As Juliette neared the designated interstate exit, thoughts swirled in her mind about deliberately missing it, thus delaying her inevitable arrival. She resisted the urge, admonishing herself for even considering a retreat into the deceptive comfort of avoidance. After all, she was a warrior at heart; surely she could endure a speck of discomfort. Simple as that.
Upon entering the grand driveway of the mansion, the sheer scale of Rosedale struck her as far more imposing than any of her memories suggested. Squashing her rising anxiety with all her might, Juliette made her way up the ostentatiously long path leading to the front door. No sooner had she pressed the bell than Betty's familiar voice echoed a "coming" from within. The heavy oak door flung open to reveal Betty, who enveloped Juliette in a warm, welcoming hug.
"My, how you've shot up!" Betty exclaimed. "I know youngsters hate hearing that, but it's true – you've blossomed since I last saw you, and I just can't contain myself."
Indeed, it had been ages – Juliette was eleven on her last visit to Rosedale. Since then, their encounters were few and far between; such remarks usually irked Juliette when made by adults, yet Betty's words touched her in an unexpectedly affectionate way.
"Give the lady space," chimed Hunter as he approached them at the doorway. Juliette inwardly hoped Betty didn't notice her pulse quicken.
With a chuckle, Betty released her just in time; hugs were never Juliette's cup of tea.
Hunter paused momentarily before embracing her briefly. "Juliette, I'm genuinely happy to see you here."
Innocuous as it sounded, Hunter's greeting carried multiple layers of significance. Their conversation had dwindled to nothing over recent weeks; there was an unspoken question hanging in the air – could their bond mend? Beneath Juliette's brave exterior lurked a paralyzing fear of irrevocably losing Hunter's friendship – even though she'd instigated their estrangement. It wasn't entirely fair to blame herself: none of this distance would have been necessary if he'd just let things remain faultless. Juliette understood all too well that perfection is transient in human hands; Hunter was no exception.
"Right," was all Juliette managed to utter in response. Whether she was glad about being here remained uncertain; she reserved judgment until after the evening unfolded. Conversation starters eluded her anxiously blank mind and forming words had always been an arduous task for Juliette regardless.
"I actually anticipated Celine," Hunter confessed rather slyly – clearly curious about what brought Juliette back into his world unexpectedly. He couldn't realize that coming wasn't entirely within her control.
Juliette peered into his eyes, scouting for signs of rekindled romantic hopes but detected nothing except caution – perhaps a byproduct of vanished trust – an ache even though it seemed warranted. A defensive reaction threatened to surge from within her.
"I did too," she replied coolly. "But with Celine neck-deep in pre-calc final preparations for next Tuesday... here I am."
"A letdown," he remarked wryly.
Juliette suppressed the urge to retort – the idea of fun wasn't mutual – as Hunter struggled to conceal a smirk behind his bitten lip. To her surprise and secret relief, Juliette discerned his playful intent, and the looming squabble was shelved for another day. Despite the potential folly of his jests, considering their history, Hunter had always been the type to effortlessly stride past old quarrels. Juliette, on the other hand, bore that burden for them both.
Betty's keen eyes darted between Juliette and Hunter, her sharp gaze slicing through the thinly veiled tension that loomed like an ominous cloud overhead. With a clap and an infusion of energy, she announced that her freshly-baked gingerbread awaited them in the kitchen.
Stepping lightly into peacemaker shoes, Juliette and Hunter tailed her through Rosedale's opulent halls in a silent processional. A purposeful gap yawned between them; Juliette caught sideways glances from Hunter but remained focused forward, steadfastly avoiding eye contact. The mansion's grandeur continued to astonish her – it was a mystery how such a palatial upbringing had little influence on the modest Hunter.
The kitchen flaunted an array of confections on every surface: cupcakes, pies, cookies of all sorts eagerly anticipating consumption. Yet, it was Betty's renowned gingerbread that stole the show as she served a generous slice onto Juliette's plate.
"Did you expect the entire family tree?" Hunter quipped with genuine surprise at the sweet feast before him as he sat across from Juliette at the kitchen's granite island. "We can't possibly polish off all this."
"Don't underestimate me," Juliette challenged with a daring smile. Her athletic build belied her astonishing appetite which could rival that of a feast-fit king.
Betty beamed amid her culinary excess. "It's been ages since we've hosted a guest, not to mention a Grier," she remarked before reaching affectionately towards Juliette. Dodging playfully, Juliette introduced gingerbread to taste buds instead.
Years ago, Betty's confections had found their way to the Grier's regularly. However, savored in its place of origin in Rosedale's kitchen – Betty's tyrannical domain compared to Juliette's soccer field reign – it held a distinctively nostalgic flavor.
Surveying the room that seemed similar yet oddly alien compared with her distant memory, she recalled another gingerbread occasion here; it was during one of their past visits when Betty had controversially invited them to celebrate Hunter's birthday – an event overly sophisticated for his tender age. Had Betty anticipated the repercussions of that night's dinner party on Mrs. Rosewood's outlook towards the Grier's, she would have reconsidered extending an invitation. Instead, that dinner unexpectedly cemented a pivotal milestone in their camaraderie with Hunter - reminiscent of their earlier alliance when they together saved young Ella from disaster's jaws.
"What's on your mind?" Hunter's voice pierced the silence, snapping Juliette back from her stroll down memory lane. She had been lost in thought, sifting through her childhood recollections.
"Nothing noteworthy," Juliette responded dismissively, shaking off his curiosity. "Just some old thoughts."
He gave a knowing smile. "Never pegged you as sentimental."
"I'm usually not," she declared firmly, safeguarding her tough facade; sentimental nostalgia wasn't part of her usual repertoire. "It's hard to fathom we actually sparred with a bull."
Hunter chuckled heartily. "At times, I question if that escapade actually happened."
"Sparred" was a generous term; reality saw Hunter outpacing an irate bull across half its pasture before diving under a fence and, by their account, narrowly missing a goring by just seconds. Regardless of Juliette's choice of words, the entire experience felt surreal.
"There was a time I couldn't stand you, really," she confessed. Yet that sentiment felt alien now. They had dissected this topic before, meticulously and repeatedly, but there remained a certain comfort—perhaps even security—in rehashing their fledgling encounters.
"I recall," Hunter replied with a knowing snicker. "And it was misplaced. Your pride just couldn't handle the hit."
He was right. When they first met, Juliette had hurled a naive yet precise barb about his mother at him — it was hardly the stuff of charming introductions. But as luck would have it, nothing forges bonds like shared brushes with mortality, even those magnified in their reminiscing.
"Spot on," Juliette conceded. "That remains my most cringe-worthy episode to date."
Channeling his inner eleven-year-old self with brazen enthusiasm, Hunter teased her with a playful echo of her past words: "'That's the haughty Mrs. Rosewood for you—quite the thorn in everyone's side.'"
Juliette swung around to face him, her mouth hanging open in disbelief. "You can't be serious — you remember my exact words?"
Laughter erupted from Hunter as he struggled with a mouthful of gingerbread. Choking momentarily, he managed to clear his throat with an exaggerated cough into his sleeve.
"No way, this is mortifying," Juliette groaned while clutching her hair as if trying to physically grasp her embarrassment. "I'm utterly humiliated."
"You make it sound like a tragedy."
"It is! I can sense my demise approaching," she declared dramatically, suddenly letting go of her hair.
"Don't stress over it; I've long since gotten over it," Hunter assured her with ease. "And let's face it: you weren't wrong about my mother."
"Hunter!" came Betty's reprimanding tone, though she didn't hide her amusement too well—clearly she hadn't believed Juliette to be wrong either.
"This is unbearable!" exclaimed a flustered Juliette. "I lose sleep over this memory; your mockery is the last thing I need!"
"I can persist," Hunter stated confidently. Lifting his tone playfully, he continued his imitation of the youthful Juliette. "'Bake cookies for a boy? Never—'"
Juliette leapt across the counter in a frantic bid to silence him. However, he simply chuckled, evading her grasp with nimble steps.
"'Certainly not for some wealthy—'"
Suddenly, Juliette was upon him, her legs secured around his torso like a vice as she tossed aside her pride and grappled to stifle his words with one hand, while parrying his playful dodges with the other. He twirled dramatically in an effort to escape her grip; she tightened her arm instinctively around his neck, a move of desperation that kept her from tumbling to the floor.
"'A pompous wealthy boy—'"
Shifting tactics, Juliette clung to him as if her life depended on it and with her unoccupied hand, she pilfered the last of his gingerbread concoction and stuffed it into his mouth – effectively muffling his teasing. She pressed her palm against his lips as he munched the treat beneath her fingers, tremors of stifled laughter emanating from him.
Post-swallow, he extended his tongue, grazing her hand – to which she recoiled instantly and wiped it on his chest with a shudder and an overly feminine yelp.
"'And a snooty mother,'" Hunter declared triumphantly.
Letting go, Juliette punched him and planted her feet solidly on the ground, refusing to acknowledge her loss despite clear evidence to the contrary. "Asshole."
"Harpy," remarked Hunter with a wink. Noticing Betty's unamused gaze he assured her, "It's an ode to Supernatural; all in good fun."
Juliette shot him a glare filled with mock resentment for him having agreed to watch that series with her – but soon enough, both were engulfed in laughter. Any thoughts that she might have been overly hands-on vanished into thin air.
"I was truly terrible, wasn't I?"
"Absolutely," Hunter concurred without hesitation.
"Oh, give it a rest." Betty flicked a kitchen towel in their direction playfully. She had been tidying up flour-dusted surfaces while covertly watching what could easily be mistaken for flirtation – something Juliette would have fiercely denied. Forging ahead without giving thought to how it seemed likely spared them from an awkward misinterpretation.
"But really," Hunter confessed casually, "I've never had much connection with my mother." He admitted this nonchalantly but acknowledged that hearing such remarks from strangers still struck a defensive chord within him.
Juliette's recollection of her awkward encounter in her front yard brought a reluctant smile to her lips, despite her earlier protests. The incident, which she had once deemed mortifying, now seemed serendipitous—something her friend Celine would call destiny. And for perhaps the first time, Juliette was hesitant to completely dismiss the idea. Though she considered the notions of destiny and fate to be nonsense, she had to admit that stumbling through a hedge and tumbling into Hunter was an auspicious accident. After all, a peculiar hedge dive had bloomed into an unexpected friendship.
"So, Juliette," Betty inquired with an air of curiosity, leaning over the counter and resting her chin on her balled fists, "what sorts of hijinks have you been up to lately?"
"Just the usual; nothing transformational," responded Juliette with a grin. "Your confidence in me is warming, Betty."
In the corner of her eye, she noticed Hunter's mouth twitch into a fleeting smirk—an expression so slight and transient she questioned if it was her imagination. His contemplative eyes held hers briefly. She silently hoped he realized their arguments hadn't severed their friendship irreparably. As beneficial as it would have been for both parties had Juliette been forthcoming with her feelings, she wasn't one to openly express them.
"Any special lads on the horizon for you or any of the girls?" Betty prodded further.
Juliette tensed and instinctively shot a sharp look at Hunter, who was conspicuously attempting to become invisible—a feat he couldn't achieve no matter how hard he tried.
"No," she replied a bit too sharply to be casual. "A sweeping wave of singleness over here."
"Really?" Betty's tone was one of mock surprise mingled with concealed delight. She could either harbor some hidden animosity towards Juliette or be fishing for insights into the subtle tension between Juliette and Hunter—an entirely platonic tension.
"We choose to be unattached," Juliette added firmly. "There have been interested parties."
At this revelation, Hunter visibly squirmed and his discomfort grew palpable. Though Juliette wasn't intentionally prodding him—it was merely a natural progression of their dialogue—the conversation would have been just as irksome without his involvement.
"Hunter tends to think Juliette frightens them away," Hunter contributed unevenly to Betty's amusement—a response that carried a tinge of frostiness.
Juliette bristled at his remark but concealed it well.
"One day you'll embrace romance," Betty chortled optimistically.
"That seems unlikely," retorted Juliette dryly. "Besides, some folks just can't grasp subtlety—they're persistent."
Her pointed comment was no accident; she felt no obligation to be tender with anyone's sensibilities—least of all his. It wasn't her fault things had changed between them; nor would she censor herself around delicate sensibilities. While Hunter wasn't inherently delicate by any stretch, Juliette found the concept of love fragile—and vulnerability inevitable.
Hunter seemed more annoyed than offended by her words, but Juliette was indifferent. If he thought involving Betty would help his cause, he was mistaken. Dragging others into their affairs—especially hers—wasn't going to win her over. She knew Hunter should've been wiser than that, yet desperation had a way of warping good sense.
"You're quite the catch," Betty remarked with admiration.
Juliette, however, had no desire to be anyone's prize. Despite her fondness for Betty, all she succeeded in doing was diminishing Hunter's slim chances even further. Juliette felt a twinge of embarrassment—Betty meant well, but her involvement wasn't helping.
An uncomfortable silence settled between them until Mrs. Rosewood's arrival saved them from the painful quiet. Keys jingled and heels clicked on the floor as she called out sharply for Betty, inquiring about the truck in the driveway.
"Oh boy," muttered Hunter, ushering Juliette towards the exit. "Let's head out back!"
"But Hunter, she's trying," Betty interjected. Juliette was taken aback; Mrs. Rosewood was making an effort? She nearly scoffed at the thought.
"I know," Hunter replied half-heartedly. "We'll deal with it later."
They slipped out to the backyard where Hunter quietly closed the door behind them and handed Juliette a soccer ball from the bushes.
"She won't come out here if we're occupied," he said casually.
The ball was deflated and Juliette squished it to show its pitiful state.
"A bit rusty," Hunter confessed with a sheepish grin.
"You don't say," retorted Juliette playfully lobbing the ball at him. He caught it effortlessly and tossed it back.
They exchanged throws for several minutes in comfortable silence, which was surprising for Juliette. It seemed that either the game or their ease around each other kept inquiries about personal lives at bay—a topic neither wanted to delve into just then.