I've been sufficiently happy and distracted for the last week and a half. I've been with Wells every free second I've had. I told Ellis and Delaney that we had another article to work on together, just to avoid seeming odd for not being at the lake house, especially now that the Wi-Fi is fixed. It's not typical of me to lie to them or anyone really, but I feel guilty for breaking our pact.

So, I've been telling them I'm working at Hansen's Coffee every day. I sit at the counter, working, while he's occupied with his own tasks and making coffee. There's also the part where I coincidentally 'run' by his house most mornings and surprisingly cross paths at the bookstore during his lunch breaks. It seems like no matter where I go, there he is, all the time.

And I'm okay with it. More than okay, actually.

I think I thought maybe it would be like scratching an itch, this tension between Wells and me. I thought that once I scratched it, it would pop like a bubble and then dissipate. Instead, everything feels like it has been amplified tenfold. I just want more. I can't get enough. I can't stop looking at him, or thinking about him, or wanting him.

I tried. I really did. I tried to keep my distance, to remain indifferent, to resist wanting him. But no matter how many times I told my brain this wasn't a good idea my body just wouldn't agree.

I crave him. I've never craved someone before I tasted him.

His face. His smile. His eyes. His smell. His voice.

And then I remind myself—it's just sex. Mind-numbingly great sex. But just sex. There's no cuddling after, no staying over. We haven't even had time to undress completely all the way. It's always too quick, too hurried. There are no deep conversations, even though I so desperately want all of it.

I'm attempting not to let myself go there, though, to that place where I want more than just whatever this is. Because this is what I asked for, and once summer ends, so does this. So do we.

So I deflect and try to distract myself from thinking about it, just as I am doing right now.

I shake my head and attempt to focus on my laptop screen. My fingers hover over the keyboard, my eyes fixating on the blinking cursor, seemingly mocking my lack of progress.

"Will you stop looking at me like that?" I say, sensing Wells's gaze fixed on me as he works behind the counter at the espresso machine.

"No," he replies, and I lift my eyes from the edge of my laptop, playfully narrowing my gaze at him.

"I can't concentrate when you watch me," I say, forcing my attention back to the screen.

"Then stop looking so pretty," he teases, and I feel butterflies fluttering in my chest, attempting to escape. I try to shove them back into their cage. "And you couldn't concentrate even if I wasn't looking," he adds with a smirk.

"I can concentrate just fine as long as you're not staring at me," I lie.

"Okay then, show me what you have so far?" he replies, snatching my laptop and flipping it over to check my progress.

"Wait," I interject, attempting to close the screen, but his grip is too firm. He starts scanning my incomplete work. "I'm not finished yet. I wasn't done editing."

"Juniper, you have one paragraph here," he observes, glancing at me over the laptop.

I bury my face in my hands. "I told you, I can't concentrate when you're staring," I mumble from behind my palms.

"And it's just one long run-on sentence."

I groan. "No, it's not," I say, looking up from my hands and shaking my head. I grab my laptop back from him and flip it toward me to examine it closely. "There are at least two sentences there."

"You've been working on that for over an hour?" He gestures towards my laptop before turning to the espresso maker, pressing coffee into the portafilter.

"You've been staring for over an hour," I counter.

He huffs out a laugh, a smile breaking across his face, and I can't help but smile back. "You really do hate writing articles, don't you?"

I scoff. "What? No. That's not true."

"Juniper," he says, planting both hands on the counter as the espresso machine pulls a shot. He fixes his gaze on me. "Just admit it. You hate it."

"I don't hate it," I say defensively.

"You do."

"No, I don't."

"Juniper."

"Wells."

"Admit it."

"Okay, fine. I hate it," I blurt out, frustration seeping into my words as I throw my hands in the air. "I hate working for the Seattle Sun-Times. I hate how nothing has a happy ending. That everything is always so depressing and sad. I hate that I got a degree solely for journalism; I should have majored in English literature. It was a stupid decision someone talked me into. But it's too late now, and this is what I've chosen for myself and I'm stuck with it forever. Also, I hate that I have to move apartments again. And I hate that forgot to grab my favorite notebook and my slippers on the way out and I really hope my plants are still alive. Oh, and I think Ellis might have broken her 'no-boys' pact because I saw men's cowboy boots at the front door on my way out this morning."

I take in a deep breath, feeling an odd sense of relief after letting it all out. I've never actually said that out loud to anyone before.

He pauses, sawing his lower lip in between his teeth, absorbing everything I've admitted to him. "Anything else you want to get off your chest?" He asks after a moment.

I sigh, squeeze my eyes shut, and scrunch my nose. "I went to The Mean Bean for WiFi for two weeks straight because I was trying to avoid you," I admit, almost sheepishly, peeking through one eyelid to gauge his reaction.

"Two weeks?" He straightens up, a hint of surprise in his tone. "Juniper, they have terrible coffee there, you know." He grabs a cup from the counter.

I huff out a laugh. Leave it to Wells to focus on the terrible coffee instead of everything I just confessed. "Oh, trust me. I know. I only bought one coffee a day because I couldn't drink more than half a cup. It was like drinking tar," I say, shivering at the thought. "And for $7. How can they charge that much for sludge?"

He pauses mid-pour, glancing up at me with a mix of amusement and disbelief. "You spent all day there for two weeks straight and only bought one cup of coffee a day?"

"Mmhmm," I confirm, nodding while propping my head on my hand that rests on the counter by my elbow.

"I bet they hated you," he says.

"Well I did try to seduce the owner into having sex with me but she said no and if I tried to do it again she'd kick me out," I joke, playfully rolling my eyes and giving a nonchalant shrug.

He barks out a laugh. "She clearly doesn't know about the sounds you make when you're pinned against a wall," he mumbles to himself.

My face flushes red, and I instinctively place my hand on my cheeks, attempting to cool the warmth spreading across my face. I force my gaze back to my laptop, trying not to let his comment affect me too much.

"Okay, I'll make you a deal," he says after a moment. I glance up at him as he slides a cup of coffee across the counter to me.

I look down at it, a touch surprised, and point to my chest, asking, "For me?"

He nods. "For you."

"Oh, um, thanks," I say, grabbing the cup from the counter, then looking back up at him. "Why would I make a deal with you?"

"Because you are sleeping with the owner of this coffee shop," he teases, leaning in closer across the counter, his face inches from mine, "and I will kick you out if needed."

He plants a soft kiss on my lips, and despite my usual reservations about public displays, with no one around, I allow myself to lean into it this time.

The butterflies keep escaping their cage, and I pull back, trying to stop their flutters.

Nervously, I roll my lips together, grazing them lightly with my teeth, and he fixates on the subtle movement.

I clear my throat. "So, what sort of deal are we talking about?" I ask, taking a sip of my coffee, watching as he leans back to his side of the counter.

"You write the book I know you've been wanting to write." I open my mouth to protest, but he raises a hand, cutting me off. "The one you secretly want to even though you'll tell me that you don't," he adds. I close my mouth, sighing in defeat. "And I'll cover all your articles for the next month while you work on it."

I furrow my brows. "You're not writing my articles."

"Why not?"

"Because you have your own work. I can't let you do my work on top of yours," I argue.

"So I'll handle both. It's not like I have done it before anyway," he reasons.

"Oh my god, you're really trying to steal all my articles, aren't you?" I tease.

He chuckles. "Your name can stay on the pieces. Everyone will think it's you and you just all of a sudden got..." He looks up at the ceiling, considering it for a moment, then shrugs. "Better."

"Hey," I playfully shove him, and he laughs. "Not true."

He shrugs at me, a smile lingering on his lips.

I purse my lips and glance downward at my keyboard. I slowly shake my head. "I can't let you do that, Wells."

"You can," he insists, grabbing my laptop again and flipping it back to his side. "And you will."

I watch as he taps away on my laptop, noticing the subtle flex of his arms and the persistent wisp of wavy hair that keeps falling onto his forehead. How did I ever not find him attractive before? Because now, it's all I think.

With a swift turn, he hands the screen back to me, revealing a fresh document titled 'Untitled Erotica By Juniper Jenkins.'

I can't help but snort out a laugh. "I'm not writing in erotica."

"Okay, fine," he says a smile tugging at his lips. "A romance, then."

I glance up from my laptop to him, shaking my head. "I can't."

"You can, Juniper. Think of it as a trial run. If you hate it just like journalism, at least you'll know you gave it a shot. You'll know."

"You'll have extra work though."

"Don't worry about me," he reassures as he begins wiping down the espresso machine.

I sigh and fix my gaze on the screen, focusing on the blinking cursor. "Okay, but on one condition."

"What's that?"

"I get free coffee too."

He chuckles. "Free coffee and I get to write your articles. Seems like a win for me," he quips.

"Coffee doesn't come cheap, Wells," I retort.

"Fine, I'll write your stories and give you free coffee. As long you start writing your book now and you don't stop while I'm gone."

While he's gone? I tilt my head to the side. "Wait, where are you going?"

He pauses, glancing over at me. "Oh, I have an interview, so I'll be gone for a few days next week."

"An interview?" I ask, furrowing my brows. "I thought Mitchell only sent you assignments that you could work on remotely?"

He rubs the back of his neck. "Uh, well, it's actually not that kind of an interview. It's one for the New-"

The door to the coffee shop opens with a gentle chime, interrupting whatever Wells was about to say. Both of our attentions shift to his sister, Nora, as she steps in. He takes a step back from me and leans himself against the counter behind him.

"Hey," she says to Wells before glancing at me. Instinctively, I turned my attention back to my laptop, attempting to appear engrossed in something.

"Hey," Wells greets his sister as she walks behind the counter and places her belongings down.

"Can you believe it? I got a flat tire on the way to the supplier, put the spare on, and just a mile later, that one went flat too," Nora exclaims with an exasperated sigh.

"Liam picked you up?" Wells asks almost absentmindedly.

"Yeah, he's parking his truck right now. He'll be in in a minute," she replies, leaning against the counter on the opposite side of Wells.

An uncomfortable silence settles between us. As I glance up at Wells, his gaze seems fixed on me. And when I turn towards Nora, her eyes are darting back and forth between Wells and me, her arms crossed and her brows pinched in confusion.

"I should probably get going," I blurt out, breaking the silence, and I hastily start packing my belongings into my bag, glancing back at Wells. "I'll see you... um, next week for the uh... The thing."

"Right. Yeah, the article thing, yeah," Wells replies, nodding as he watches me gather the rest of my things. He turns to his sister and adds, "Did you happen to grab the paper cups while you were out?"

"Oh, shit. Yeah," she exclaims, pushing off the counter. We both watch as she heads back out the door and heads toward the car again.

I sigh and glance back at Wells. "I should go," I mutter, feeling a little awkward.

"Okay," he acknowledges with a nod as I slide my laptop back into my bag. "Juniper?"

"Hmm?"

"Just for the record," he whispers, dipping his head down to catch my gaze, "I would have given you all the free coffee from the start. You just had to ask."

"Oh," I nod slightly, exhaling softly as he presses his lips lightly against mine.

I want his lips to linger against mine; because leaving him right now isn't something I really want.

He withdraws, his green eyes locking onto mine. "And if you asked, I'd give you a lot more than just coffee too," he confesses in a whisper, almost as if he's sharing a secret.

All the butterflies I'd been trying to shove into their cage burst forth in a flurry. They flutter everywhere, from my head down my toes. Shit.

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