Thoughts of Junie

Junie | Thoughts of Junie – The House at The End of The Street; Chapter 3

The morning light sliced through the blinds like a blade, too bright for how hollow Harper felt.

She sat at the edge of her childhood bed, wrapped in a threadbare robe, the same one her mother had washed and folded on her door handle the night she moved back in. It smelled like lavender and memories.

Her fingers traced the bracelet on her wrist-the same one she’d twisted nervously in court. The silver charm had dulled with age, but the weight of it still pressed against her skin like a secret she hadn’t finished telling.

In the other room, little feet pounded against hardwood floors. Her daughter, Eden, was already awake and playing with the collection of stuffed animals Harper had boxed up in her teens.

“Mom!” Eden’s voice rang out, innocent and warm, slicing through the fog that hung in Harper’s chest.

“I’m coming,” she called back, voice hoarse.

She took a deep breath before standing. No time for spiraling this morning. She had muffins to bake and a child to raise. The past, as persistent as it was, didn’t change diapers or pour milk into cereal.

Downstairs, her mother moved around the kitchen like clockwork. Mrs. Grace was all routine and expectations, the type of woman who ironed tea towels and still wore lipstick to church. Her way of expressing disappointment was by pretending it didn’t exist.

“You’re late,” she said without looking up as Harper walked in.

“I overslept,” Harper replied simply.

Mrs. Grace didn’t comment. She just handed Eden a plate of pancakes shaped like stars.

Harper poured herself coffee and leaned against the counter, eyes drifting to the window. To the street. To that house. The Montgomery house.

She wondered if he was awake.

She wondered why she cared.

Eden munched happily, legs swinging under the table. Her hair was wild and her pajamas were mismatched. Harper smiled-she looked free. Unbothered by things like shame or return tickets that never got used.

“I saw you talking to that Montgomery boy last night,” her mother said suddenly, slicing into Harper’s thoughts.

Of course she did.

“His name is Phoenix,” Harper said.

Her mother gave a soft, unimpressed sniff. “He was always trouble. You remember that, don’t you?”

“I remember a lot of things,” Harper said carefully. “Not all of them fit in neat little boxes.”

“You’d do best to leave that family’s mess alone,” Mrs. Grace said, wiping her hands on a towel. “People don’t change just because they disappear for a while.”

Harper didn’t reply. She sipped her coffee and let the silence answer for her.

Later that morning, she walked Eden down to the bakery two blocks away. It had been in the family for generations-Grace & Grain. A name Harper used to be proud of, before she left to chase her art degree and find herself somewhere beyond the familiar streets of Salem Oaks.

But now? Now it was a lifeline. A routine she could hold on to.

Eden skipped ahead, her tiny hand brushing against storefronts as she passed. Harper’s eyes flicked across the street again-to the Montgomery house.

And there he was.

Phoenix stood on the porch, shirtless, a hammer in one hand, a cigarette in the other. Fixing something. Maybe fixing nothing at all.

Their eyes met.

Neither of them smiled.

But Harper slowed her walk just slightly. And he didn’t look away.

He heard them before he saw them.

The soft clatter of tiny shoes on pavement. The easy hum of Harper’s voice, careful but not cold. Phoenix didn’t look up right away. He focused on the splintered piece of wood under his hand, the nail half-driven into the porch rail. He pressed down, feeling the resistance of the old wood. Familiar. Predictable. Unlike her.

Only when he felt her gaze did he lift his own.

She was wearing a denim jacket, the collar pulled high like a half-hearted shield, hair twisted up in a loose knot. Her daughter-her daughter-skipped ahead without a care in the world. Phoenix’s chest tightened. That child had Harper’s chin and that same focused glint in her eyes when she looked at something she didn’t understand.

She didn’t look his way.

But Harper did.

Their eyes met like a match sparking dry wood.

He didn’t smile.

Neither did she.

But it didn’t feel cold.

Phoenix took a slow drag from his cigarette, then stubbed it out on the edge of the railing, more aware of his bare chest than he wanted to be. He picked the hammer back up to look like he had a reason to be standing out here at 8:00 a.m. half-dressed and haunted.

He watched her walk away.

Every step.

She still moved like she had secrets. Like each footfall was a choice she wasn’t sure she wanted to make. And he knew that walk-had studied it once through a cracked windshield on long summer nights and stolen glances.

What he hadn’t expected was how much it would still undo him.

Phoenix dropped the hammer onto the porch with a heavy clunk and sat on the top step. Elbows on his knees. Head in his hands.

Coming back had been a mistake. He told himself that every morning. But he couldn’t seem to leave. Not yet.

Not while she was here.

He glanced toward the bakery sign down the road-Grace & Grain. Even the name felt like a slap.

He remembered Harper’s laugh behind the counter, the streak of flour across her cheek. That was before the fallout. Before the lies. Before he learned that even the ones you love can leave and never look back.

But now?

Now she was back.

And so was he.

“Hell,” he muttered, rubbing his palms down his face. “This isn’t gonna end well.”

He stood and walked inside the house.

The floorboards still creaked in the same places. The smell of old wood and emptiness clung to every room like mildew on forgotten memories. He’d only planned to be here for a month-fix what he could, sell it, and disappear again. It wasn’t like he had roots here anymore.

But Harper changed that.

She always changed things.

He went into the kitchen and opened the fridge-beer and mustard. That was it. He let it close with a hollow thud and leaned against the counter, staring out the back window.

The same one where, years ago, he’d watched her climb out of her bedroom window across the street and run barefoot across the lawn to meet him under the stars.

And now?

Now she had a child and a haunted look in her eyes. And he had nothing but bad habits and questions he didn’t know how to ask.

Phoenix clenched his jaw.

He wasn’t good with kids.

Wasn’t good with mothers, either.

But something about seeing Harper again-watching her walk down the street like she carried the whole damn world on her shoulders-didn’t sit right.

And maybe… maybe he didn’t want to look away this time.

The smell of cinnamon and butter clung to the walls of the bakery, wrapping itself around Harper like a memory she didn’t ask for. The oven buzzed behind her, a batch of blueberry muffins rising in neat rows. She wiped her hands on her apron and turned just as the bell above the front door jingled.

At first, she didn’t recognize her.

Summer Reynolds-no, Summer Martin now-stood just inside the doorway, eyes wide, blonde hair piled in a lazy bun, cradling a to-go coffee she clearly didn’t get from Grace & Grain.

Harper blinked. “Summer?”

Summer’s face cracked into a slow, hesitant smile. “Took you long enough to recognize me.”

Harper let out a laugh-small and disbelieving-and stepped around the counter. The two women met in the middle, hugging tightly. There was no awkwardness in the embrace, just a swell of something old and honest.

“You look… good,” Harper said, pulling back, eyes scanning her friend. “I mean, different. But good.”

Summer gave a breathy laugh. “I feel old. I think my son aged me five years in the past six months alone.”

“How is he? How are you?” Harper motioned her toward the table by the window.

“I’m okay,” Summer said, sliding into the chair. “And Evan’s a handful. He’s seven now. Getting more like Jason every day.”

Harper’s chest ached at the sound of his name. Jason Martin-Phoenix’s best friend, Summer’s husband, the one who used to sneak extra donuts when they all worked here as teenagers. Gone two years now. And the ghost of him still hung around this town like fog that never burned off.

“I’m sorry,” Harper said softly, stirring two coffees and handing one to her. “I wanted to reach out… when it happened. I just-“

“I know,” Summer cut in, her voice kind but firm. “You weren’t here. And even if you had been, grief doesn’t always make room for old friends. I get it.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the quiet only broken by the faint clatter of trays and the hum of the display case.

“You came back,” Summer said, changing the subject gently. “Why?”

Harper hesitated, her fingers playing with the edge of a napkin. “Life in the city… didn’t go the way I planned. New York chewed me up. So I packed what I had left, grabbed Eden, and came home.”

Summer tilted her head. “And Phoenix?”

Harper’s head snapped up. “What about him?”

“He’s back too,” Summer said casually, but there was a note in her voice-something unreadable. “You knew that, right?”

Harper nodded. “We ran into each other last night.”

Summer raised an eyebrow. “Ran into each other?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Harper said quickly. “We talked. That’s all.”

Summer’s eyes softened. “You don’t owe me an explanation, Harp. But you should know… he’s not the same. Losing Jason changed him. It changed both of us.”

“I figured.” Harper looked down at her coffee, then out the window toward the street. “He asked about Eden.”

“Did he now?” Summer sipped her drink, watching her carefully.

“Didn’t ask if she was his,” Harper added, voice barely above a whisper. “Just asked if she had his eyes.”

Summer didn’t respond right away. When she did, her voice was steady. “Phoenix doesn’t ask things he doesn’t already feel the answer to. That’s always been his way.”

Harper swallowed the lump in her throat.

“I’m not here to reopen old wounds,” she said. “I just want to get by. For Eden. For myself.”

Summer reached across the table and gently squeezed her hand.

“Then start there,” she said. “But don’t lie to yourself, Harper. If you weren’t still tied to him, you wouldn’t be looking for him in every corner of this town.”

Harper didn’t respond.

She didn’t have to.

Because Summer was right.

And Harper had never been good at running from ghosts.