10. Sebastian
Sebastian
“ S o, are you going to tell me how things are going with Mari, or am I doomed to live in suspense forever?”
I look up from where I’m sitting on the floor, playing Legos with Maya. She’s built an impressive tower, taller than the last one, and is carefully balancing another piece on top.
Analyse is leaning against the wall, one eyebrow raised and arms crossed, as if she already knows something I don’t.
I frown. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She pushes off the wall and walks toward us, flopping onto the couch beside me with a dramatic sigh. “Don’t B.S. me, Seb. You two have history, and you’ve been seeing her more than you see me these last few weeks.”
She’s not wrong. I have been seeing a lot of Mariana lately. Between the renovations at The Rolling Pin and all the work she still has left to do, it’s been long hours and late nights.
I don’t mind. It’s a hell of a lot of work, but I meant what I said—I want to help. And if I’m being honest, being around her feels like no time has passed. It’s effortless, comfortable.
I simultaneously love it and hate it, because there’s one side of me that wants this, to be able to just… exist in the same space without thinking about what happened before. No resentment, no hurt, just a fresh start.
But there’s another part, one I don’t like to admit exists, that isn’t ready to let it all go. No matter how hard I tried, I never completely moved on. I don’t know if I ever will.
“Nothing’s going on between us,” I finally say, picking up a Lego piece and turning it between my fingers. “We’re just…brushing everything under the rug. Playing friends. Trying to move on with our lives.” I don’t know if I meant to say it like that, but the words settle heavy between us.
“All I want is to help her,” I add, clearing my throat. “I know how much this means to her. I remember all the time she spent at Ruth’s growing up. I don’t know what happened when she lived in Seattle, but she seems like she could use a friend right now.”
Before Analyse can respond, Maya suddenly jumps to her feet. “I’m gonna go play upstairs!” she announces before running out of the room.
Great. So much for Maya being my buffer. Now, Analyse has me exactly where she wants me.
“Stop looking at me like a cornered animal, big brother.” Her voice softens, but there’s still that sharp, knowing edge. “I’m just looking out for you.”
I exhale through my nose, running a hand through my hair. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m just doing my job and helping a friend along the way.”
Analyse tilts her head. “And I get that. You’re a good guy, and I love you for it. I just want to make sure you guard your heart. You were a wreck after Mari left. I don’t want to see you go through that again.”
My jaw tightens. “Thanks for looking out. But I promise, I’m good.”
She gives me a long, knowing look, and I hate that she knows me so damn well.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I mutter, dragging a hand over my face. “I’m good. We’re good. Just…friends.”
Analyse stands, pressing a hand to my shoulder as she passes. “Whatever you say, Seb.” She gives me one last glance before walking away.
I exhale, leaning my elbows onto my knees, staring at the half-built tower Maya left behind.
Just friends. Then why the hell does it feel like I’m lying to both of us?
I walk into The Rolling Pin and spot Mariana cleaning up, her headphones in, completely lost in the music.
It’s loud enough that I can make out some of the words—Vivir Mi Vida.
Figures. Marc Anthony has always been her go-to when she’s cleaning or trying to get something done.
I think it’s because salsa reminds her of her dad.
I remember walking into her house as a kid, the smell of sofrito in the air, and her parents dancing in the middle of the kitchen like they were the only two people in the world.
I used to think that was the kind of love worth having. I used to think we had that. Turns out, I was an idiot. When you’re young, you feel everything so intensely. You don’t realize that not everything lasts forever.
Mariana moves to the music, dancing a little as she wipes down the counter, softly singing along. She looks…relaxed. Happy, even. It’s a rare sight these days. I walk over and tap her shoulder.
She jumps back with a scream so loud that I flinch. “Puneta, Seba!” She slaps a hand to her chest, eyes wide. “Me vas a matar del susto! You cannot sneak up on me like that!”
I blink. “Mariana, you knew I was coming over. That’s not sneaking up on you.”
She glares, rolling her eyes. “Whatever, Sebastian. You nearly gave me a heart attack. What if I just dropped dead right now? Fell right to the ground.”
I stare at her, waiting for her to laugh. She doesn’t.
“Jesus, Mari.” I shake my head. “I forgot how dramatic you could be. No one is dropping dead from a heart attack.”
She gasps, affronted. “I am not dramatic! Have you ever heard yourself when you lost a video game? Now that was dramatic.”
My lips press into a thin line. “I was seventeen. Of course I sounded like an idiot when I lost a game.”
She crosses her arms. “Still doesn’t explain how you know I wouldn’t drop dead from the absolute terror of being snuck up on. What are you, God now?”
I raise an eyebrow. “I don’t have to be God to know you weren’t about to drop dead.”
We hold each other’s stare for a beat, and then suddenly, we’re both cracking up. Her laughter fills the space between us, soft and full and so damn light.
It’s been weeks since I’ve heard her laugh like that. Maybe even longer. I want to hear it again. I want to make her laugh again. And then, just as quickly as it started, it’s gone. She stiffens, something unreadable flashing across her face.
“Uh, I’m gonna go to the back and finish cleaning.” Her voice is too casual, too forced.
I open my mouth to say something, but she’s already gone, practically sprinting out of the room. I exhale, dragging a hand down my face.
What the hell was that? She was fine, more than fine, a second ago. Talking to me. Laughing. But lately, the second we get too close, she runs. Did I do something wrong?
I sift through the last few weeks, trying to pinpoint the moment things shifted. There has to be something, something I said, something I did. Nothing. Frustration knots in my chest.
Nothing drives me crazier than not knowing what I’ve done wrong. I don’t want to hurt her. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. And the fact that I might have? It fucking kills me.
I don’t know what I did. But I’m going to find a way to fix it.
Several hours have passed, and Mariana still hasn’t spoken a single word to me. She’s been hiding in the back, cleaning, while I worked up front. At first, I figured I’d just let it go, give her space, and come up with a plan to fix whatever the hell I did wrong.
After three hours of silence? Yeah. I’m losing my mind.
I try to focus on work, but my patience is running on fumes.
Every so often, I hear faint music from the back, much quieter than before, but never her voice.
Never a glance in my direction. It’s deliberate.
And I’m done pretending I can ignore it.
By the third hour of this bullshit, I’ve had enough.
I march toward the back, pushing open the door with more force than necessary. "Did I do something wrong?"
Mariana startles, pausing her music. She looks up at me, eyes wide, confusion flickering across her face. “What are you talking about?”
I cross my arms, leveling her with a look. We’re not doing this. “You haven’t spoken to me all day. Did I do something to you? Did I say something that made you uncomfortable?”
“I just spoke to you earlier today.”
I scoff. “Come on, Mariana. Don’t play games. You’ve been weird with me, and I need to know why. We were fine, and then suddenly, you can’t be in a room with me for more than a few minutes.”
Her eyes widen. And there it is, a blush creeping up her neck. Interesting.
"You didn’t do anything wrong, Seba.” Her voice is quieter now, her fingers tightening around the rag she’s been holding. “I’m sorry if I’ve been acting weird. I guess I just don’t really know how to act around you. You have to admit, this is... a little awkward."
She shifts, her gaze darting away. The rag in her hands twists, her fingers gripping the fabric tighter than necessary.
"We haven’t spoken since high school,” she continues. “I know nothing about your life, aside from the fact that you’re a firefighter. And you know nothing about mine. I’m not even sure if you want to be friends."
I catch a glimpse of the girl I used to know—the one who never had to think twice before letting me in. The truth is, I don’t fully buy her explanation.
There’s something else, something she’s not saying, but I don’t push. Not yet. I want her to open up to me, and if I push too hard, she’ll run. And, shit, I’d be lying if I said my stomach didn’t flip a little at the idea of us being friends again.
I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. “Hell yeah, I wanna be your friend. We are friends—doesn’t matter how much time has passed."
Mariana laughs softly, and damn if my stomach doesn’t flip again.
Before she can say anything else, I grin. “Let’s just forget the past, okay? It’s wiped from my mind. Clean slate.”
"Wiped from your mind, huh?” She arches a brow. “Not sure I like the idea of you erasing me completely, but okay... let’s be friends.” She smiles at me.
And fuck. It feels like home—the warmth, the familiarity, the way she looks at me, like maybe this doesn’t have to be as complicated as I’m making it.
Shit. I’m in trouble.