Page 7 of Juniper Bean Resorts to Murder

I stand up slowly. And I know, without knowing how I know, that when I turn around, everything is going to change.

I turn around anyway.

Her pink hair is the first thing I notice—cut short, falling a few inches below her chin.

It wasn’t pink the last time I saw her.

The next thing that registers is her clothing—short, black combat boots; jeans with holes in the knees, not the artistic kind; and an oversized, shapeless yellow sweater that shouldn’t hang from her frame as well as it does.

It’s a mix of conscious and subconscious, the way I look at everything but her face. I take in the chipped black nails, the silver thumb ring. But I finally run out of options, and it’s getting weird, the way we’re standing here staring at each other. So I drag my gaze up her body until I reach the pink lips, the pert nose, and finally her wide, expressive eyes.

“You,” I say to Juniper Bean.

“You,” she echoes faintly. And then, slowly, she smiles.

I donotsmile.

* * *

The first timeI laid eyes on Juniper Bean, I knew exactly what kind of woman she would grow up to be.

I tutored Juniper as part of my pedagogy class that I took while getting my undergrad in social work. I was sent to the high school to tutor an underprivileged student who was struggling, and that student ended up being a seventeen-year-old girl with scuffed boots propped on the table in the Grove High library. Her head was bobbing along to the beat of whatever music was playing through her headphones. As I rounded the table and looked down at her, she turned and looked at me too. For a brief moment she seemed startled, but then she smiled at me. It was friendly, cheerful, but also tinged with mischief. She didn’t even take off her headphones; she just leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest and watching me, smiling the whole time.

That smile made me nervous. And over the next four months, as I continued to tutor her in English, I learned that that was the kind of girl Juniper was: the kind of girl whose smile made you nervous, because you never knew what it meant.

That much, at least, hasn’t changed. The way she’s smiling at me now, here in front of Grind and Brew some twelve or thirteen years later, still has nerves stirring in my chest as I try to figure out what’s going on.

Is she the new tenant? Am I going to be living with her? Does she really super glue her bumper on?

“Aiden Milano,” she says, her smile growing. “It’s been a while. Last time I saw you…” But she breaks off, her cheeks turning pink as her smile fades.

Yeah. Last time she saw me, she tried to kiss me—hertutor—and I rejected her with a fury.

We don’t need to relive that. So I just nod stiffly at her. “Juniper,” I say by way of greeting. Then I sigh. “What are you doing here?”

She tilts her head and steps closer to me. “I’m meeting someone.”

All right—that doesn’t necessarily mean she’s meetingme.There might be another woman here with pink hair and a yellow car and a tree name. Juniper might be here on a date. Or maybe she’s getting together with a friend. There’s no need to jump to conclusions when I don’t have all the facts—

“My new roommate,” she says, and what tiny little hope I had left dies swiftly.

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “This isn’t going to work.”

“Oh, is it you?” she says. She looks delighted; her smile stretches across her face once more, her blue eyes sparkling.

“No,” I say again. “I can’t live in the same house as you.” For so many reasons, but two in particular stand out above all the rest.

“Oh, sure you can,” she says, waving one hand. “I don’t bite. In fact…” She takes yet another step toward me; her smile turns wicked. “Is this fate? Do you think this is my second chance to win you over?”

Aaand she went there—reason number one why we can’t live together.Because there was a time, back when she was still just a kid, that she had feelings for me.

“Absolutely not,” I say. “No.”

“Hmm,” she says. “You had that answer all ready to go. Are you sure? I bet we’d be cute together. You’re positive you don’t want to date me?”

“I’m positive,” I say dryly, sitting on the hood of her car.

“Because you’re missing a real opportunity here,” she goes on as though I haven’t spoken. “Our couple name would be Aidiper.”

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