Page 76 of The Kiss Connection

“I like this one, just you and me, in my bed.”

She gives me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Fine, send it to your brother. Post it on your socials. Whatever you want, Myles.” She retreats from my bed, and already, I miss her touch, miss being within her reach, where I can hold her.

I press my lips together. “What do you want?” I ask, trying again. Last night, she didn’t answer me when I asked if she wanted us to date for real.

“I want you to come down for breakfast.” She heads for the door, glancing back at me over her shoulder. “You should probably get dressed; we have company downstairs.”

It turns out company is her cousins and close family friends who all get together for Christmas brunch. Feels like the entire town is here.

I can’t keep straight who everyone is, even with Juniper trying to give me a run down of everyone. She’s seated right next to me, my arm around her shoulder, keeping her close.

When her uncle realizes who I am, that I play hockey, the questions start flying at me, and I try to answer as many as I can. It’s nice to have someone to talk to who knows the sport, and it gives me a breather for a few minutes from all the small talk, which can be overwhelming.

Twenty minutes with him turns to forty, and then Juniper eventually kisses my cheek and excuses herself.

Shit.

I glance back at her uncle, apologize for getting up because I hate to be rude, but I need to check on Juniper.

I find her in the kitchen, quietly grabbing a plate of fruit, standing in the corner of the room, alone.

“Hey,” I say, glancing at her, trying to read her body language. “What’s going on?”

She shrugs silently.

“Talk to me,” I say and take her hand, leading her someplace quiet where we can have a few minutes alone, without all the chaos and her family bombarding us with questions.

“It’s a little overwhelming,” she whispers, her eyes not on me. They’re on the uneaten fruit.

It feels like she’s distant, far away, struggling, but I’m not sure with what. They’re her family. Is it the lie, the fact we’re pretending to be a couple that is bothering her?

She stares at the fruit and eventually places it on the nearby table, her hands trembling ever so slightly.

“It’s just you and me,” I whisper, trying to reassure her.

There’s a lot of noise and commotion nearby, but the room we’re in is dark, the lights off, there’s no immediate sounds from in here. “Do you want me to take you upstairs?” I offer.

She shakes her head no. The words don’t come right away, the silence stretches on at first. “That isn’t necessary,” she says.

“Anything I can do to help?” I don’t like seeing her this way. And to think, if I hadn’t come with her, would she still be having this level of anxiety or am I to blame? It is anxiety, isn’t it?

Another wordless shake of her head.

I sit with her, quietly keeping her company. I have so many questions, but I don’t want to overwhelm her. We just sit in silence until she finally reaches for my arm, her hand chilly as her fingers graze my hand.

“Thank you.”

I don’t know how long we’ve been sitting together in silence. She leans into me, her body curling against mine, and I wrap an arm around her shoulders, pulling her to me.

There’s a blanket on the sofa behind us, and I wrap it around her as she’s pressed against me. Her eyelids flicker closed, and I want nothing more than to take her up to bed, but I’m also trying to abide by her request and her boundaries.

If I take her upstairs and put her into bed, I’ll have to leave her alone.

I’d rather stay with her and make sure she’s all right.

Her breathing evens out in long, slow breaths. Eventually, she falls asleep, her head on my shoulder, my arm curled around her body. The sofa isn’t the most comfortable position, my legs bent with my feet on the floor, the room dark, but knowing she’s safe is all that matters to me.

Juniper is sound asleep in my arms, and at some point, her mother pokes her head in, finding us on the sofa. She doesn’t say anything, sees what’s happening and leaves us alone.