28. Sebastian
Chapter 28
Sebastian
I bend to retrieve the fallen book, my fingers brushing against hers as we both reach for it.
Lil snatches it up, hugging it to her chest. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes wide. “I… um…”
“Sorry.” I’m not sorry at all. I like seeing her flustered. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I was looking around. I didn’t mean to snoop.”
“Find anything good?” I nod towards the book she’s still clutching like a lifeline.
“Oh, um…” She glimpses down at the cover as if she’s forgotten what she’s holding. “It is Pride and Prejudice… My favorite.”
“Is that so?” I step closer, crowding into her space. She backs up instinctively until her spine hits the bookshelf. Trapped. “Didn’t know it’s your favorite.”
“You didn’t?”
Okay, I did. That’s why that book is in here. “Apparently.” I pluck it from her grasp, flipping it open to a random page. “In vain, I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.” I glance up at her. “Sounds familiar.”
She swallows, her throat bobbing.
I snap the book shut, placing it back on the shelf beside her head. “Why is it your favorite?”
“It’s honest. Raw.” She’s not looking at me, her gaze fixed on a point over my shoulder. “Darcy bares his soul to Elizabeth, even though he knows she might reject him.”
I inch closer, my arm braced on the shelf above her. “Is that what you want? Someone to bare their soul to you? Make some grand, romantic gesture?”
She meets my gaze head-on, unflinching. “I want someone who’s not afraid to fight for what they want. For who they want.”
The air crackles between us. I’ve fought for her. I’m still fighting. Can’t she see that?
But I’m not Darcy. I’m not some storybook hero who waxes poetic about his feelings. I’m flesh and blood, flawed and fucked up. And the only declaration I’ve got is written on my skin, etched into my bones.
I want her. I need her. I love her even if I don’t say it out loud now. And she knows it.
“Anne did a good job.” Her voice is barely a whisper, but it shatters the moment like glass.
I blink, stepping back before I kiss her. Or confess my undying devotion like Darcy and scare her off. “Yeah, she did.”
Lil walks over to the plush armchairs by the window, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. “You know, it’s funny. I once described my perfect library to Anne, and these chairs… they’re exactly what I pictured. ”
If she only knew. I hired Anne because she knows Lil and because she could give her the perfect space. A piece of home in my world.
Her gaze drifts to the shelf with the ladder, and her body becomes rigid, her eyes widening. “It’s—”
“We should probably check on dinner before it burns.” I jerk my chin towards the door.
She hesitates, her gaze searching mine. She might push, might demand the confession I’m not ready to give.
“Right. Okay.” She slips past me, her shoulder brushing mine in the narrow space between the shelves. Even that brief touch is enough to set my nerve endings on fire.
Christ, this woman will be my death.
I trail after her into the kitchen, the aroma of garlic and tomato sauce hitting me like a wave. My stomach grumbles in response. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until now.
Lil’s already at the oven, peeking inside. “It should be done. Just need to let it cool for a bit.” She straightens, grabbing a pair of oven mitts.
I prop myself against the counter, watching her work. There’s something oddly domestic about it. Her, puttering around my kitchen like she belongs here. Like this is normal for us.
It’s not. It’s so far from normal it’s laughable. But I can’t deny that I like it. Like seeing her in my space, surrounded by my things.
She catches me staring and raises an eyebrow. “What?”
“Nothing.” I shrug, crossing my arms.
“Set the table, would you?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I give her a mock salute before pushing off the counter to do as she asks.
This is temporary. She’s only here because she doesn’t have anywhere else to go. Once she gets back on her feet, she’ll be gone again .
And I’ll be left alone with my regrets and what-ifs.
So, I have to do whatever it takes.
The oven timer dings, and Lil slips on the mitts, carefully extracting the lasagna and setting it on the stovetop. The cheesy crust is bubbling and golden brown, steam wafting up in curling tendrils.
“Smells good,” I come to stand beside her. “I’m impressed.”
She cuts me a sidelong glance. “It’s lasagna. Anyone can layer some noodles and cheese.”
“Hey, don’t sell yourself short. I’ve had some pretty shitty lasagna in my day.” I bump her hip with mine. “This looks top-notch.”
“Flatterer.” But she’s smiling now, a real smile that crinkles the corners of her eyes.
I like that smile. I want to be the reason for it every day. Dangerous thought. “I’ll finish setting the table.”
“Okay. I’ll dish us up.”
We move around each other in the kitchen, a strange sort of dance. She hands me a trivet for the center of the table, our fingers brushing. I pour us each a glass of water, my arm grazing her back as I reach past her for the fridge.
Each touch, each glance feels weighted. Meaningful. Like we’re both hyperaware of the other’s presence, of the electric charge humming between us.
By the time we sit down to eat, my nerves are strung tight as a bowstring. I take a large gulp of water, trying to ease the sudden dryness in my mouth.
Lil scoops a generous portion of lasagna onto each of our plates before settling into the chair across from me. “Dig in.” She nods at my plate .
I oblige, cutting off a corner and popping it into my mouth. Rich tomato, creamy sauce, and a slight bite of garlic. “Fuck, that’s good.”
“Yeah?”
“Best lasagna I’ve ever had. Hands down.” I go in for another bite.
“You don’t have to lie. I know that Brandon is probably doing a better one.”
“Well, I like yours more,” I say. “You’ll have to make this for me again sometime.”
Her brow furrows, and I realize my mistake too late. Mentioning a future, a next time. Like this is something we’ll do again. Like she’ll stick around long enough for there to be a next time.
Fuck.
“I mean—”
“It’s fine. I’d like that.”
I blink at her, surprise no doubt written all over my face. “Yeah?”
The corner of her mouth lifts. Barely, but it’s there. “Yeah. I mean, someone’s gotta make sure you don’t starve. Or resort to takeout every night.”
I clutch my chest in mock offense. “Excuse you, I’m a grown-ass man. I can feed myself.”
She arches an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. When’s the last time you cooked something that didn’t come out of a box or a bag?”
“I made eggs this morning.”
“Scrambled eggs don’t count.”
“Says who?”
“Says the person who slaved over a lasagna for your ungrateful ass.”
I can’t help it—I laugh. A real, genuine laugh that starts in my belly and bubbles up my throat. She looks so indignant, so adorably offended on behalf of her culinary skills.
She stares at me for a beat before dissolving into giggles, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. And just like that, the strange tension between us dissipates. Leaving something warm and light in its wake.
“Fine, fine.” I hold up my hands in surrender. “You’re right. I’m a helpless bachelor in need of a woman’s touch. Happy?” And the only one I want is her.
“Exceedingly.” She grins at me, her eyes sparkling. “Guess I’ll have to stick around and make sure you don’t die of malnutrition.”
There’s a teasing tilt to her voice, but the words land like a sucker punch to my gut. Because that’s what I want, isn’t it? Her, here, with me. Not for a few days or weeks, but… always.
“Guess so,” I say.
An awkward silence descends.
I clear my throat. “So, Mr. Darcy. What’s so great about him anyway?”
“Oh. Um, I don’t know. I guess I just like the idea of someone changing for the better. Overcoming their pride and prejudice for the sake of love. It’s cheesy, sorry.”
I tilt my head, considering. “But Lizzie changes too, doesn’t she? Realizes she misjudged him based on first impressions and her own biases.”
Surprise flickers across her face. “You’ve read it?”
“Maybe I have.” I give a one-shouldered shrug.
She narrows her eyes at me, and I can practically see the wheels turning in her head. Trying to reconcile the me she thought she knew with this new information.
“Okay, then.” She props her chin on her hand. “What’s your take on Darcy? Think he’s a romantic hero? Or an arrogant prick who doesn’t deserve Elizabeth? ”
I rub my chin, settling back in my chair. “Can’t he be both? People are complicated. We’ve all got our flaws and baggage. Doesn’t mean we’re not capable of growth. Of becoming better versions of ourselves.”
She stares at me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. I half-expect her to laugh in my face and call me out for waxing poetic about some fictional character.
But she doesn’t.
“Maybe you’re right,” she says softly. “We’re all works in progress. Stumbling our way towards something real and true, even when we fuck it up along the way.”
An ache spreads through me at the vulnerability in her voice. At the way, her eyes have gone soft and hazy, downcast.
I breathe out her name, barely more than a whisper. “Lil.”
She sits back, her spine straightening and the walls slamming back into place. “Anyway. That’s my pretentious English major take on it.”
“Nah, I like it. You’re a smart cookie, Edmunds.”
“Don’t call me that. Makes me feel like I’m back in school.”
“What, you don’t like it when I get all professorial on you?” I waggle my eyebrows at her, trying to coax another smile.
“Are you going to punish me next because I forgot my homework?”
“Depends. Do you want to be punished, princess?”
We both freeze. Fuck. Me and my big mouth. “Lil, I—”
A loud buzzing interrupts whatever I am about to say to earn back brownie points. She fumbles for her phone, pulling it out of her pocket with shaking hands.
“Sorry, I should… It might be work.” She shoots me an apologetic look before swiping to answer. “Hello? ”
My fingers drum lightly on the table, a weak attempt to steady my racing pulse. An attempt not to let the disappointment consume me. We were so close. So fucking close to something.
I don’t know what. A confession? A reconciliation? A chance to start over?
Maybe all of the above. Each would have been a start. A good start.
She paces the kitchen, her brow furrowed, listening to whoever’s on the other end of the line. Probably Mary or Gemma, checking in. Making sure she’s okay.
Making sure I haven’t fucked up already.
I scrub a hand over my face. This push and pull, this constant dance around each other… it’s wearing me down. Wearing us both down.
I want her. All of her. The good, the bad, the in-between. I want lazy mornings, heated arguments, and inside jokes. I want to be the one she turns to when she’s scared or sad or pissed off. I want to be her person.
But I don’t know if she wants that too. If she’s ready for it. Ready for us.
She ends the call with a sigh, tossing her phone on the counter.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Yeah. it was just Levi asking how I’m doing.”
After we finish eating, we move around each other in the kitchen, putting away leftovers and wiping down counters. It’s easy, comfortable. Domestic in a way I never thought I’d crave.
But with her, everything feels different. Better.
She stifles a yawn and hangs up the dish towel.
“You should get some rest,” I say. “It’s been a long day.”
Her eyelids droop. “Yeah, I think I will.” She pauses, then turns to go. “Night.”
“Night. ”
I wait around two hours before I grab my keys and slip out of the apartment, careful not to make too much noise.
The drive to her place is short but feels like an eternity. Is this a good idea?
I don’t want to fuck up. Again.
I park and make my way up. I know what I’m looking for, and I find it easily enough. It’s right where we left it, tucked away in the corner of her bedroom.
I run my fingers over the smooth metal, remembering the way her face lit up when she first showed it to me in college.
It’s one of the few things she has left of her mother.
And I know she wants it with her.