Page 127 of The Exit Strategy

She glances up at the clock, then shakes her head. “Damn stubborn fool. Can’t ask for help to save his damn life.” Her muttering continues, then she dips her finger into the cheese. “Well, at least you followed directions. This is real good, Cole. Seasoned nicely.”

Who knew I still needed Grandma to boost my confidence?

“Thanks.”

She glances over her shoulder at the drained noodles I have sitting on the counter and hums. “Junie’s going to love it. Now here.” She hands me back the bag and grabs a pair of kitchen scissors and the noodles. “I’m going to cut the corner off the bag, then all you have to do is hold the noodle at an angle and squeeze the ricotta in.”

“I googled a few videos,” I tell her.

“Good. Get to it.” She watches me fill two noodles, then works around me to clean up some of my mess—something I’m only now realizing I wouldn’t have time to do myself and still have everything set up for Junie.

“Thank you,” I say quietly when the clinking sounds of her cleaning fade away.

“Cole, the biggest obstacle in your life is you,” she says, tossing her drying towel back onto the hook. “The sooner you remember how to lean on those who love you, the sooner you’ll be able to have the life you’ve always dreamed of.”

She opens a drawer and pulls out a spoon to taste my sauce that’s simmering on the stove, adds a bit of salt and a green herb, gives it a stir, then turns off the gas.

“You’re good to go, my boy.” She steps up next to me, then pats my cheek. Something she does far less these days but was a constant form of affection when I was young. “Don’t let the betrayals of your past be the thing that ruins your future. I raised you better than that.” One more pat ofthe cheek, then she lowers her arms, takes off her apron, and exits my back door with two bottles of wine I bought yesterday.

I chuckle. Two bottles of wine are the least I can do for the help I never asked for but obviously needed.

By the time I get the manicotti with sausage and peppers into the oven, a light sheen of sweat dots my spine.

I have just enough time to light the candles and open the bottle of wine that Hudson bullied me into buying a few years ago. It’s more than I’ve ever spent on a bottle of anything, so it’s sat in my wine fridge like I’ve been saving it for this moment.

I’m lucky Nana Mae and her wine-obsessed companions never touched it.

I set the table and then stand back. Something’s off, but I can’t tell what. I quickly switch the forks with the knives, but it doesn’t fix it. I can’t believe I’m second-guessing tablescapes, but it’s a detail Junie will notice, and I want to get it right.

I peek out my window again. More specifically, to the lights in Junie’s apartment.

Get your shit together, Whittaker.

I’m not even a little surprised to hear Hudson’s voice in my head right when I don’t want it. Why can’t it be Fen’s voice that keeps me in check? At least he’s a cheerleader, overzealous though he may be.

I should not be this nervous.

Except, I am. I’ve already fucked up one too many times, and I know it.

She knocks at my door, and it’s so unexpected I grip the back of the chair just to have something to ground me. Junie hasn’t knocked on that door in weeks, but there’s no doubt that it’s her.

With a final breath, I cross the room and open the door.

And promptly forget how words work.

Juniper Mercer is standing on my back porch in a dress the color of moss after a rainstorm, and her hair is down. I fucking love her hair down. I especially love how it’s pulled over one shoulder, creating a visual line of interest to the cut of her dress. It’s just low enough to flash a hint of cleavage. A promise of what’s beneath that’s ruining me with its simplistic beauty.

Or perhaps that’s just her.

I scan the length of her and pause on her shoes.

Somehow, this is the detail that stumps me. I love how long and sexy the low heel makes her legs look, but there’s something about Junie barefoot that feels…real.

“Stop it,” she says, fidgeting from foot to foot.

“Stop what?” I do another slow perusal of her body, taking in every detail with painstaking effort.

So. Damn. Beautiful.