Page 72 of The Kiss Connection

Sweat glistens on my forehead. I swear they cranked the heat so much that they don’t want people to stay. Come in, get your hot drinks, and get the hell out.

Heck of a way to run a business.

I walk her up to the counter and she examines the daily drink specials board. It’s always changing. This place isn’t too far from the rental place that she put her application in for. Just a couple of blocks’ walk, less than ten minutes, but in the opposite direction of home.

“Oh, I want to try a peanut butter cup hot chocolate,” she orders at the counter. “And extra marshmallows.”

“I knew you had a sweet tooth.” I glance at her and order a hot dark chocolate cocoa for myself.

“Would you like that with marshmallows?” the barista asks.

“You can give her my marshmallows,” I say, whether or not it comes with it doesn’t matter.

Juniper squeals with delight.

It’s that gleeful sound that makes my heart pitter patter in my chest.

Turns out, I don’t hate Juniper Snow. I like her, a lot.

And fake dating her, it’s all feeling a little too real for me.

Eighteen

Juniper

“Who’s going to water my plant while you’re away?” Myles asks.

I’m sitting in the airport, the phone pressed against my ear. My stomach churns, but it’s not from Myles or his flirting.

I hate flying. I get nervous when I’m on an airplane. Maybe I should have taken Myles up on his offer to spend Christmas with my family in Montana. I’m regretting my decision to travel alone.

My voice catches in my throat and my hands tremble as I glance at the gate. We still have twenty minutes until boarding. “I’m sure your little guy will survive on his own.”

“Little guy?” he mocks and laughs, like I’ve offended him.

His plant is carnivorous, but only a few inches tall. It’s practically a baby. It’s not like I actually did much to keep that beast alive. It seemed to thrive on its own. I just gave it a little bit of water when he was out of town. He’d only been gone a couple of days.

“Aren’t you coming back for Christmas?” I ask. They played last night; they’re due home sometime today.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice filled with concern. “You seem … different.”

“I hate flying.” I let the words sink into the air, like maybe admitting my discomfort will make it easier?

Nope.

My stomach flops, and I chew my bottom lip raw.

“What if I flew with you?”

“My plane is going to board soon. How would you do that?” I ask.

“Look up.”

Myles is standing just a few feet away, on his phone, staring at me.

My heart quickens, and I swallow the silent sob that chokes my voice. He ends the call and shoves his phone into his pocket. I stand to greet him, but instead of walking toward me, he bypasses me for the ticketing agent, heading to the counter.

I grab my bag, following him, nearly tripping as my heart races and I stare at him, shocked. “What are you doing?” I ask. I was not expecting him to show up at the airport.