Juniper Limits (The Juniper Series Book 2)

by Lora Richardson

  He leaned in close, and my head nearly floated off my neck, I was so sure he was going to kiss me. But instead he rested his forehead against mine. “No expectations,” he said. “We’ll just let it take us where it takes us.”

  “What if it takes us nowhere?”

  I felt his smile. “What if it takes us somewhere? We’ll see where it goes together.” He reached up with one hand, and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. His thumb caressed my cheek on the way down. I closed my eyes against the feelings building up in me.

  “What if it ends at a rocky cliff?” I didn’t see how it could end any other way, and it had to end. Everything ended.

  “If we come to a cliff, that’s just where we jump. Together. Into the water, and we swim to the other side, climb out, and keep going.”

  “How are you always so sure of things?”

  “The only thing I’m sure of is that expecting the worst doesn’t change anything, so I’d rather hope for the best.”

  There was that word again. Hope. He smoothed his thumb over the back of my hand. I looked across the smooth water, the reflection of a few stars twinkling on the surface. My body loosened and unwound itself, and an insistent smile formed on my lips. I glanced at him and noticed the way he looked at me, a bemused smile on his face. “What?” I asked.

  “I like seeing you so relaxed. And happy. With me. This just feels so normal.”

  “Well, don’t expect it to last. It’s like Bigfoot. Sightings are exceedingly rare.”

  He reached over and grabbed his boot and stuck his hand inside it. He pulled out his phone and held it up. “Let’s get some footage then, before Bigfoot goes back into hiding.”

  I held out my hands to block my face as he snapped several pictures of me in a row. Laughing, I grabbed the phone from him and took a bunch of pictures of him in retaliation. He just grinned and let me, crazy hair and all. “It’s no fun if you like it,” I said.

  “Here, I want some of both of us.”

  I handed him the phone, and leaned back against him, resting my head on his shoulder. I didn’t mind him taking pictures so long as he was in the frame with me.

  Finally he set the phone down on the grass. I fiddled with the straps on my sandals.

  “So this was a pretty great first date,” he said.

  “This is our first date?”

  “Yeah. It was a sneak-date. That way we didn’t have time to worry about it or get nervous.”

  I opened my mouth to remind him he didn’t make me nervous, but closed it when I realized I only ever wanted to tell him the truth. And being with him scared me in ways I never knew existed.

  He wrapped his arm around my waist, trapping me against him. “Do you work tomorrow?”

  “Only until four.”

  “I’ll pick you up at six.”

  17

  Fay smiled slyly at Paul as she lifted his plate and set it in her tub. It was surreal seeing her carrying a tub of dishes at Heidi’s again. And it was also awesome, because his best friend was back to his old self. He looked across the table at Malcolm, who piled up his own dishes and set them in the tub for her.

  “So Paul, are you the reason Celia’s humming her way through the lunch rush?” Fay asked.

  He couldn’t help but smile back. “Seriously? She’s humming?”

  Fay nodded. “You have quite an effect on her.”

  “I wish she’d show me that effect a little bit more when we’re together.”

  He sat back so Fay could wipe the table, and cringed as she swept up all his crumbs. “Don’t wait for her to do that. She likely never will.”

  “How will I ever know what she’s thinking, then?”

  Fay paused with her tub propped on one hip, and looked out the window, thinking. “Sometimes, she’ll open up a tiny window. When she does that, you have to stick your foot in there. Climb on in, and shove your way through. She’ll try to close it on you, when she sees you’re halfway in, but you press back. Eventually she’ll have to shut it behind you.” She smiled softly at me. “She keeps herself locked up tight, but if you’re persistent, you can get locked up with her.”

  Malcolm pulled the dishcloth from Fay’s hand, and pulled her toward him by the arm. “And some people are the opposite. They throw up their windows and take the doors off the hinges and suck you in like a backdraft.” Now that she was close enough, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pressed his head into her shoulder.

  Paul averted his gaze, happy for them but feeling a little like an intruder. Something burned at the back of his throat. Not jealousy. Yearning. He wanted that. He wanted Celia to let him love her like that.

  She came out of the kitchen then, and he watched as she glided across the room to deliver cheeseburgers to a table in the corner. Her slender arms gracefully deposited the plates in front of the diners, and her smooth laugh carried across the room. She glanced over at him, smiling, but quickly looked away, before pushing on the kitchen door and disappearing behind it.

  “Can I borrow your truck tonight?” Paul asked Malcolm.

  He still had his arm around Fay. “Let him,” she said.

  Malcolm groaned. “You should see the scratches he’s put on the mower. I’ve watched him drive right under tree branches, letting them fall against the sides and scrape it all up. There’s even white paint on one side where he sideswiped a fence.”

  “I’m sitting right here.” Paul grinned, but Malcolm was right—he could be pretty careless with the mower. He was all about getting the job done as quickly as possible. “I won’t trash your truck.”

  Malcolm fixed him with a steady glower. “No speeding, no gravel roads, no going farther than Bakerstown.”

  “Is that all?”

  Malcolm let go of Fay and leaned onto the table, his arms crossed in front of him. “Oh, there’s more. No eating in it, don’t stink it up with smelly cologne, and absolutely no sex in the cab.”

  Beside him, Fay laughed.

  Encouraged, he went on. “Come to think of it, no sex in the back of it either.”

  “Hey man, it’s called a bed for a reason.”

  Malcolm cracked a smile. “Take the truck, but for the love of God, don’t scratch it up.”

  He slid the keys across the table, and Paul snatched them up and stuffed them in his pocket before Malcolm could change his mind. “You sure you won’t need it tonight?”

  They looked at each other. “Nah. We’ll find something to do here in town.”

  “Okay. I’m out of here.” Paul stood up and pulled out his wallet, leaving a ten on the table. He slipped out of the restaurant into the changing autumn air. Summer was slowly slipping away, and the cooler air was welcome. He breathed it in, and set off for home, hoping the next six hours would fly by.

  18

  I watched out the newly repaired front window as Paul hopped out of the cab of Malcolm’s truck and vaulted up the stairs of my porch. His hair was still wet from a shower, and for some reason, a lump rose in my throat and my eyes burned. Damn. I was getting mushy, and it was much too stupid a thing to allow.

  He didn’t see me looking out the window, as the house was dark and the porch was lit up, and I watched as he took a deep breath and mouthed something to himself. When he wiped his palms on his jeans, I decided to relieve him of his suffering, and pulled open the door before he could knock. He jumped a little.

  He took another deep breath. “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  “I have some wheels tonight.”

  He tucked his hands in his pockets and pressed his lips into a flat line, no doubt waiting for me to change my mind and list all the reasons why I could no longer agree to this date. I felt a surge of guilt at my wavering behavior, knowing my cowardice had never been fair to him. That was followed by a rush of sweetness at the way it never chased him off. “Let me just throw on some shoes. I’ll be right out.”

  He did a little hop before settling his body onto the porch swing and nodding. “Yeah. Sure thing. I’ll b
e out here.”

  I closed the door softly, and walked through the house to the kitchen, pausing in the doorway. My mom sat at the table, a pile of green apples before her, some peeled and some waiting their turn. Abe sat across from her, a long, curly apple peel hanging out of his mouth. He always had liked the peels better than the rest of the apple. “Who needs a garbage disposal when you have this guy?” I said, gesturing to Abe.

  He lifted the end of the peel and pointed it at me, like it was a very long tongue he was sticking out. But then he laughed, and the peel fell out of his mouth and dropped to the floor, and I had to laugh too.

  “Mom, I’m going out for a while.” I tried to be breezy about it, waving my hand and sailing past her into the hallway. I hadn’t mentioned this date to her, not wanting to endure the third degree, and perhaps partially afraid to count on it actually happening. It had been a stroke of luck that Dad had gone over to his friend Roger’s house to help him change a starter in his truck.

  She didn’t look up at me as she spoke, just continued peeling the apple, the skin flaying out from it in one long strip. “Where are you going, and who will be there?”

  “I’m not sure where we’re going, but I’ll be with Paul.” Telling her that was risky, but she liked feeling like I was confiding in her. And if forced to admit it, a part of me liked that she liked that.

  Her eyebrows rose slightly. “Well, Paul is a very responsible boy.”

  I wasn’t sure I’d use the word responsible to describe him, but I’d take it. “And I’ll be back by twelve,” I said, intentionally setting my sights a little high, hoping she’d counter me with eleven, which was good enough.

  “You’ll be back by eleven,” she said, and I forced myself not to smile.

  I sighed and pretended to be annoyed, giving her what she needed in order to think she had the upper hand. “Fine. Eleven.”

  In my room, I slipped on my purple ballet flats, glad that Paul had a vehicle tonight and we wouldn’t have to do a lot of walking. There weren’t many opportunities to wear my pretty shoes around here. I ran a brush through my hair one last time, swiped on a new coat of red lipstick, and smiled at my reflection. The smile looked right. I tried on a frown for good measure, but it didn’t stick. I shrugged at myself and grabbed my sweater off my bed.

  Paul was still on the porch, swinging lightly on the swing. “Sorry that took so long. I had to negotiate a curfew with my mom.”

  He stood up and walked over to stand in front of me. “What was the verdict?”

  “Eleven. Not too bad.” I knew he didn’t have a curfew. Things like that reminded me that he was a senior and I was a sophomore, and a dart of fear shot through me. Paul thought about leaving this place, and I wanted that for him. I had more years here than he did, and I was in deeper than I should be. I’d soon have to figure out how to let go of someone I wanted to hold on to with both hands. But that was a problem for future Celia, and tonight I didn’t plan to think about her.

  We walked to the truck, our feet padding and swishing through the grass. We had tonight. I wouldn’t look ahead any farther than that.

  19

  The truck hit a pothole with a bang, and Paul slammed on the brakes. Celia tipped forward, and he instinctively reached his hand out and grabbed onto her upper arm to keep her from hitting the dash. She was sitting right next to him, having scooted to the middle seat when she climbed in—a huge deal that was making it hard to concentrate on the road.

  “Sorry,” he said. “That pothole came out of nowhere.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Malcolm,” she said, and smiled, before glancing where his hand still rested on her arm.

  He slid his hand down her arm and left it on her knee. He could feel the energy rolling off her. It was pent up inside her, building inside him. They’d burst if they spent much longer in the tiny cab of this truck. With some effort, he removed his hand and placed it back on the steering wheel.

  “I think I know where you’re taking me,” she said, scooting to the edge of the seat. “The Bakerstown Pumpkin Festival.” She pointed to the right. “I see the orange lights.”

  He smiled. “Have you been before?”

  “Once. We went when I was really little. I remember Abe was a toddler, so I must have been about five. I don’t remember much, but I remember pumpkin flavored cotton candy and those orange lights.”

  Paul parked the truck along a side street several blocks away from the activity. “Do you mind a short walk? I figure there’s less chance for somebody dinging Malcolm’s truck if I park farther away from everybody else.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  He stepped out and went to shut the door, planning to step around the other side and open Celia’s door for her, but when he turned to close it, there she was, slipping off the seat and standing two inches in front of him.

  Frozen in place, he swallowed, making an audible gulp. He couldn’t even be embarrassed, because of the way she looked up at him. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. It was so silky and soft. “You sure are short.”

  “No, you’re just tall.” They stared at each other for a few breaths, until she broke the spell by reaching out and grabbing the hem of his shirt with one hand and twisting it, turning his body toward the festival. “Now let’s get moving. I want to buy you some pumpkin cotton candy.”

  Paul closed the truck door behind them, careful to lock it and tuck the keys deep into his pocket.

  “People have been talking about this at Heidi’s,” Celia said. “I think there’s a live band.”

  “Yeah, but it’s probably just a country music cover band.”

  “That’s okay. Country or not, live music is always nice.” A small smile danced around her lips.

  His hand brushed hers as they walked. She didn’t step away, so he made sure it happened again. He heard her pull in a breath when it did. Instantly, he wrapped his hand around her fingers. His guts twisted and jumped at the contact, and he felt like if the night ended right here, he’d be a happy man.

  They walked in silence for an entire block, their joined hands swinging slightly and doing all the talking. He tried to get used to the sparks jumping around his palm. Surely she had to be feeling this, too. It seemed like one person couldn’t feel it unless the other one did. “Your fingers are cold. You want my flannel?”

  She glanced up quickly, then back down at her feet. “No, that’s okay. My sweater’s fine for now. My fingers and toes are always cold, just ask Fay. She says it’s just part of being an ice queen.”

  He chuckled. “You just wish you were an ice queen.”

  “Oh? You think you know me better than I know myself?” Her tone was light, playful, so he kept going.

  “I know what you want people to believe, because you want to keep them at arm’s length.”

  “Exactly. That’s what an ice queen does. No one dares approach.”

  “I dare.” He squeezed her hand, and tugged on her arm, pulling her closer to him.

  They turned down a main street, and the lights and sounds increased in intensity by tenfold. Everything was orange. Pumpkins were piled up all over the place. A large crowd was gathered around a stage that held a band playing an old Kenny Loggins song. Food vendors lined the street, long lines at the windows of each one. A group of young kids ran past, their faces painted orange and their eyes and noses painted in black triangles.

  “You want to get your face painted?” he asked.

  “Maybe. I’m up for anything. It’s a little cheesy here, but tonight I’m into it.” She shrugged.

  Without thinking about it, he leaned down and kissed the top of her head. Her hair was warm under his lips, and smelled like vanilla. He pulled away to look at her, nervous he had taken too much liberty, but she smiled and pulled on his hand. “Come on, I see some games we should play.”

  She pulled him into the crowd, the air thick with the smell of sugar and apples and pumpkin spice everything. He followed along like the pu
ppy she said he was, hoping it was true she needed a softer man, rather than a tough one. When it came to her, he wasn’t tough at all. He was human cotton candy—easily pulled, easily dissolved.

  She stopped in front of the pumpkin bowling booth, and they waited in line, hands linked the entire time. When it was their turn, she let go of his hand and stepped behind him. “You go first.”

  The game attendant, a great-grandpa by the looks of it, plopped a small pumpkin in his hand, while a child set up the pins. Paul stepped closer to Celia and lifted the hem of her shirt about an inch, and then pressed the cold rind of the pumpkin to the soft skin of her belly. She shrieked and jumped back, before swatting his arm. “Paul, you’re nothing but trouble.” But she said it smiling.

  “It’s a good thing you’re always up for a little trouble,” he said, looking right in her eyes, then he turned and tossed the pumpkin, bowling a strike.

  Celia threw up her hands. “Oh great. I’ll never hear the end of this.”

  The young boy set up the pins and retrieved the pumpkin, handing it to Celia.

  She rolled the pumpkin hard, and it went way off to the side, hitting the straw bales by the next booth. Paul shook his head in mock despair. “A gutter pumpkin!”

  She laughed and tried again, managing to hit two pins that time. “Fine, you win at this. Your reward will be pumpkin cotton candy.”

  They meandered through the crowd to the food truck with the huge signs boasting about their world-class pumpkin spice cotton candy. Suspiciously, there was no line. Paul pulled out his wallet.

  “Let me buy it, Paul. Loser buys. And it’s basically you buying it anyway, with the way you over-tip.”

  “I do not over-tip. You earn every penny I leave for you.”

  “You gave me a ten dollar bill for a glass of tea the other day.”

  “You gave me three refills.”

  “Refills are free.”

  “Yeah, but bugging Heidi comes at a cost. And I was on her last nerve—teasing her about her pants. You know the ones she wears with the yellow flowers all over? I bet I put her in a bad mood, which you had to put up with. You earned it, trust me.”

  She pulled a crumpled ten dollar bill out of her purse, and ordered the cotton candy, placing the bill on the counter. They took the bag over to an empty straw bale near the edge of all the activity. A quiet town street glowed behind them, and in front of them, kids ran around in costumes, most with pumpkin faces.