Chapter 36
Juniper
She pours him a glass and passes it over before turning her attention to serving dinner. I think she’ll be doing this until the day she dies, ever the attentive host, totally focused on her dinner parties and dishing up food that’s so divine it leaves everyone craving more.
The kitchen has been the focal point of the house for as long as I can remember, and not just for baking. It’s a place of memories, hard work, endless laughter, and life.
“So, Dexter, tell me about yourself. Junie’s been holding all your secrets so close to her chest I’m worried she’ll suffocate them,” Nana says as she heaps heavenly potatoes onto my plate. Far too many, but that’s how she rolls. It’s not dinner unless you stumble away overfed and bursting at the seams.
He glances at me slowly. The moment of truth.
“We don’t talk business much, do we, Sweet Stuff?” The endearment slips from his tongue like honey. I don’t know whether to laugh hysterically or burst into flames. Or how to pretend this is anything close to ordinary.
“Uh, yeah. I barely know what you do.” I laugh awkwardly, playing it off as a joke, but if Nana only knew the truth…
“I’m a founding member and owner of Higher Ends International,” Dexter says, launching into a polished summary he must’ve used in a hundred meetings. While he explains their bougie luxury rental business–in excruciating detail, no less–I study my plate so I’m not scrutinizing Nana’s face every second, wondering if she’s buying it.
The ribs are cooked to perfection with a sauce that does Kansas City proud. The pies Nana used to supply to the best smokehouses in town for a bargain really paid off when the barbecue masters invited her to learn from them.
The potatoes, too, crunchy with just the right hint of rosemary. A little of her homemade aioli on the side makes my mouth sing.
She’s outdone herself, but she always does. If only I could enjoy it in peace…
After Dexter finishes his spiel, grudgingly giving his brothers a little credit for their shared success, she clasps her hands and says grace.
I bite my cheek and glance up at him, but his expression doesn’t crack.
He just bows his head respectfully.
“…good God, good meat, Amen and let’s eat!” Nana finishes with a wolfish smile, looking up at us both. She may be old–fashioned, but she tries to make her traditions fun. “Hurry up and clean your plates. There’s plenty more where
that came from.”
“Gladly,” Dexter says, stripping meat off a rib and shoveling it into his mouth.
There’s something weirdly adorable about him eating with real passion, not picking at his plate with perfectly mild
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Chapter 36
manners like I figured he would. I know Nana appreciates it too, nodding her approval as his food disappears rapidly.
I join in, gobbling up potatoes while Nana fires off a few more questions about his company. Of course.
She’s probably thrilled that I’m finally dating someone with a better idea of how to run a business than I have.
“Sounds like you have a lot of responsibilities,” she says. “Some,” he agrees. “It isn’t always pretty, but I manage.”
“Maybe you and Junie could talk about her big plans for the Sugar Bowl.” Nana points at me with her fork.
Ouch.
I smile painfully. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt. When the opportunity comes knocking-”
“Actually, we try not to mix business and our private lives.” Dexter looks at me. I realize he’s giving me an out. “In the future, we’ll certainly touch more on our careers. For now, we’re enjoying our time together. It isn’t always easy finding it with our rigid schedules, and who wants to talk about work?”
Nice save, Big Fish.
“Ah, okay. How did you two meet?” Nana asks. “Junie never did say.” Oh God.
I take a big gulp of wine as Dex looks at me and smiles, waiting for me to take this one.
“We met at the Nelson–Atkins museum last winter,” I say carefully. “Turns out, he’s a big fan of modern art.”
“She walked up to me admiring my favorite piece and insulted it to my face,” he says bluntly. I send him a glare. This wasn’t part of the plan. “She told me modern art can be–what was it you said, Junie?”
I remember the conversation we had in his office.
“Uh, underwhelming? Colorful but confusing? What can I say, I like my pretty pictures more when I don’t need a psych degree to understand them…”
“Right, that’s it. And I said-”
“You asked if I need everything spelled out when I take a walk in the woods. You insisted some art can be so abstract it has its own meaning, just like nature. Then I got up in arms and told you how wrong you were.”
“She was smitten in the first five minutes,” he says, throwing a heavy look at Nana.
She cackles wildly.
“Excuse me?” I jab my fork at him. “You were the one who asked me out for coffee!”
“Yeah. Somebody had to correct your prehistoric opinions on everything after Monet and Van Gogh.”
“Oh, right, so that’s why you asked me out.” I shake my head.
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His face relaxes into an easy smile that crinkles the corner of his eyes.
- h. I asked you out because I love seeing
you get all worked up about the stuff you care about. A lot of people won’t do that for anything.”
I’m blushing.
Holy hell, I’m blushing. Again.
Nana bursts into a new laughing fit.
To compensate, I drain the rest of my wine and pour myself another glass. Yeah, the only way I’m going to get through tonight is with dangerous amounts of cabernet.
“Amazing ribs, Jo,” Dexter says, thankfully diverting her attention before I choke on a potato. “It’s easy to see why Junie’s a natural at what she does.”
“Oh, baking always had her heart. She’s wanted to work at the Sugar Bowl since she was making cookies out of Play–Doh. Didn’t you, Junie?” Nana smiles at me, probably thinking she’s doing me a favor. But the less we talk about my childhood, the better–especially before she touches the depressing stuff.
“Always.” I force a smile. It’s not like my other dreams were ever
concrete.
And I’m good at cooking, baking especially. I take a lot of pride in my stuff, the way a customer’s eyes light up when they taste the Sugar Bowl’s magic for the first time.
I just never thought making people happy would come with a nice big side of crushing responsibility.
Sensing my discomfort, Dexter keeps the conversation on food and barbecue places he loves. I nibble at the creamed corn, extra glad he’s here to pick up the pieces.
I didn’t realize how smooth he is when he keeps his short–fused attitude in check.
How many social situations has he had to sit through like this, always pinpointing the right thing to say?
He knows just how hard to push, just how warm to make his voice as he showers praise on the food and listens warmly while Nana rattles on about all the rock stars of barbecue she knows in this city.
I wonder a bit jealously if this is the first grandmother he’s had to charm
-or has he practiced this on lots of other women’s families?
Probably the first he’s had to charm for a pretend relationship, anyway. At least I can be the first at something.
Nana doesn’t say anything as she clears my empty plate, but she tops off my wine again and brings out dessert.
I try not to laugh as Dexter’s face drops.
He’s about to break character, clinging to a neutral look and holding back a scowl for the ages. It’s the way the corners of his mouth tighten. The way he eyeballs the cake like he wants to punch it rather than eat it.
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Miraculously, Nana doesn’t notice.
“There’s more,” Nana says proudly. “I know how much you must like your desserts to be with my Junie, so I made three classic goodies.”
My eyes flick over the spread.
Chocolate fudge cake. Cherry pie. Bola de Berlim–custard–filled Portuguese donuts. Y’know, just in case regular donuts aren’t sweet enough for him.
I help myself to a generous slice of chocolate fudge cake and Nana hands him a plate with all three desserts.
Dexter looks at them with the same joy as a little boy staring down a pile of brussels sprouts.
“Aren’t you thrilled you’re dating a baker?” I ask, my tone saccharine.
Shut it, his evil eye says before he fakes a smile for Nana.
“Looks delightful. Yes, I’m a lucky, lucky man. Can’t believe it sometimes,” he rumbles.
“Eat up, young man!” Nana urges, taking a donut for herself and watching him with the same doting look she normally saves for me. “There’s always more. No one’s tracking your dessert count in this house, dear.”
“I never would’ve guessed,” he says gruffly. “These look divine, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to handle much after the main course…”
I’m about to break down in hysterics, knowing he’s probably doing the mental math already, hashing out how much time he’ll have to put in sweating to burn off the extra calories.
That’s probably how he approaches his marketing, too. Hell, it’s how he approached me, isn’t it?
Calculating to a fault.
“Dexter, you heard the lady. Eat,” I hiss playfully, taking a nice big bite of my cake.
Yum.
Nana knows just how to make it melt in your mouth like a good piece of fudge. Call it my inner basic bitch, but this is my favorite dessert of hers ever.
On my next bite, Dexter joins me, slicing into the donut.
To his credit, he does an amazing job of keeping pure disgust off his face, but he hasn’t looked this tense since I saw him with Forrest Haute.
“The chocolate cake is my favorite,” I say, nabbing another forkful off his plate to be a good sport. He should thank me later–it’s easily the sweetest thing on there. I totally deserve a pay raise for this.
“You’ve always been a chocoholic.” Nana beams at me.
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“Only because you make the best, even the really dark stuff like the cocoa truffles you made last Christmas. It’s usually too bitter, but yours is just right, Nana.”
“Yeah. Just right,” Dexter manages, swallowing a mouthful of pure fudge without chewing.
I hide a grin.
Bet he wishes he didn’t compliment the food so much earlier now.
“So tell me,” Nana says, clasping her hands together and looking at Dexter. “What are your plans for my granddaughter?”
I almost spit out my cake.
“Nana! You can’t be so direct,” I whisper.
“You can and you will when you’re this old, hon. You’ll understand some day. After seventy years, a person gets awfully sick of beating around the bush.”
Oh my God, this is it. The end of me.
I’m also getting horrible flashbacks of the time she dropped the same question on Liam and he gave her an answer that haunts me to this day.
Why, I wanna marry her, Jo. Isn’t it obvious?
If Dexter tells her he wants to marry me, I will die. Like this will become a 9-1-1 emergency.
Also, I can’t bear to see Nana’s hopes destroyed again.
To endure the ugly whispers from my cousins a second time, the sad sympathetic looks when it’s all over, the smiling assurances that ‘someday you’ll find your man‘ that are supposed to be kind but just come off as annoying.
Dexter frowns at me, just slightly, the tips of his brows pulling together.
The expression is echoed in his eyes.
I don’t dare shake my head. Not when Nana’s watching like he’s holding the key to the universe. I’m frozen inside.
“Well,” he says slowly, still looking at me, “Junie’s pretty special, huh?”
Please, I beg, wishing I could beam my thoughts into his head. Please don’t mention getting married.
“We’re coming up on six months together,” he continues, glancing back at Nana as he drapes his arm over the back of my chair. “You’re a lovely lady, Jo, and I can’t be anything but straight with you. We haven’t made any big plans for the future yet. There’s a good chance that’s coming someday, but we’re focused on today. And right now, we love spending time together. Right, Junie?”
“R–right,” I sputter breathlessly. God, it’s suddenly too hot in here.
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Dex’s arm presses against my shoulders with a slight pressure that reminds me he’s here.
He’s doing everything he can.
He’s here, acting his heart out and handling Nana delicately so he can satisfy my end of the deal and fix his mistakes.
My heart swells.
“Hmmm. Interesting answer,” Nana says, sitting back in her chair. “I guess I won’t have to chase you out of here with a shotgun just yet. If you’re good to my Junie, then you’re good to me, and from what I’ve seen this evening, sir, you know how to make her smile.”
The tension dissipates so fast I feel like I’ve been dropped back into my own body.
Holy crap.
We pulled it off.
She believes his fake boyfriend act.
She likes him.
In the long run, that makes this whole thing so much worse. But tonight, it’s the win we need.
“Junie, be a dear and come help me find a new bottle of wine.” Nana gets up from the table and beckons me over.
With a longing glance, Dexter removes his arm and I head into her walk–in pantry. She closes the pocket door -behind me.
“Okay, let’s hear it. What do you really think?” I ask.
“Oh, he’s wonderful!” she whispers. “Don’t you dare let a man like him slip through your fingers, missy.”
I sigh.
Did I mention there were drawbacks to spinning the perfect illusion? “He’s Dex,” I say simply.
So convincing. Great acting, Junie.
“Truth be told, he reminds me a little of your grandfather when he was young,” she says, clasping her hands together, a dreamy look on her face.
Oh no. Now she’s showering him with the highest praise.
Granddad died when I was a kid so I don’t remember much. Just the odd sun–bleached memory at the back of my head. But I do remember the way they looked at each other and that vibrant smile I haven’t seen on Nana’s face
since he left.
“No way,” I say, almost out of habit.
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“Yes, yes.” She opens the wine fridge and starts sifting through bottles. “You’re young and in love and you’re making your old grandmother jealous.”
Then I see it.
She moves quickly, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. I’m instantly sliced in half.
I have a sudden urge to drop the act and fess up, to fall to my knees and confess my stupidity, to tell her I’m so not in love with Dexter Rory.
We’re barely on speaking terms.
In a normal dating situation, he’d be the guy I’d unmatch the second he goes off about sugar being devil dust.
But I, Juniper Winkley, am a terrible coward.
And even if my honesty cost me everything and I had to pay back Dexter Rory every red cent, leaving the Sugar Bowl stuck in nowhereland, it still wouldn’t be a fraction as scary as facing Nana when she thinks she’s seen Granddad’s second coming. If she finds out we’re pulling one over on her…
My eyes sting.
I decide to keep my dumb mouth shut while she stands up and turns, cradling a bottle of blueberry wine. “Too sweet for his palate?”
“He’ll live,” I tell her. “I forgot you had that stuff since we usually have it in the fall. Great choice.”
It’s definitely not as fancy or rare as the ambrosia Dexter keeps in his atmosphere–controlled wine cellar, but then, he’s driving. If he hates it, he won’t be drinking much.
“Are you sure, though, Nana? Grandpa was-” I stop. The man was a pretty big grump, but I don’t want to say that. “They were different, I think. I’m just surprised you think there’s a connection.”
“June bug, he looks at you the same way your grandfather used to look at me. It’s right there in his eyes.” She gives me a wink. “I was worried you might not find someone who’d make you as happy as Paul made me.”
She doesn’t know the half of it, but there’s nothing more I can do but follow her back out into the kitchen and then to the table, where Dexter waits with his phone. He sets it down the instant he sees us coming.
I’ve seen pictures of Grandpa.
Old ones, now, but they’re the only reason I can remember his face. Maybe the resemblance wasn’t totally off. He was dark–haired, too, with blue eyes that glowed like the sky.
Dexter’s eyes remind me more of the sea and its endless mysteries. Dark sometimes, stormy with that veiled threat the ocean always seems to carry, but when he smiles, like he does now, they almost gleam.
Yeah, let’s blame it on the wine.
I’ve officially had too much if I’m buying into his BS too.
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But I don’t object when Nana pours me another glass. The hazier and warmer the world around me feels, the easier I can get past the guilt that’s eating me alive.
She stays to watch Dexter finish the cake–who knew she was a masochist–before making the fakest jump I have ever seen in my life.
“Oh my!” she says. Another reason to know it’s a ruse–I’ve never heard her say that genuinely. “I just realized I’ve got to call your great aunt Mary in Tucson. She’s trying to throw together a bunch of key lime pies for a church thing and she wants my advice. Would you mind if I made it now? The garden’s lovely this time of year and it’s stopped raining, if you kids want to step outside.”
Another lie, though Nana’s garden rocks any time of year.
When she shoos us into the backyard, under the little golden string lights hanging around the patio and across the trees, I start to understand her plan.
We might be the schemers tonight, but we’re hardly alone.
Nana dressed this place
up to look romantic. She did it for us.
Maybe she wants to convince Dexter as much as he’s been fighting to convince her he’s genuine.
My heart starts spiraling.
Especially as Nana slams the back door shut behind us and it’s just Dexter and me standing awkwardly on the patio, the lights splashing gold over his face.
We’re a little too close, but I don’t have it in me to pull away. The world wobbles just a little.
I take another sip of wine, tangling my fingers around the stem so I don’t lose my grip.
“Sorry about the blueberry stuff.”
“It’s drinkable,” he says with a shrug, finishing his glass. “And about… her, I guess.” Another sip. “Nana can be a lot.” He chuckles so sincerely it makes me shiver.
“Stop apologizing, Junie. Death cake aside, she’s honest and likable.
That’s a hell of a lot more than I can say for most people.” Yikes.
Why does he sound so sincere?
I told him I didn’t want him to be an asshole but… he’s actually put on his nice guy hat for so long it’s like he’s forgotten we’re pretending. And he won Nana over with flipping stars.
“Thanks for forcing down dessert. You did really well! I’d say I’m sorry for you having to work it off, but something tells me you enjoy beating things up in your gym.” Amusement creeps into my voice. “Honestly, though, I wasn’t sure if you were going to make it at the end.”
He snorts, shaking his head.
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“The fudge was a struggle. Took me back to my days when I had to live on military rations. The pudding those fucks stuffed in the kits was unholy. Chalky as hell and too sweet by half. Still, if that was the worst part of the night, we got off easy.”
And we did. Unbelievably.
The rest of it–the holding hands, the pretending, the constant lies–I didn’t enjoy what we were doing, exactly, but it was easier than I ever expected.
So was having Dex cut in and save me before my big mouth stalled and got us into more trouble.
“I think fooling your fellow suit will be easier now,” I say. “We’ve got our script and some good experience acting like a couple.”
“It wasn’t bad,” he agrees. There’s real surprise in his voice as he looks out across the lights. “Guess your nana hoped we’d end up out here.”
“I think she was going to push us out if we didn’t go willingly.” I lean against his arm, partly for support, partly for warmth after the rain. “But it’s nice having a minute to breathe, isn’t it?”
Silence falls between us as he nods, but it’s not awkward like before.
When he stops behaving like a fire–breathing grouch, he’s not that hard to talk to.
With most people, you’re always looking for something to say, but Dex seems as comfortable in the silence as I am.
I set my wineglass on the patio table next to us.
“Tell me something,” I say, the alcohol making me bold. “Yeah?” He gives me a suspicious glance.
“Why aren’t you married already? Or you know, at least keeping busy with a harem of models. I saw your brother has a kid. Isn’t that what most rich guys do?”
“Archer’s not with anyone now. His life is complicated.” He turns and gives me his full attention, a grimly amused smile playing on his lips. “And what the hell would you know about what rich men do, Sweet Stuff?”
Again, that dumb nickname.
My cheeks are redder than cardinals.
“I dunno.” I wave a clumsy hand. “It’s just, you work all the time, but you must have women chasing you. Especially when you’re young and hot.”
“I’m young and hot now? Big praise from a woman who hates my ass.
Better watch your mouth.” He raises an eyebrow.
Oh my God. My big mouth is finally working its magic, just delayed. “No, don’t take it back,” he says, catching my
wrist as I wave it in the
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air too close to his face. “I like it.” “I’m embarrassed now.”
“Don’t be, Junie. You worry too damn much.” He looks back at my face with the same hunger in his eyes I saw at the office. “Gun to my head–and you’ve got one there now–I think you’re younger and hotter than hell,” he growls.
His other hand drops to my waist to steady me.
I roll my eyes pathetically. I’m definitely verging on drunk, yes, but not
that drunk.
I’m so not falling into the trap of thinking Dexter Rory finds me truly attractive.
“So tell me, Junie–why aren’t you seeing someone?”
“I’m just…. I’m busy,” I tell him. “Don’t tell me, that’s your excuse, too?”
“Business is demanding as hell. Doesn’t leave much time for anything else when you’re fighting for every dollar and scraping to keep your head above water.”
How generous that he thought of my situation when we’re worlds apart. “Yeah. Guess we’re not that different sometimes.” I lean in closer as he
slides an arm around my waist and I whisper, “Of course, you’re filthy rich and I’m not.”
“Not yet.”
Dang. Even without the wine, he’d sound pretty freaking believable right now.
Over his shoulder, I see the curtains move.
Dexter glances back and I catch his chin in my hand, turning him gently to face me, stroking his short dark scruff.
“Look at me. Don’t let her know we know she’s spying on us!” I try to stop myself from smiling. This is beyond ridiculous. “We’re supposed to be a couple in love having a private moment, remember?”
Then it happens.
His big arm tightens, and his other hand brushes my face.
The blue fire in his eyes makes my stomach clench with anticipation, and warmth bathes my chest as he leans down, his breath flowering across my lips.
Yes, it’s just the alcohol–it needs to just be the wine–but I swear I’ve never wanted a man like this in my life.
And that’s a terrifying thought–but not half as scary as what he says next.
“Work with me, Sweet Stuff. We didn’t get this far just to half–ass the grand finale. Let’s give Granny a show that’ll keep her old heart going.”
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I don’t know what he means. Not until he pulls me in.
Until I wrap my arms around his neck and we’re mouth to mouth.
Until his hand slides through my hair, his fingers tangling with a claiming pull, and he kisses me with what feels like the weight of his entire soul.
