JUNO (sabrina carpenter x you)

chapter 26

Y/N's POV

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The city is still asleep.

Manhattan in the early morning feels like a different world. No honking. No chaos. Just the low hum of distant traffic and the occasional dog walker bundled in three layers, clutching coffee like a lifeline.

The cold nips at my cheeks as I carry the last duffel bag down to the curb, breath clouding the air in gentle puffs. My car is already idling, the windshield slowly defrosting beneath a thin sheen of ice, headlights casting long white streaks across the glistening pavement.

I pause at the trunk, arms full of our bags — the last of my stuff, Sabrina's overstuffed weekender, her makeup tote (which might be heavier than everything else combined), and two carefully wrapped boxes: one is my real Christmas gift for her, the other one labeled in careful handwriting for her mom.

I exhale slowly.

This trip suddenly feels heavier than it did last night.

I've only met her family once before — a quick visit over a weekend in the fall — and it went well... mostly. Her mom was sweet and warm. But her dad? That was... complicated. Not hostile, just reserved. He gave me a handshake that felt more like a test, asked polite questions with eyes that didn't blink, and lingered in every doorway like he was watching me through a lens I didn't quite understand.

Sabrina told me later he's just cautious. That he was like that with all her past boyfriends too. That he just wants the best for his daughters.

By the time we left, he'd softened a little — cracked a small smile when I complimented the photos on the mantle. Even offered to pack us snacks for the road. But still... I can't shake the feeling that I'm being measured.

And this time? It's not a weekend. It's two weeks. With everyone. Her other sisters I haven't met. Her grandparents. The full Carpenter Christmas experience.

I know I'm wanted. Sabrina's made that more than clear.

But am I accepted?

I load the last bag into the trunk and slam it shut gently, bracing my hands against the cold metal, forehead leaning for a second against the glass.

This matters, I think. Because she matters.

And then I head upstairs.

The elevator ride feels longer than usual, maybe because I know what's waiting at the top. Or who.

The doors slide open with a soft chime, and the warmth of the penthouse hits me immediately — twinkling lights still glowing along the wall, the faint smell of cinnamon and last night's hot cocoa lingering in the air.

I tread quietly into the bedroom.

Sabrina is curled up in the center of the bed, limbs tangled in the blanket, one arm flung over the pillow I left behind. Her cheek is smushed adorably against the comforter, and her messy bun is somehow even messier now — strands of golden hair falling across her closed eyes like a veil of light.

She looks warm. And unfairly beautiful.

I sit beside her and gently run a hand down her back.

"Mmmnngh," she groans, eyes still closed. "What time is it?"

"Too early," I whisper. "But we've gotta go soon."

She groans again, dramatically, burying her face deeper into the bed.