She’s still wearing the pink lace dress with white sneakers, but she’s thrown a blue denim jacket over the dress, and holds a small white purse. Her hair flows in long, gold waves down her back, tempting me to reach out and touch the soft strands. Soft pink lipstick makes her plush lips more kissable.
This is a woman going out on a date.
Tamping down the need to fling open the door and drag her inside as an almost primal possessiveness floods my body, I sit back in my seat when she glances toward us. She can’t see us, but she can feel us watching.
She runs down the stairs to her apartment and walks down the street. Not back to the hardware store and the guy she hugged before, toward the stores in the distance.
“She’s dressed up for a date,” Archer says blankly, the corners of his eyes pinched with barely suppressed emotion: jealousy, anger, possessiveness, or a heady combination of the above.
He’s looking at me. So is Torin. I know what both are thinking.
I take a breath and release it with a sigh. “Fine.”
Torin starts up the car, and as we follow Juniper, I add, “We’ll apologize, explain what we did and why, and we'll let her go.”
Hopefully, before this date starts.
Torin’s snort says he isn’t buying it, and he’s right not to. Can I see myself walking away from Juniper? Mymate? No, I cannot.
Archer is silent as Torin drives up the road, slowing as Juniper walks into a coffee shop at an intersection of two blocks.
“See if the guy is already in there before you park,” Archer suggests, angling his head so he’ll be looking right inside the glass-fronted coffee shop when Torin drives past it.
“On it,” Torin mutters.
“At least it isn’t the guy from the hardware store,” I say. He went back into the store. “They must just be friends.”
“Orthatwas the boyfriend, and she’s meeting a girlfriend for coffee,” Torin suggests, his tone hopeful as he slows the car to a crawl and we peer inside.
It’s the weekend, so it’s busy inside and out.
I’m still hunting for Juniper’s pink dress amid the packed tables and chairs inside the coffee shop when Torin slams on the brakes and scrambles out of the car, ignoring Archer’s yell to come back.
A car blares its horn behind us. Ignoring it, I unsnap my seatbelt and follow Archer, who’s a couple of steps behind Torin when he rips open the glass door and lunges inside.
I don’t see what happens in the coffee shop after Torin charges inside, but I struggle to believe what I’m seeing when Torin drags a blond guy from inside the coffee shop and drives his fist into his face.
The couple, who were quietly enjoying their drinks at an outside table, drop them as they scramble up and away from the brawl.
Juniper is yelling. Archer is trying to pull Torin off the guy. Someone is threatening to call the cops as Torin slams his fist into the guy's face for the second time.
Bone crunches. Blood gushes from what is likely a broken nose. The guy goes down, slower to get up this time. More and more people spill out onto the street, clutching their coffee or holding up their phones.
“Stay the fuck away from her,” Torin screams at him. “Put your fucking hands on her and I’ll fucking kill you.”
I get hold of Torin’s right arm. Archer grabs his left, and together, we drag him away from the guy picking himself up from the ground. The next time I look for Juniper, she’s gone.
We wrestle Torin back to the car, and it’s a battle to get him into the backseat. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Let me go!” Torin yells.
I shove him into the backseat and climb in behind him, slamming the door shut and holding him to keep him in his seat. Archer rounds the car and jumps into the driver’s seat. As he puts his foot down, my gaze slides back to the coffee shop.
People are crowded outside. The guy is on his feet, smiling as he dabs at his nose with a tissue someone offers him. Something about that smug smile raises all the hair on the back of my neck.
“Who was the guy, Torin?” I ask.
Torin rips his gaze from the window as Archer pulls the car down a side road and parks behind a red Nissan. From Torin’s clenched jaw and tight fists, he would like nothing more than to go back and break more than the guy’s nose. “Hewas Juniper’s date.”
