Chapter 34 Ivy
IVY
I wake slowly, registering solid, steady warmth. Sebastian easily lifts me, one hand beneath my legs, the other firm at my back. My cheek presses into his chest as he stands. I feel the quiet care in every movement.
I sigh and let myself sink into it.
I’m not sure when I fell asleep. But this is the best way to be woken up. Zero complaints.
The world shifts gently as he carries me down the hallway and to the stairs. The air changes. The sounds soften. And when he lowers me onto the bed, I know exactly where I am without looking.
His bedroom.
His clean, familiar scent gives it away first. It’s comforting in a way that settles something deep in my chest. The sheets are cool for half a second before the comforter folds around me, tucking me in like I belong.
A content sigh comes from my lips. I’m meant to be here.
I hear the soft sound of fabric as he pulls his hoodie over his head, the faint rustle as he sets it aside. Then the mattress dips behind me, and a second later, he slides in close, still warm, still solid, his black sweatpants brushing my legs.
His arms wrap around me, banding me tightly against him. Holding me protectively, like he’s never going to let me go.
I curl into him without thinking, my back pressing into his chest, my hand settling over his forearm like it belongs there. He exhales softly against my hair, and the sound alone is enough to lull me back to sleep.
I sigh again, deeper this time, and let myself drift back under.
When I wake the second time, birds chirp outside. The sun peeks through the open window, kissing my skin.
Sebastian is behind me, one arm tucked beneath my pillow, the other draped over my waist. I shift slightly, and his hold tightens for just a moment—instinctive, unconscious—before relaxing again.
I open my eyes to a pair of dark ones locking with mine.
He props himself on one elbow, watching me like he’s been doing it for a while. There’s a small, unguarded smile on his face.
I smile back, still half-asleep. “You’re staring.”
“Mm,” he murmurs. “Not planning on stopping.”
My smile widens, sinking back into the warmth surrounding me. I move closer to him, my foot shifting under the covers, and something explodes onto the bed.
I yelp and then laugh as Mr. Pickles pounces, landing near my ankles with all the grace of a sack of flour. Black ears twitch as he readjusts, then flops dramatically onto his side like he’s completed a great feat.
I push myself up on one elbow, staring at Sebastian in disbelief. “You let him sleep in here with us?”
He gestures toward the floor. “He has a bed. Right there.”
I glance down and see the small cat bed positioned neatly beside the bed.
“He lay in it,” Sebastian continues calmly, “until I turned off the lights.”
“And then?”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “He jumped up here.”
Mr. Pickles flicks his tail like he’s proud of himself.
I laugh, shaking my head. “I can’t believe this.”
Sebastian leans in, pressing a slow, gentle kiss to my mouth—nothing rushed, nothing demanding. Just warm and certain.
I melt into him, relishing the victory of getting what I want most—him. Mr. Stoic not only opened his home and bedroom to me but also seems to be opening his heart. Not fully. I know there are still chains around it. But some have dropped while the others have loosened.
My stomach growls loudly, interrupting our moment.
He pulls back, lips curling into a smile.
I wince. “Sorry.”
He smiles. “Let’s eat.”
A few minutes later, we step into the kitchen together, hand in hand.
Drew is already there, standing at the counter with a mug of coffee. He takes a sip, freezes, then spits it back into his cup as he starts choking.
“What—” he coughs, wiping his mouth. “What is happening?”
Sebastian doesn’t even flinch. He just tightens his grip on my hand slightly.
“Morning,” I say brightly. “How are you?”
Drew stares at us. Then at our joined hands. Then at Sebastian. “You’re dating your stalker?” He shakes his head. “You really have gone mental.”
Sebastian scowls at him. “Knock it off before I make you homeless.”
Drew glances over at me. “Sorry, Ivy.”
I grin at him. “No offense taken. That’s the average reaction.”
He seems relieved... until his eyes flick to the black cat trotting in behind us like he owns the place. Every muscle in Drew’s body tenses. He stares at Mr. Pickles like he’s a wild, rabid animal. “Oh no,” he says faintly.
Mr. Pickles hops onto a kitchen chair and curls up, tail wrapped neatly around his paws.
Drew sets the mug down with a shaking hand, then points. “There’s a cat.”
“Yes,” Sebastian says. “I’m aware.”
“In the house.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And you’re holding hands.”
“Yes.”
Drew looks at me. “Did you know about this?”
I grin. “About the hands or the cat?”
He closes his eyes. “I need stronger coffee.” He opens one, then the other. “Nope. I’m not dreaming.”
“You dream about me holding Ivy’s hand and a cat curling up on the chair?” Sebastian asks as he pours himself a cup, like this is all perfectly normal. He takes a drink—and immediately makes a disgusted face.
I blink. I’m honestly surprised he doesn’t spit it out like Drew.
I head toward the coffee machine, already knowing I’m not drinking Drew’s burnt, bitter juice.
“Dump that in the sink,” I say gently. “I’m taking over.”
Relief crosses Sebastian’s face so fast I almost laugh. I swear, he looks like I just offered him a miracle.
He dumps the coffee, then turns to me. His arms wrap around me, warm and solid, and I melt into him without hesitation. It’s the easiest thing in the world—being held like this, being wanted like this.
When he releases me, I smile up at him, then turn toward the coffee pot.
Behind us, Mr. Pickles yawns.
And I think this might be my favorite morning ever.
That is, until Drew reaches for his coffee mug and tips it instead.
Coffee spills everywhere. Counter. Floor. His hand.
He screams.
Like full-volume, horror-movie-final-girl scream.
The sound sends Mr. Pickles into immediate panic. He launches himself off the chair, claws scrabbling wildly, landing on the floor with a soft thud—and then everything gets worse.
Drew is still yelling. Paper towels are flying. The mug tips again.
Mr. Pickles bolts.
He hits the counter, skids straight through spilled coffee, and launches himself at the nearest solid object.
Unfortunately, that object is Drew.
“I’VE BEEN ATTACKED,” Drew screeches as claws catch his shirt. “I JUST GOT RABIES!”
He slips on the spilled coffee—and goes down hard.
The mug shatters on the floor.
Mr. Pickles decides he’s had enough of this household and abandons Drew entirely, sprinting straight into Sebastian’s arms.
Sebastian scoops him up instantly, murmuring soft nonsense and rubbing his ears like this is a completely reasonable outcome.
The kitchen is destroyed.
Drew is on the floor.
The cat is being comforted.
I’m gripping the counter, laughing so hard I can’t breathe.
“This isn’t funny, Ivy,” Drew snaps. “That cat looks like he crawled out of a pet cemetery. I’m probably going to die.”
Sebastian stiffens. He covers Mr. Pickles’ ears. “My cat did not crawl out of a cemetery,” he says through gritted teeth.
Drew stares at him like he’s lost his mind.
I laugh harder, tears flowing.
Sebastian adds calmly, “Don’t listen to him, Mr. Pickles. He’s an uptight accountant who screams like a girl.”
Drew sputters. “Uptight account—Mr. Pickles?” He drags himself upright, adjusts his shirt like dignity is something you can iron back into place, and glares at us. “Who names a cat Mr. Pickles?”
Sebastian steps forward.
“Ivy,” he says. Then, quieter, sharper, and slightly defensive, he adds, “And me.”
The room stills.
I look at him—and realize he’s not embarrassed.
Honestly?
That’s the moment I fall a little more in love with him.