and flip through it. In addition to the tabs, some of the text is highlighted. There are hearts and other doodles next to passages, some even have notes written out.
Would not say no.
Why don’t real men talk like this?
Mirror scenes will always win. Top-tier filth. 10/10 would reread (and reenact).
The creaky wooden floors announce Juniper’s arrival, so I set the book back on the coffee table and grab the bag of pastries.
“Morning.”
She’s in a corduroy skirt with thick patterned tights on beneath, an oversized cardigan with heart buttons and a t-shirt underneath that says, “Reading Is My Love Language.”
“I got you a coffee and a chocolate croissant.”
She studies me a beat before taking the outreached bag and coffee. When she leans in, I catch her signature scent, warm plum and vanilla.
“Thank you, but you didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to.”
She nods, like she’s not quite sure what to say.
“What are your plans today?”
“Probably hang out here.” I glance around her cozy living room, my eyes landing on that gingerbread advent calendar with the tiny painted doors all lined up in perfect rows. “Look through your stuff.”
Her polite smile falters.“Excuse me?”
I grin. “Kidding. I’ve got a few meetings.”
She crosses her arms, one eyebrow arching as she leans against the bookshelf like she’s settling in for a standoff. “Couldn’t you do that from…I don’t know…literally anywhere else? Like your shiny corner office?”
I shrug, taking a sip of my coffee. “Could’ve.”
She tilts her head, studying me like she’s trying to solve a puzzle I haven’t given her all the pieces for. “So…what is this, Liam? A working vacation? Business trip? Or you just like Cedar Hollow’s stunning December weather?”
“Something like that.” I keep my tone light, but her eyes narrow at my deflection.
We’re standing too close. The quiet hum of her flat makes the air feel thick. She’s staring at my mouth like she wants to say something—do something—reckless.
I take a step closer, dropping my voice just enough to make her shiver. “Maybe I like the view better here.”
Her breath catches. I see it—the spark, the wanting—before she shuts it down with a tight shake of her head. She backs up a step, clutching her coffee cup like it might save her.
“I don’t have time for this,” she says, more to herself than me. “I have things to?—"
I smirk, savoring the way her words run together when I get too close. “Relax, Firefly. I’ll get out of your hair.”
She scowls at the nickname but doesn’t fight me on it this time.
I tap the lid of my coffee, then brush past her—close enough that my arm grazes her side.
