It wasn’t the first time Juniper had imagined living full time in her walk-in closet. It boasted a mauve velvet daybed, a shag rug and wall-to-wall cupboards filled with silk, linen and fine cotton. On days when the world felt too close, sidling up and poking her in the ribs, she would open the doors and run her fingertips over scarves, the straw weave of hats, and the buttery leather of gloves. Yet most of it had to disappear.
When Bodhi first visited, his nose twitched and he scratched the side of his head where the hair was scraped back into a high pony.
‘What would you like to drink?’ she asked, twisting the lid of a gin bottle and peeling off her shearling jacket.
‘Warm water with lemon juice,’ he muttered, narrowing his eyes at the arrangement of rope and glass balls. ‘Please.’
Juniper followed his look as he…
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