“Want to meet my mom?” Juniper says when we’ve pulled into a parking spot.
“Oh,” I say. It would probably be rude to say no, right? “Sure.” Then I look at her high heels. “Are you going to wear those?”
Juniper looks at the heels too, shrugging. “They’re the only shoes I’ve got right now. It will be fine.”
I personally think she’s going to sink right into the ground, but I guess a little extra aeration never hurt anybody.
“So,” I say as we get out of the car. “Lionel was a little creepy.”
“Ha,” she says, her voice dry. “He’s about what I expected, honestly. Taller, maybe. What he said was weird, though, I agree.”
“About seeing you again soon?” I say, looking around as I wait for her. It’s been a long time since I’ve been here, and I don’t know where Nora Bean is buried.
“Yeah,” she says, setting off. “And how he knew my name.” Maybe I’m imagining things, but I swear I see her shiver at that. She just pulls her blazer tighter around her slim frame and begins to walk. I follow her across the parking lot until we reach the burial plots, and together we thread through the rows of headstones.
“Maybe he kept tabs on your mom,” I say, slowing my pace. As I anticipated, Juniper’s heels are a problem—they appear to be perforating the ground with every step she takes, something that’s never ideal, but especiallyin a cemetery.
“Maybe?” she says, and it’s clear she’s only partially paying attention to me; she’s frowning down at the shoes Caroline gave her. They make her legs look incredible, but they don’t seem very practical. “But I haven’t kept track of what my old high school crushes are up to,” she goes on.
“Me either,” I say, “but Rocco said Lionel had a thing for your mom. If the person you liked got pregnantwhileyou liked them, you’d probably remember the name of the baby at very least.”
“Oh,” she says, looking up at me with wide eyes. “Duh. Of course. That’s a good point.” Then she turns her gaze back to her shoes.
I take pity on her just when it looks like she’s about to give up. She huffs a sigh that sends her pink hair flying out of her face, and her shoulders sag.
“Here,” I say then, turning around so that my back is to her. I reach around and pat myself awkwardly between my shoulder blades. “Hop on.”
“Are you sure?” she says after a second’s hesitation.
“Yeah,” I say, speaking over my shoulder to her. “It’s fine. It’s not far, is it?”
“No,” she says with a little shrug. “Okay. Thanks.”
I’m about to crouch down so she can reach better, but she leaps before I get the chance; her arms band around my neck, and instinctively I reach back to grab her legs as they wrap around me.
“That’s my butt?—”
“Yep. Sorry.” I adjust my grip and ignore the flush of heat rushing to my cheeks. And then we’re off again, her pointing the way and leading me like I’m her faithful steed.
And it’s strange that simple body heat should be so intoxicating. But then, I suppose, humanity is the creature that clawed its way through the ranks of evolution and stole itscrown with the creation of fire. Our higher brains have been propelling us toward warmth literally since the dawn of time.
No fire I’ve ever sat next to has felt the way she feels, her citrus-scented hair a slash of pink in my periphery, her breath on my skin as she directs my path.
You don’t like her romantically, huh?a little voice in my head says.
I drop kick that little voice clear out of my mind.
We reach Nora’s plot only a minute or two later, and Juniper slides down the back of my body, taking all her body heat with her. I fold my arms across my chest to ward off the chill she leaves behind, watching as she approaches her mother’s grave.
“Hi,” she says to the small headstone. “I brought a friend. You want to meet him?” She turns and points at me, and I step closer, feeling unaccountably nervous.
I’ve never met a woman’s mom before.
“This is Aiden,” she says, grabbing me by the arm and dragging me closer once I enter her range of motion. I stumble into her, and she wobbles dangerously in her heels for a second. Her arms windmill and flail until I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her tight against me.
“Oof,” she says, looking up at me with wide eyes. “Thanks. Almost ate it there.” Then she turns back to her mom. “This is Aiden,” she repeats. She pats me on the chest. “He thinks I’m a good roommate, and he promised he won’t let me go hungry.”
I shift uncomfortably, my grip around her waist tightening, the silk of her top smooth beneath my fingertips.
