[Complete] [18+]
In the picturesque lakeside town, the calm waters mask the storm within Juniper Jenkins' heart. Betrayed and broken by her cheating boyfriend, she flees to the sanctuary of her friend's lakeside house, to work remotely for the summe...
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Running in the morning has morphed into a daily ritual for me. I keep finding myself waking up too early, my mind cluttered with thoughts that refuse to let me sleep. So, I drag myself out of bed, change into my running gear, and run before the day becomes too hot.
Initially, I ran to purge Beckett from my thoughts, and I still do. But lately, Wells has started to occupy my mind as well. The internet at the house still remains unfixed, and every day I'm obligated to work at the coffee shop.
On top of that, I'm now being forced to work with him on my article.
I think I'm starting to master the art of ignoring Wells though, limiting our interactions to just emails. I suspect he probably feels bad about the last time we spoke. But He should feel bad.
And now, I'm constantly haunted by the fear that he'll steal all my other articles, leaving me to write the obituaries or, heaven forbid, the rant and rave column. The thought of it even makes me groan as I make the turn jogging onto Main Street. I already don't particularly love writing for The Seattle Sun Times, but obituaries? That might just be the death of me—
Suddenly, it's as if I've collided with a towering six-foot wall, my face taking the full brunt of the impact. The collision sends me tumbling backward onto the sidewalk.
"Ouch," I mutter, my hand instinctively reaching for my nose.
"Shit, Juniper, are you okay?" The towering wall speaks, concern etching into his voice as he leans down to check on me. As I look up, it becomes clear that the owner of this human wall is none other than Wells. Of course, it's Wells. Who else could it possibly be?
"Oh my god, Wells!" I exclaim, shoving his shoulder in frustration. "What on earth are you doing? Don't you pay attention to where you're going?"
"Juniper, shit, I'm so sorry. I was running and I didn't see you as I was coming around the corner," he says, his brows knitting together with genuine remorse. I quickly scan his running attire: black shorts and a black workout shirt.
He bends down more, making an attempt to move my hands away from my face in order to inspect the damage. My irritation bubbles just beneath the surface, and I swat him away.
I feel my nose begin to drip into my hand what I assume is now a bloody nose, that's covering my face. Shit.
"Here," he says, extending a hand to help me stand. I reluctantly accept his hand, feeling a strange, almost tingling sensation that seems to ripple through me. It's the same feeling I got when we sat next to each other the other day in the coffee shop. At the time, I assumed it was just from too much coffee, but this time, it has to be because of the nosebleed... right?
As I rise and straighten up, I can sense my nose bleeding even more profusely now, the blood seeping through my fingers.
Wells glances at me with concern. "I think you're bleeding," he says. I shoot him an irritated glare, clenching my jaw.
