Juniper Bean Resorts to Murder (Happily Ever Homicide, #1)

by Gracie Ruth Mitchell

“Hey,” I say to him, gathering my fleeing courage like a cowgirl with a lasso, reining it in and forcing it to stick around. It’s time to do this.

There was nothing particularly beautiful about the visual. And yet I’m still thinking of it eight hours later. I’m still half wishing that I could return home and find her in the exact same spot.

A spark of something hot ignites deep in my chest as I stride toward her. Juniper is not a woman who should ever look so crushed. “What are you doing here?” The words burst out of me well before I’ve reached her, but I don’t stop moving. I continue my approach until I’m standing right in front of where she’s perched on the step stool, looking up at me, her chin set defiantly even as her eyes flash. The corners of her lips curl down ever so slightly, and crap, I want to kiss them.

I want to shake her for coming here so recklessly. But I want to kiss her for being safe.

And I can’t. I can’t do this anymore, I can’t stop this, and I don’t want to. My hand lifts of its own accord to grab the finger that’s jabbing me, a move so sudden she stops speaking. I close the distance between us in one step. And then I crash my lips down on hers, swallowing the rest of her words.

She gasps into my mouth, but there’s no hesitation in her response. She’s kissing me back in point-two seconds, her hands fisting in my shirt and yanking me closer, a storm of lightning in my veins at her eagerness, because good grief—she kisses me like she’s been waiting forever to do it.

She tastes absurdly like strawberries—of course she does—and her lips are impossibly soft, impossibly perfect, chasing mine as we tangle and tussle.

I want to do crazy things with her, the kind of crazy that would only come from Juniper and I. I want to whisper poetry with my kisses, passing sonnets and verses back and forth between us. I want to consume the words on her tongue. I want to lick her stories from her lips. They don’t make sense, these half-formed desires, but I want those things anyway. I want everything she has, greedy in a way I’ve never felt before.

She can direct all of her anger at me, and I’ll take it gladly. She can give me all of everything, all the bad and the good and the dark and the light, and I’ll take them all and keep them all and cherish them all—all the parts of this woman whose life has been entwined with mine since we were children.

But for now—just for this little pocket of time, hidden in the back of the library—I give myself and my attention to her and her alone.

There’s a corner of my heart that’s still racing not because I’m kissing her but because it scared me, receiving that call from Gus and then not being able to find her.

I let my eyes devour every part of her I see, just to make sure she’s okay.

When I’ve arrived at this conclusion, I let my head fall onto her shoulder—falteringly at first and then with abandon. My forehead drops to that intimate junction where her neck meets her shoulder, cradled in the space that seems perfectly designed for me, and for a second I just rest there. Just to listen to her breathe. Just to feel her warmth and the soft give of her skin, the tickle of her hair and the gentle rise and fall of her chest—all those things that tell me how alive she is.

“What—what are you doing?” “Just…making sure.” She doesn’t ask me what I’m making sure of, and I don’t know that I could answer if she did. There are so many warring thoughts and feelings, so many opposing instincts that are battling for dominance. I want to kiss her again. I want to hold her. I want to push her away and keep myself safe. I want to pull her close and keep her safe.

Juniper tilts her head as she looks up at me in a way that makes my pulse spike all over again;

It’s just that my first instinct when it comes to this woman is to hide, because there’s so much about her that scares me. She has a mind that I want to unfold, a heart that I want to keep safe, a fiery streak that I want to be burned by. I want to follow her around, just to see what she does and what she says. I care about those things. And caring…it’s scary.

“Well, do you want me to go back to how things were before?” “What?” I say, shocked. “No. Don’t.” “Mm-hmm. And do you want me to date anyone else?” “No,” I growl, feeling suddenly irritated. “Don’t do that either.” “Do you want to kiss me again?” I sigh. “I can’t stop thinking about it, so yes.” She nods decisively, and something in her eyes changes. “You definitely want to date me,” she says, her lips tilting into a lopsided smile. “Do I have to wait for whatever you want to talk about, or can I hold your hand now?” She could do so much more than hold my hand and I wouldn’t stop her. But I just swoop down and kiss her forehead. “Now,” I say. “You can hold my hand now. Now let’s go get your chips and guac.”

“Do you realize,” she says as she lets go of my waist and takes my hand instead, “that we are this close to Aidiper territory?” I just smile.

When we arrive home thirty minutes later, we’re still holding hands, and I’m collecting valuable information. How well can I put away groceries one-handed? What does it feel like to run my fingers over a nail that’s coated with chipped polish? How much smaller is Juniper’s hand than mine?

These are all questions I’m answering as we swivel around the kitchen like we’re handcuffed, an odd swing dance playing out on our tiny stage. It’s embarrassing, is what it is.

“Okay, enough,” I say finally when she does it again. I close the refrigerator and then nod at her. “What’s with the smirking?” Her smile widens as she attempts to pull her hand away. “Mine,” I say with a frown, holding tighter.

“Are you gonna answer the question?” “I knew you would be like this,” she says, now looking nothing short of radiant. She gives our intertwined hands a little shake. “I had a theory that you were prickly on the outside, but if I managed to get through all that, you’d be the kind of guy who never let go. Following me around the kitchen with your arms wrapped around me from behind—or keeping my hand in yours even though you’d be more efficient without it.”

She’s right, I realize with a start. I am doing that—hoarding her touches, storing them up in case of a long winter without them. Or, in other word...

There are different kinds of silences. Some are warm. Some are cold. Some are heavy, and some feel like they could blow away in the breeze. The silence that falls over the room now is a death silence—cold and motionless and heavy. Another dead body, one of my own making this time, lying in the space between Juniper and I.

But I’m not ready for the soft touch of her hand on my thigh. I’m not ready for the arm she threads around my torso or the way she buries her face in my shoulder. I’m not ready for the two words she whispers: “Thank you.” I sit for a moment, stunned, before I’m able to react. I wrap my arms around her and pull her onto my lap, where she folds perfectly into me—my origami heart.

I press a kiss to the top of her head, just because I can. “Let’s eat chips and guac and figure out our next move.” “Are you gonna date me?” she asks with a little smile. “Mmm,” I hum. “Yeah. I’ll probably have to date you.” “Are you gonna feed me food out of your secret fourth drawer?” Crap. I forgot that she saw that. “That’s for emergencies only,” I say, my voice gruff. “Now pass the chips, Junipaide.”

He keeps rubbing his hands over his face and muttering to himself, every now and then shooting me dirty looks. “That’s not a very nice facial expression to make at your girlfriend,” I say in a singsong voice, mostly just to push his buttons. “I regret everything,” he says darkly. I shake my head. “It’s too late. We are one. We are Aidiper.” “I take it all back.” “And we’re so cute together—” “Everything. I take everything back.”

“No take backs. Sorry.” I shrug, looking over at him. “I don’t make the rules, I just follow them.” “I make the rules,” he says, and I laugh. “No. No way. Last time you made the rules, you said we would never be romantically involved. Remember that?” “Meh,” he says, turning to look out the window. “And if you’ll recall, I never actually broke any rules or crossed any lines,” I say reasonably. “That was all you.”

There are floor-to-ceiling windows and warm wood paneling and bookshelves, so many bookshelves, lined with books in every size and color. It’s not quite Belle’s library in the beast’s castle, but it’s still gorgeous.

Did he love the woman she became, sad and broken, whose best still wasn’t enough? Because that’s the unfortunate truth about my mother: she tried. I really think she did. And she loved me. But love and trying hard were not enough. Sometimes those things are not enough. And is love more than the sum of its parts? If you lose all the parts of yourself that someone fell in love with, will they still love you?

Then I look over my shoulder at her. She’s sitting up now. “Hey,” she says, her eyes sparkling, her hair somehow extra pink. “I like you.” “Yeah,” I say as my smile fades into something softer. “I like you too.”

These aren’t words I’m used to saying; I don’t have these kinds of conversations. But this thing with Juniper…I’ve fallen into it. Slipped into it, really, with astonishing ease. Maybe because she found her way here first, and I simply held on for dear life while she dragged me along after her.

Her mind is magical, and her heart is strong. How could I not follow her into whatever rainbow di...

“What about soulmates?” I say, because I’m interested to hear her answer. She smiles at me. “No,” she says. “I tend to think that almost any two people could be happy together if they were both determined enough. But”—she shrugs—“really, what do I know?” Her smile turns mischievous as she reaches up with both hands and pulls my face down to hers. “Why?” she says, planting a kiss on my lips. “Do you think we’re soulmates?” I grin, prying her vice-like grip off of me. “That’s way above my pay grade.” I kiss her right palm, then her left. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I probably won’t be up before you leave.” “That’s fine. Get some sleep.” She nods, blows me a kiss, and then heads toward the stairs. I watch her until she’s disappeared from my view, a dopey smile on my face the whole time, like a lovesick fool.

“Ma,” I say when she answers. “Oh, don’t call me that,” she says, and I picture her waving her hand at me. “You sound like one of those New Jersey Shores boys.” “Jersey Shore,” I say, amused. “Whatever it’s called. Those kids needed a parent or two,” she mutters.

“I just wanted to let you know, because her mom has passed, so I told her she could borrow mine. I told her—” I clear my throat. “I told her my mom is pretty great.” “Oh,” my mother says, her voice suddenly wobbly. “Oh, dear. Her mother passed away?” I nod. “Years ago.”

“Juniper,” my mother says. “Juniper needs a family. I want you to go over there tomorrow morning, Caroline, and tomorrow evening we can all have dinner together—” “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I say quickly. “Slow down. She has a brother; they get along well. She’s not completely alone. So no one needs to come over here in the morning. And we’ve got a lot going on this week, so probably no dinner tomorrow.” Inexplicably, a lump has begun to form in the back of my throat, spurred by my mom’s immediate call to arms—no hesitation, no questions, just love.

I swallow thickly. “I just meant that I’m dating her, and I like her, and I hope you’ll be welcoming. That’s—” I clear my throat, squeezing my eyes shut a few times to get rid of the sting. “That’s all I meant.” “Oh,” my mother says, and her voice softens. “Of course, sweetheart. Of course we will. Although”—now her words turn stern—“we should discuss how you’re living in sin.” I can’t help it; I smile. She’s truly the greatest mother in the world.

We’re curled up on the couch together, pretending to read our own separate books while secretly stealing glances at each other.

You’re allowed to feel angry, my therapist has told me time and time again. You’re allowed to feel compassion for your mother while also taking issue with how she treated you. You’re allowed to love someone while also being glad they’re no longer part of your life. You can understand why someone treats you badly while also refusing to allow them to treat you that way. Those things are okay.