Page 49 of The Kiss Connection

Shadows bounce over the small space and the lights kick on. There are less lights on than before, must be a backup generator. “See, nothing to worry about,” I say, relieved.

“We’re still not moving, Myles.”

She’s right.

I press the emergency button again and am met with the same voice as before. They inform me that help is on the way but to remain calm.

“Remain calm?” Juniper’s voice raises an octave.

I wrap an arm around her shoulders. “It could be worse. You could be in here alone.”

She glares at me. “I’m not sure that is worse.” Juniper scrunches her nose at me.

“Oh, she makes a joke, even when mad,” I tease, trying to keep her distracted. “Tell me about what you do for a living. You know I play hockey.”

“I’m in college.” Her voice is soft, tentative, but her gaze keeps flitting around the small space of the elevator, barely noticing me.

I keep my phone nearby but turn off the flashlight. If the lights go out again, I’ll be ready. “What year are you?”

“Senior. I graduate early, at the end of the semester.”

“Major?”

“Business Management with a minor in English Lit.”

“That’s an interesting combination,” I stare at her, realizing there’s a whole lot of mystery shrouded behind those baby blue eyes.

I shift slightly, reaching my hand toward the pink curls. Most of her hair is dark, black. But the pink curls in the front, they’re bold.

Just like her.

“I want to run my own business one day,” she says and slides out of my jacket, handing it to me. “Thanks for this.”

I grab it, placing it on the opposite side of me. I don’t need it in here, at least not right now. “Of course. Glad it could keep you warm. Well, warmer.”

A wry smile curls at the corner of her lips. “It is comfortable and smells like⁠—”

“Like what?”

“Like you.” She bites her bottom lip and quickly looks away, her cheeks reddening.

“Oh.” I’m unsure what I smell like, if it’s something like too much body odor or cologne, but I make a mental note to wash my jacket before wearing it again.

“So, what kind of a business do you want to run one day?”

“A bookstore,” she says, her eyes lighting up, the blue irises turning a deeper shade. “I want to open a small bookstore away from the city. I’ve always admired small towns, simple living, without all the traffic and chaos.”

“I’m sure there’s still chaos.” I nudge her shoulder. “But I get it. Living in the city can be … a lot at times.”

“See, that’s why we’d never work out,” Juniper says.

I wait for her to elaborate, because I’m not falling into some crazy trap. I know why we wouldn’t work out, but I want to hear her reason.

“You love city living. Plus, you play professional hockey. I prefer the quiet, small-town atmosphere. No one knowing who I am.”

“You value anonymity.” I honestly miss that, being able to walk into a coffee shop and not having to worry that someone is going to tell me how awful I played last week or if they’re secretly filming me to share all over social media.

There are good moments, like when a kid comes up and asks for my autograph. But my brother warns me that those moments get old fast.