Juniper puts her hands on her hips and rolls her eyes. “It’s almost ten, Aiden. Some of us have been panic breathing since six. Every time I close my eyes, I see—I see that—” She swallows, her gaze shuttering briefly, before aiming a bright smile at me. “Well, anyway,” she says. “I just needed something to distract myself.”
“That’s fair,” I say slowly. I’m not sure Iwant a distraction myself—I need to know who this girl was—but I understand the desire.
“I tried to write,” she says, grabbing the length of garland in a pile at her feet and holding it up. “But I’m sort of stuck on this scene.”
“Do you write books?” I say, blinking at her with surprise.
“I do, yeah,” she says. She begins running her hands down the length of the garland, searching for the end. “I teach yoga to pay the bills, but I write too.”
“I thought you didn’t like that stuff—reading and writing.”
“When you knew me, I didn’t. But you did a good job tutoring me.” The smile she gives me now is more real than the one she tried to force out before; it’s soft, grateful, reminiscent. “Really, you’re the reason I ended up learning that I love to write. It’s what I studied in college. I got my yoga-teaching certification alongside it, but in my dream world, I would just be able to write full time.”
“Huh,” I say, nodding. I can’t say I’m not impressed. She’s right; when I was tutoring her, she really struggled in her English class. “What do you write?”
“Ha!” she says, holding up the other end of the garland in triumph. “Found it.” Then she looks at me. “Well, I used to write romance—oh, wait.” She wrinkles her nose. “You’re probably a literature snob, right?”
“A little,” I admit. “But I’m not the kind of person who thinks romance is trash. I think there’s a place for well-written romance. No one said all books have to be deep and moving all the time.”
She shakes her head. “That’s true, but look—you’re already assuming that romance isn’t deep or moving.”
I stare at her, lost for words. She’s right, I realize; I completely made that assumption. But it’s not correct, is it?Sure, some love stories are superficial, but the same can be said of any genre.
“But romance can be deep. It can be moving,” she goes on.
“You’re right,” I say grudgingly. “I stand corrected.”
“Anyway, I used to write romance, but now I’m trying to write a murder mystery—a decision I made before the events of last night, believe it or not. But I’m only in the first scene, and I’m already stuck.”
I nod. “Well, good luck.” I cast one last glance around the living room. “And don’t leave it messy like this, please. Finish decorating now that you’ve got all this stuff.” With that I turn and head back to my bedroom, where it looks like I’ll be hiding for a while longer now that fall has exploded in my living room. I don’t want to get roped into decorating?—
“Hang on,” Juniper says, and I freeze.
Crap.
“What?” I say, not turning around.
“You know,” she says slowly, and I can hear the soft padding of her footsteps as she approaches from behind. She sounds far too calculating for my peace of mind. I shove my hands in my pockets, preparing to stand my ground.
When she steps past me and into my line of sight once more, I sigh. Her eyes are narrowed in consideration, and she’s giving me a blatant full-body scan—a slow perusal that leaves me feeling too warm.
“Stop it,” I croak.
For a second, she doesn’t respond; she still seems to be deep in thought. But then her gaze finds mine again, and she nods, causing the pumpkins on her headband to dance once more. She looks like she’s just made a decision. “Hey,” she says. “Do you want to help me research something?”
“I really don’t,” I say quickly. “At all.”
“Please?” she says, grabbing my armwhen I take another step toward my bedroom. “Help me just a little bit? It really won’t take long at all.”
“Use the internet,” I say firmly.
“I tried!” she says. Her hand tightens on my arm, and good grief—where did she get a grip that strong? “But this is more of a hands-on research thing. Come on,” she adds, her voice wheedling now. “I need a distraction. Don’t you?”
This is sounding more and more dangerous by the second. And I am clearly insane, because my mind starts running through all the things she could mean bydistraction,and most of them involve the two of us in compromising positions.
My stupid brain. I don’t want that kind of relationship with Juniper. I don’t wantanykind of relationship with Juniper.
“Please,” she says once more. “I need a distraction. I think being with another person will help.” She gestures to the explosion of decorations around the living room. “This isn’t really helping. Please.”
