Page 26 of Juniper Bean Resorts to Murder

It was my sincere hope that I wouldn’t find Juniper attractive this evening. I was counting on the fact that maybe part of me still viewed her as that teenager who tried to kiss me all those years ago. But no matter how Iusedto think of her, it seems that my mind is now very clear on one fact: Juniper Bean is no longer a teenager. She’s a grown woman, and she’s beautiful.

I shouldn’t be noticing these things, and I definitely shouldn’t be feeling attracted to her. She’s not someone I’m interested in romantically, and that’s usually a determining factor for whether my body reacts to a woman. But Juniper seems to be a fluke, one I can’t quite categorize. All I know is that I’m feeling things I usually don’t.

I’ve never seen a dress like the one she’s wearing, but I wouldn’t be opposed to seeing another sometime. It seems to fit her perfectly—a corset-looking top in deep red leading to a frothy, voluminous skirt in some sort of pink fabric that reaches just past her knees. There’s a sheer overlay on the skirt in the same red as the top, dotted with little pink flowers. The whole thing is held up by two ribbon straps, each tied in a delicate bow over her shoulders.

It’s those bows that have my thoughts trying to stray. Because the problem with tied ribbons is that my mind automatically picturesuntying them—a very unhelpful mental image in this scenario. So I direct my attention elsewhere, noting Juniper’s easy smile as she chats with Caroline, who’s still taking pictures.

“Caroline,” I say with a sigh. “That’s enough.” It could not be clearer that my sister is planning my wedding to Juniper in her head at this very moment, and it needs to stop. “It’s time for us to go.”

Caroline sighs too, but hers is more theatrical than mine. “Fine,” she says dramatically. “Go on, then. I just wanted to take pictures to commemorate your first date—”

“Not a date,” I say, and Juniper grins.

“He says he doesn’t want to date me,” she says to Caroline, “but our couple name would be Aidiper. Doesn’t that feel like a wasted opportunity to you?”

“Definitely,” Caroline says with a decisive nod. “It’s a great couple name.”

“I know,” Juniper says. She looks wistfully at me. “Too bad.” She comes the rest of the way down the stairs, her heels clicking against the hard wood as she walks.

“That dress,” Caroline says, and I swear I can see hearts blooming in her eyes. “It’s gorgeous.”

“It makes me feel like an autumn flower fairy.”

“To the car, flower fairy,” I say grumpily.

“Oh, Aiden,” Caroline says, rushing over to me. She reaches up and pinches my cheeks. “Are your feelings hurt because we didn’t tell you how handsome you look?” she coos in a high-pitched voice, like she’s talking to one of her four-year-old daughters. “You’resohandsome. Such a big, strong boy—”

I swat her hands away, and she cackles as Juniper laughs along.

Once a big sister, always a big sister.

I ignore their laughter and make my way to the car, opening Juniper’s door before I hop in the driver’s seat. I look around at the little bit of clutter I’ve accumulated—mostly leftovers of the books I teach in my lit class, but also a few stray papers—and forcefully remind myself it doesn’t matter if my car is messy. Juniper’s not going to care, at any rate; she was literallylivingout of her car.

She brings some sort of citrusy scent with her when she gets into the passenger seat, a sharp but subtle smell that’s way more appealing than the air freshener hanging from my rearview mirror. I’m not a big fan of florals or anything too sweet; I much prefer crisp and fresh.

“I know your sister was joking,” Juniper says as she fastens her seatbelt, “but you really do look nice.” She glances over at me, and I watch as her eyes trail over my linen suit coat and white shirt. “I like the blue. It makes your eyes look extra brown. Sort of soulful.”

I blink at her, surprised. Then I duck my head. “Thanks,” I say. “You look nice too.” It would be rude not to say it back.

“I feel pretty,” she says happily. Her pink hair is pin straight tonight, sleek and soft-looking, held back by a sparkly clip on one side.

“You are,” I say. I clear my throat, an audible divider in the conversation, and then change the subject. “The dance ends at eleven,” I say. “We can go down to Solomon after that. You’re free to do whatever you want until then. I will not be dancing, though, so don’t ask.”

“I would never,” she says solemnly, but I see her lips twitch.

Whatever. She can laugh if she wants; it’s not going to change anything. I still won’t get out on that dance floor. I’m here to make sure the drinks stay non-alcoholic and to make sure no one gets too handsy under the light of the disco ball—that’s it.

We drive in strangely comfortable silence, arriving at the high school five minutes later. When we pull into the school parking lot, it takes a good ten minutes to find a spot; I finally find one in the back lot, and then Juniper and I begin the trek to the gymnasium.

“Wow,” she says, looking around when we make it inside. “It’s been a long time.”

I glance at her, curious. “Have you not been back here since you graduated?”

She shakes her head. “I never really wanted to come back. Not a lot of happy memories.” The smile she gives me is simple, peaceful—not full of self-pity but acceptance. “Still, it hasn’t changed much, has it?”

“Not a lot,” I say, pointing in the direction of the gym. I realize a second too late that I don’t need to show her the way; of course she knows where we’re going. There are streams of high schoolers moving in that direction anyway, gangly boys in suits and giggling girls in shiny dresses. The air is thick with that adolescent tension I hate—the unbearably awkward awareness of your own body, the veritable flood of hormones suffocating everyone within a ten-foot radius, the perpetual scent of body odor and Axe body spray.

I’msoglad I’m not a teenager anymore.

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