Chapter Five

Juniper

I resisted the urge to tug at my sweater, suddenly conscious of my curvy figure nestled within its soft, forgiving wool. My hair, despite the professional new cut, still seemed a wild mane compared to Paris's sleek blonde strands. I felt like earth to her air, clay to her porcelain.

Troy's gaze lingered on me a little too long, and I was reminded of a time when he'd told me how much he loved my realness, my connection to nature, how I'd make the perfect mother for our children someday. Yet here he was with Paris, the embodiment of artificial beauty, the woman he'd chosen over me. They moved away, lost in the crowd, and I exhaled slowly, feeling like someone had punched the air out of me. How could I ever have been enough for Troy? He belonged to this glamorous world of appearances and allure—a world where women like Paris reigned supreme.

"Real" wasn't enough. Not for him. Not for the life he wanted. As their laughter faded into the sounds of the market, I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering despite the thick scarf wound around my neck. Old insecurities crawled under my skin like winter's chill, whispering doubts and stoking the embers of a hurt that hadn't quite died in spite of my best efforts to bury it.

"Hey, are you okay?" A concerned voice broke through my reverie. It was Mason, his brown eyes searching mine for a truth I wasn't sure I could voice.

"Fine, just...cold," I lied again, plastering on another smile.

"Come on," he urged gently, taking my hand and leading me away from the bustle of the market. "Let's get you warmed up."

I allowed myself to be pulled along, grateful for the escape, as a small part of me hoped Troy was still watching, realizing what he'd lost. But that was a dangerous game—one I couldn't afford to play, not when my heart was already teetering on the edge with the handsome man beside me.

Mason's grip was warm and reassuring as we navigated the slippery sidewalks back to his truck, leaving the twinkling lights of the Christmas market behind us. I caught Mason stealing glances at me, his brow knitted with concern.

"Juniper," he said, breaking the silence that had settled between us, "you've got that look."

"What look?" I muttered, avoiding his gaze.

"The, my mind is a thousand miles away, look." His voice was soft but insistent.

I sighed, my breath forming a ghostly cloud in the frigid air. "I'm just...it's nothing, really."

"Doesn't seem like nothing to me," he pressed, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of my hand.

The drive back to his house was short, but by the time we got there winter's darkness had already fallen and the first stars were beginning to appear. Mason's house was a charming fixer-upper with peeling paint and a crooked mailbox that made me smile. Its imperfections made it feel welcoming, real—much like Mason himself. He unlocked the door and ushered me inside to the warmth.

"Welcome to the Knight bachelor pad," Mason announced, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. The interior was cozy, if a bit cluttered, with tools and half-finished projects scattered about.

"Looks like Santa's workshop after a toy-making frenzy," I teased, grateful for the distraction.

"Ha, you're not wrong." Mason chuckled, running a hand through his wavy hair the color of my favorite chocolate bar. "Actually, I could use some elf assistance. I haven't even put up the tree yet."

"Sure, I'd love to help," I replied, eager to keep my hands busy and my mind off Troy.

As Mason retrieved the tree from the garage, I busied myself with unboxing ornaments and stringing lights. The simplicity of the task was soothing, and I found myself smiling as I watched him wrangle the pine into its stand.

"Okay, tree's up. Now for the fun part." Mason stood back, admiring our work before diving into the box of decorations.

"Fun? You mean the part where you untangle the lights because someone—" I threw him an accusing glance, "—haphazardly stuffed them back in the box last year?"

"Guilty as charged." He grinned, accepting the challenge with a sparkle in his eyes that made my heart skip a beat.

We worked side by side, chatting and laughing as we transformed the once barren tree into a glowing masterpiece. Mason's presence was a balm to the sting of seeing Troy again. His laughter, genuine and deep, filled the room like a melody, chasing away the shadows that lingered in my thoughts.

"Thanks for helping me with this, Juniper," Mason said, stepping back to survey our creation. "It means a lot."

"Anytime," I replied, feeling a strange mix of contentment and confusion. Here I was, decorating a Christmas tree with a man who was everything Troy wasn't—kind, attentive, real. And yet, a part of me still yearned for closure from a past that refused to stay buried.

"Hey," Mason's voice pulled me back from the edge of my musings. "You're far away again. Talk to me."

I hesitated, then decided to confide in him. "It's just...seeing Troy today, it stirred up a lot of old feelings. Doubts, insecurities..." My voice trailed off.

"Juniper, look at me," Mason said, his tone earnest. He took my hands in his, his touch grounding me. "Whatever Troy's thinking or feeling, it doesn't change your worth. You're amazing, just as you are."

"Thank you, Mason," I whispered, my heart swelling with gratitude and something else—something new and terrifyingly wonderful.

Mason's fingers brushed mine as he passed me another silver bauble, his smile easy and warm in the soft glow of the Christmas lights. We'd been at it for a while, turning his once bare tree into a kaleidoscope of colors and memories.

"Pepperoni or supreme?" he asked, phone in hand, ready to order our dinner.

"Supreme. Go big or go home," I said with more cheer than I felt.

"Good choice." His approving grin sent an unexpected flutter through my chest. "Pizza will be here in thirty."

"Perfect." I hung the last ornament and stepped back, admiring the tree beside him. Its beauty was almost otherworldly, each light reflecting in Mason's eyes. I couldn't help but feel attracted to him—the way he moved with ease around his home, the way his shirt stretched over his muscles as he reached up to place the star on top. He was so different from Troy; there was a sincerity in Mason that Troy never had.

As we waited for the pizza, the air between us thickened with unspoken tension. The room seemed to shrink until all I could focus on was Mason, his proximity sending waves of desire through me.

"Juniper," he started, his voice low and husky, "I can't pretend I'm not feeling something here."

"Neither can I," I admitted, my heart racing. The confession tumbled out before I could second-guess it.

In moments, his lips were on mine, electrifying and insistent. His hands began exploring my body, setting every nerve ending ablaze. It was impulsive, it was passionate—it was everything I didn't know I needed and desperately wanted. We stumbled towards his bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes in our wake. Mason knew exactly what to say, how to stoke the fire within me. It was as if he'd plucked the thoughts right out of my deepest fantasies.

"I want you, Juniper." His voice was a low rumble, sending shivers down my spine as I perched on the edge of the bed.

"I want you too, Mason," I breathed out, running my palms over his taut abs and rock-hard pecs. He parted my legs with his strong hands, and nerves and desire tangled in a delicious knot within my stomach. He moved closer then, his heat enveloping me as he settled between my spread thighs, his dark eyes promising all the things my body yearned for.

The moment his tongue met the sensitive flesh at my core, a jolt of pleasure shot through me, making me gasp. I threaded my fingers through his hair, guiding him, urging him on without words as my back arched off the soft bedding. He found a rhythm that had my toes curling, his tongue working magic I didn't know he possessed.

"God, yes," I moaned. Mason groaned against me, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure rippling through my body. His movements became more insistent, more demanding, and I felt myself spiraling towards a release that had been building since the moment we walked through the door. And he delivered, his tongue and lips coaxing me over the edge into an orgasm that shattered my world, leaving me floating in a sea of white-hot bliss.

As I came back down, panting, I sank deeper into the bed, my legs still wide open, willing him to take what was left of me. In the dim light, I reached down for his thick shaft and began to stroke it.

"God, that feels so good. You make me so hard." Mason slipped his fingers effortlessly inside me, stirring a new whirlpool of desire within me. "I need you, Juniper. I can't wait any longer. Now."

I pulled his body up over mine, and he pushed himself into me, filling me completely. Our bodies began moving in a rhythm that seemed as natural as breathing, as necessary as the frantic beat of my heart.

"I'm going to come again," I moaned, my legs widening even more and my hips thrusting up against his as if they had a life of their own.

Mason moved his thumb over my left nipple and caressed it, nipping it gently between his fingers. "Good. Come all over me, baby. I want to feel you."

The orgasm hit me with the force of a storm, and I cried out as my walls clenched in ecstasy. He drove into me one final time, his own body tensing as he reached his release. I felt him pulse inside me, hot and insistent, and a part of me knew this was more than just a tryst. This was something that could change everything. But now, in the moment, all logic was lost to the tide of pleasure and the heat of his body blanketing mine.

When we finally collapsed, breathless and spent, I lay in his arms, a part of me whispering that this was right, even though my life was waiting hundreds of miles away in Baltimore.

But as I traced the lines of his chest, doubts crept in. Was this just a fling for him too? A way to prove something, maybe even get back at Troy somehow? My own words echoed in my mind—I only wanted a fling. But who was I kidding?

"Hey," Mason murmured, pressing a kiss to my forehead, "what's going on in that head of yours?"

"Nothing," I lied, forcing a smile. "Just...thinking about how unexpected this all is."

"Guess life's funny that way," he said with a gentle shrug.

Sleep claimed us then, wrapping us in a cocoon of warmth. But as I drifted off, I couldn't shake the image of Troy's piercing blue eyes or the unsettling feeling that I was teetering on the edge of a cliff, about to fall into something much deeper than I had planned.

We woke up a couple of hours later to find a large cold pizza on Mason's doorstep. After dressing and nuking a couple of slices in the microwave, we ate silently at his kitchen table, watching a fresh snowfall through the windows that looked out to the back of his property.

The engine of Mason's truck hummed in the crisp December night as he drove me home, filling the silence between us. The memory of our tangled sheets still clung to my skin like the scent of pine and sweat. I clutched at my coat, drawing it tighter around me as if it could shield me from the chill that wasn't entirely due to the weather.

"So," I began, my voice barely above a whisper, "my mom's throwing her annual Christmas Eve bash at Candi Couture."

"Sounds fancy," he replied, his eyes on the road. A faint smile played on his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. Those piercing eyes which earlier had gazed at me with such heat now held a guarded expression that I couldn't decipher.

"It is," I mused, my gaze drifting out the window. Springfield's town square passed by in a blur of twinkling lights and festive decorations. The cheerfulness seemed at odds with the knot in my stomach. "It's just another excuse for the town to get together. And raise money for charity, of course."

"Of course." The corner of his mouth twitched, and I wasn't sure if he was amused or something else.

"Will you come?" I asked suddenly, turning to face him. I needed to know if this—whatever this was between us—would continue beyond the four walls of his house, beyond the secrecy of shared glances and whispered promises.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," he said, but his tone was noncommittal, and it stung more than I expected.

"Good." It was all I managed to say before we slipped back into silence.

The radio played low, the sound of Bing Crosby's "White Christmas" filling the space with nostalgia and yearning. But instead of warming me, the lyrics felt hollow, echoing the uncertainty that now lay between us.

Mason pulled up outside my mother's house, the grand Victorian looming like a silent judge. He turned off the ignition, and we sat there for a moment, neither of us making a move. The dashboard clock ticked away seconds that stretched into lifetimes.

"Thanks for the ride," I finally said, reaching for the door handle.

"Anytime." His reply was soft, and our eyes met. There was a flicker of something there—regret? Longing? I couldn't tell.

"See you at the party?"

"Wouldn't miss it," he repeated, and this time there was a firmness to his words that made me believe him.

"Okay then." With a small nod, I stepped out into the night, the cold biting at my cheeks.

"Juniper," Mason called out just as I was about to close the door. My heart leapt. I waited, hopeful.

"Be careful," he finished, and it wasn't what I wanted to hear. "The sidewalks are slippery."

"Always am," I shot back with more bravado than I felt.

I closed the door with a soft click and watched as the tail lights of his truck disappeared down the street. The Christmas songs faded with him, leaving behind a silence that felt too heavy to bear.

Inside the house, shadows played across the walls, and I found myself alone with the echo of my thoughts. Was everything always going to be this complicated?

"Get it together, Juniper," I muttered to myself. But no matter how much I tried, I couldn't shake the feeling that this Christmas was shaping up to be one I'd never forget.

Turning the key in the lock, I stepped into the silent darkness of the house. The familiar scents of pine and cinnamon greeted me, but they did nothing to ease the tightness in my chest. As I shrugged off my coat, the chill of the empty hallway seeped through my sweater, wrapping around me like a cold reminder of my solitude.

"Great, Juniper," I whispered to myself, chastising the impulse that had brought me back here. "Just great." My voice was a ghost in the stillness, and I winced at the sound. Everyone was asleep, their dreams probably full of sugarplums or whatever happy people dreamt of at this time of year.

My family didn't need me barging in with my mess of emotions, not when they'd finally gotten a semblance of peace without my drama. Ginger, undoubtedly, was nestled all snug in her bed, visions of perfect Christmases with her husband and children dancing in her head. And Mom...Candi would be resting up for tomorrow, the big day for Candi Couture's charity extravaganza. It was always about appearances with her, and I was the smudge on their polished glass life.

Sighing, I tiptoed past the staircase, careful not to make a sound. Padding softly into the kitchen, I poured myself a glass of water, the gulp doing little to quench the dryness of uncertainty. Leaning against the counter, I closed my eyes and let out a slow breath. Why did coming home feel like walking backward?

The last few hours replayed in my mind—Mason's touch, his kiss, the heat between us that had melted away the December frost. But now, the warmth was gone, replaced by a gnawing confusion. Was I just a conquest to him? A way to one-up Troy?

"Stop it," I scolded myself. Mason wasn't like that; he was kind and funny, and he made me feel alive in ways I hadn't felt since...well, since before everything fell apart with Troy.

But none of that mattered now. I was here, in Springfield, upending the carefully curated calm of a family Christmas. And come the end of the holidays, I'd be back in Baltimore, alone with my thoughts and a heart too foolish to know its place.

I set the glass down with more force than intended, the sound sharp in the quiet. Who was I kidding? I wasn't meant for flings or fleeting happiness. I was Juniper McCall, the girl who always wanted more but settled for less.

"Maybe I shouldn't have come home at all," I murmured. The giant Christmas tree in the living room stood tall and proud, its twinkling lights a stark contrast to the heaviness inside me.

I trudged upstairs, avoiding the creaky third step out of habit. As I slipped into the guest bedroom where I was staying, I wondered if I'd ever find my place in a world that kept spinning without me. Tomorrow was another day, another chance to smile and pretend, but tonight, I let myself feel the ache of being hopelessly, unequivocally lost in the middle of my own life.