Chapter 5
Sebastian
I pull her into my arms, leaving just enough space to avoid becoming instant gossip, but close enough to feel the warmth rolling off her.
One hand settles at her waist — soft, warm — while the other folds around hers.
Her fingers curl gently against my palm.
Her breath escapes in delicate white clouds.
We sway to the music, awkward at first, then easy. Natural. She’s small compared to me. Curvy and soft where I’m rough edges and muscle, and something in me wants to wrap her up and never let go.
“You’re a good dancer, ladder man,” she says softly.
I huff a quiet laugh. “That’s because we’re barely moving, bakehouse.”
“It’s still nice. You can call me Willa, you know,” she murmurs.
“I know.” My gaze dips to her mouth. “I like calling you Bakehouse. But I’ll call you Willa. Willa Mathews.”
“Sebastian Ford. Yeah, Loretta filled me in.”
“I know she did. Of course, she did.”
We fall into silence. Her lashes are thick and dark. Her lips part slightly when she breathes.
I’m staring again. She doesn’t seem to mind.
“Why Hope Peak?” I ask quietly. “Why now? You could’ve sold the bakery.”
She swallows. I feel it beneath my hand.
“Because there was nothing left for me at home. Because my ex-fiancé thought my curves were only okay if I hid them under clothes he picked out. Because my mother told me to follow my heart. Because my grandmother believed in me, even though we never met, and I’m not going to waste that.”
Her chin lifts.
“Because I want to build something that’s mine. Something people come to for warmth and sweetness. Something that lasts.”
Something twists in my chest.
“You will,” I say. “You already are.”
She smiles.
Then the song ends, and she steps back. The cold rushes in like a slap. I want to pull her close again, but I make myself let go.
She looks like she’s about to say something else —
And then I hear it.
“Sebastian.”
My spine locks. So does hers.
I turn, and there she is.
Marla.
All sleek hair, long legs, and perfume trying too hard. Marla, who cheated. Marla, who left me for a tourist, then somehow twisted it like I let her down. Marla, who has apparently decided tonight is the perfect time to show up and stir the pot.
“What do you want?” I ask, voice flat.
“Just saying hi,” she says, smiling like a shark. “It’s been a while, Sebastian. You never call.”
I glance at Willa. Her expression is unreadable now. She takes a half step back, giving me space. Like she thinks she should.
No. Hell no.
I shift, angling myself toward her, keeping her close with one hand still in mine.
“I don’t call because there’s nothing to say,” I tell Marla. “We’re done.”
She pouts. “Done? Come on. You can’t tell me you don’t miss what we had. The way we were...”
She leans in, fingertips brushing down my arm. And then stops when she reaches the hand still holding Willa’s.
Her gaze flicks down. Her smile goes tight.
“Oh. I see.”
“See what?” I ask, even though I know.
“You’ve replaced me with... this.”
Her eyes drag over Willa’s body like a blade. “What are you, sweetie? Twenty? Don’t you think he’s a bit old for you? Or are you one of those girls who likes a man with gray in his beard?”
Willa’s cheeks flush.
Not from shyness.
From fury.
She opens her mouth, but I squeeze her hand. “Don’t,” I say softly. “You don’t have to.”
Then I face Marla full on.
“You will not talk to her like that. You won’t talk about her like that. You cheated. You left. I moved on. End of story.”
Marla laughs, brittle and mean. “Moved on? To this? You’ve known her for what, a day? She’s a rebound, Sebastian. The whole town’s talking. The grumpy innkeeper finally found someone to warm his bed. Loretta said—”
“Loretta can speak for herself,” comes a voice from behind me. Calm. Sharp.
Loretta.
“And I said nothing of the sort,” she continues. “I said Sebastian deserves happiness. And if you actually cared about him, you’d stop embarrassing yourself in front of half the damn town.”
Marla’s eyes go hard. “Stay out of this, old woman.”
Loretta gasps. “Old— Well, I never. That’s it, Sebastian. Hold my earrings.”
I nearly choke. Even with fury running hot through my veins.
I move, stepping fully between them.
“Go ruin someone else’s night, Marla.”
She opens her mouth again —
But the mayor’s voice crackles through the speakers, calling for everyone to join hands and sing.
People shift around us. Someone bumps into Marla. She stumbles back, hissing.
“You’ll regret this,” she snaps.
But I’m already turning. My arm wraps around Willa, steering her away.
Past Loretta, who pats my shoulder like she’s proud.
Past Mason, who winks.
Past Reid, who gives me a smug thumbs-up.
I don’t stop until we’re near the bakehouse, the square behind us, the cold sharp and quiet again.
Only then do I let myself breathe.
Willa looks up at me, eyes wide. “You didn’t have to do that,” she says softly.
“Yes,” I say, voice rough. “I did.”
“Why?”
Because you’re mine.
The words echo in my head like thunder.
I barely know her.
I have no right to claim her.
But the second she fell on ice and right into my arms yesterday, she became mine.
I remembered everything.
The way she fit.
The way she looked at me.
The way it felt.
I cup her cheek, gloved thumb brushing her skin. She gasps, soft and sweet. Her lips part. I lean in, watching her. Waiting for her to pull away.
She doesn’t.
I close the gap and kiss her.
Her mouth is warm against mine. Soft. She tastes like chocolate and cinnamon and something I didn’t know I needed. For one heartbeat, she freezes.
Then she melts into me.
She sighs against my lips, and I’m done. I deepen the kiss, tilting my head. Her fingers twist into my jacket. My arm tightens around her waist, pulling her flush against me.
We kiss under the glow of lights, the sound of music fading behind us. And everything feels right.
When we break apart, we’re both breathing harder than before.
Her hands are still clutched in my flannel.
My forehead rests against hers.
“We can’t,” she whispers.
But her voice doesn’t sound certain.
“We already did,” I murmur. “And I don’t want to stop.”
Her laugh is breathless. “You’re trouble, Sebastian Ford.”
“So are you, Willa Mathews.”
I kiss her again.
Slower.
Softer.
She smiles against my mouth, and I feel it all the way to my bones.
For a few seconds, we just stand there, forehead to forehead, breath mingling in the cold, like the world has narrowed to this one, quiet moment.
Then she shifts slightly in my arms.
“I should go inside,” she murmurs, though she doesn’t move.
“I know.”
Her fingers linger at my collar. “Early start tomorrow. I’ve got shelves to organize, dough to prep...”
“Bread to rise,” I finish for her.
She nods, smiling again. “That too.”
I don’t want to let go. Not yet. But I step back, just enough to give her space. Her hands fall away slowly, like she’s reluctant too.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” she asks.
“Yeah.” My voice comes out rough. “You will.”
She hesitates at the bakehouse door, glancing back once.
“Goodnight, Sebastian.”
“Goodnight, Willa.”
She slips inside, the door shutting behind her with a soft click.
I stay put for a second, jaw tight, the cold doing nothing to settle the heat still burning under my skin.
Then I turn and head back toward the inn, hands clenched, her smile still etched behind my eyes like a scar I didn’t see coming.
Yeah.
This is trouble.
And I’m already neck-deep in it.